He sat in the car, his mind awash with conflicting thoughts: if Denise found out it would be the end; they needed the money; the university fees; the nursing home... but she would never accept or begin to understand this. But then could she understand anything anymore?

He got out of the car and lifted the black brief case. He was going!

The area was definitely classy: big stone-built Edwardian tenements set on wide clean tree-lined streets. Unquestionably middle-class. Number 27 was the address. Flat 1 F 1.

He walked briskly along the pavement, the brief case knocking against his leg. It was cold for October but he was sweating slightly in his best dark suit and his good raincoat.

A couple approached pushing a Mommas and Pappas. Momentarily he locked eyes with the young mother and noted the slight change in her expression. Good! He was looking hunky. The long months at the gym, the early morning jogging, the sessions in the sun and on the sun bed had paid off...

She answered the intercom on the second ring. Distorted by the phone her voice sounded husky and uncertain,

'Hello, this is Flat 1F1.'

He spoke slowly trying to put warmth and friendliness into his voice,

'Good afternoon, Mrs. Fenwick, this is Daniel from Health Services. I called about your order. May I come up. Can you press the buzzer?'

'Take charge', he said inwardly, ' take hold of the situation. She's nervous and apprehensive. Reassure her. Be in control'

The buzzer went and he pushed the heavy door open and entered the cool dim depths of the mosaic-tiled hall-way.

She opened the door of 1F1 just as his finger touched the bell-pusher and for a moment or two they just looked at each other.

She stood about 5' 5' and had dark brown hair cut just over her ears. There was very little make-up to be seen and the face was attractive with high cheekbones. She had lovely wide hazel-green eyes. She looked attractive despite her worried expression. She was wearing a loose fitting expensive woollen dress, reaching past her knees, making it difficult to ascertain what her figure was like. He guessed she was in her late forties, maybe early fifties but well-maintained.

Her mouth open to say something but he beat her to the words,

'Hello at last, Mrs. Fenwick. Nice to see you in person. I've come to chat about your order. May I come in ?'

Smiling just a little, he took a step forward but she stepped back, partially closing the door.

'I... I... Daniel, I... I've been... that is... I'm not... ' she was stammering and clearly extremely nervous. He had to do something or he'd be on his way home.

Then came one of those strokes of luck which change your life: the outer street door banged as someone entered the building.

Mrs. Fenwick gave a little jump. Clearly agitated, she looked over his shoulder to the stairway as high heels clicked along the passage-way towards the stairs.

He took charge: 'Why don't I come in and we can discuss it in private, Mrs. Fenwick? You can hear everything on these stairs. I won't keep you if you've things to do... I promise.' He spoke softly but firmly and, matching action to his words, stepped forward and past her into her home.

He took several steps up the hall-way, laying the bag down beside the rosewood coat-stand and shrugging off his raincoat.

He heard the door close behind him and turned to face her holding out the coat for her to take. She moved towards him but she did not take the coat. It remained there between them.

' Daniel, I'm so sorry.I... I... I don't think I can... I'll pay you of course, for wasting your time... I'm sorry... I... I... '. She floundered to a stop, her face working, eyes full.

Without haste he reached out and touched her elbow reassuringly, while still holding the coat with his other hand. She flinched at the contact but she didn't remove his hand. With just a hint of a smile softening his face, he said gently,

'Mrs Fenwick... Celia... Please don't worry. You're not under any pressure. I'll go... if that's what you want.' He hesitated for a second, then, 'Could you possibly let me have a drink before I go. I'd really appreciate that '.

Her face cleared, 'Why of course, Daniel. Here let me have your coat'.

She was evidently relieved that there was going to be no scene over her change of heart.

After hanging up his coat, she led the way into a large airy room with a bay window overlooking a walled garden. The furnishings were expensively tasteful with several lovely prints on the walls. A small piano stood against one wall with a framed photo of a young woman in her graduation robes. The room was warm and the wooden clothes horse in one corner gave it a 'home' feel

'Is this you, Celia ?' he inquired, looking at the photograph.

She gave a little rueful laugh and some of the tension eased out of her expression, 'Of course not ! That's my daughter Anne.' She looked at him, her eyes wide and her expression saddened, 'Anne is 27. What age are you, Daniel?'

He stepped a little closer to her and looked into her eyes with a quizzical look. ' Chronologically, Mrs Fenwick', he said slowly, ' I'm 24 - but some days I feel I'm 90 - and some days I know I'm just 19. And quite frequently I act as though I am 6. Don't you feel a bit like that, Celia ? Or are you always your real age... as people expect you to be?'

Mrs. Fenwick, chronologically aged 48, stood very still, the tempo of her heartbeat increasing. She looked up at Daniel as if trying to read his soul, her eyes searching his, then she turned away.

'What can I get you, Daniel? Whisky? Gin ? I'll join you in a gin. I had a couple before you came. Dutch courage and all that... but... ' her voice trailed away and she turned to face him again from where she stood next to the polished sideboard with its decanters and bottles.

Daniel moved to stand close to her and again reached out and took her elbow. This time she did not flinch but stood there looking into his face. He smiled and squeezed her arm gently. The material of her dress was soft and warm and as he took his hand away he slid his fingers down her forearm and gave her hand a little squeeze, held it for a moment then let go. He noticed how creamy her skin was. It had a light brown olive tinge to it. Her eyes darkened a trace and her lips parted.

'Could I possibly have a cup of tea? I missed lunch but a cup of tea would be just great'. Daniel stepped back as he spoke and gave her space.

Relief and reassurance lit her face, ' Tea? Why of course you can. Please have a seat, Daniel. Take your jacket off and make yourself comfortable. You must be hungry. Would you like something to eat?'

Daniel stood up and peeled off his jacket. 'Please don't go to any trouble, Mrs. Fenwick A cup of tea will be fine.'

'It's no trouble,' she fussed, ushering him to sit down. He sat on the settee. 'I have some salmon sandwiches left over from my own lunch. I'll just go and get things ready'

She turned in the doorway.' Will you be all right for a few minutes. I'll be as quick as I can. You can put on the tele if you wish'

'I'll be fine', he assured her, 'you are spoiling me, Mrs. Fenwick, Oh! May I play the piano,? It's been a long time since I saw such a lovely one. May I?'

Surprise and pleasure shone in her eyes, 'Why of course, Daniel. That will be lovely'. 'I'll leave the door open so I can hear you.'

He played Schubert. The piano was in excellent tune and he was drawn into the beauty of the music. So much so that he did not hear her return. He was on the last few bars when he became aware of her at his back. As the last note died away she put a hand on his shoulder and in a husky whisper said,

' That was quite quite beautiful, Daniel. Really quite lovely... Come over and have your tea'

They sat a couple of feet apart on the settee at the coffee table, he with a napkin on his knees, she with her feet under her, as they ate the thinly sliced salmon sandwiches and drank from the fragile china cups. And they talked.

They talked of music and art, of books and the cinema. He listened as she spoke of her travels in the States and in South Africa. She spoke knowledgeably but with no sense of superiority. He listened avidly, always giving her time, but wary of any long pauses. They laughed together as they recounted funny things in films they had seen and books they had read. And she asked him about himself.

He told her of his university studies; of the bomb blast in London when on holiday two years ago, which had killed his parents and left his wife Denise severely crippled, with both legs amputated above the knee and unable to speak because of brain damage. Of the nursing home where she now spent most of her time; of the occasional week-ends when he brought her to stay in what had been his parents' house but where now he stayed alone; of how he had taken a course in physiotherapy to be able to deal with Denise when she was home.

And of his decision to try and earn money to help with the bills. And all of this he said in a quiet matter-of fact way without any sense of self-pity or pleading.

She listened gravely and at one point reached out to cover his hand. Her touch was cool, her palm slightly roughened.

'A house-wife's hand', he thought, 'this woman is rich but she enjoys doing things for herself.'

' You're a good man'. she said, 'A very honest, good man'.

She did not take her hand away as he continued to speak and every now and then she caressed the back of his hand with her thumb. He knew from the way her face never changed as she did this that it was not a conscious action. He also knew that this was a woman who loved the sense of touch.

Celia spoke of her own life. Married at nineteen to a much older man, a business friend of her father's; Maurice had given her a beautiful house and there was never any shortage of money. She paused and looked away,

' There wasn't a lot of... of... loving... I... ', she dropped her eyes and gazed at her lap. Daniel turned his hand where it lay under hers and gently squeezed her fingers.

'I am sorry. so sorry, Celia., he said.

She looked up and smiled. Daniel's heart gave a little start. 'She is beautiful. Quite Quite beautiful'. He wondered why he had not seen it before.

'Daniel! Are you o.k.' She was leaning closer to him, concern in her face

'I'm sorry ', he said. I was just a bit thrown there.'

' Oh don't be. Not on my account. I'm fine now, I really am', she said. 'He's been dead for two years but... but.', there was a pleading in her eyes, a sorrow, 'the marriage died long before that... ' She paused and perked herself up. 'But he left me quite well off. And I got this flat. And', her voice softened and she smiled, 'And I have Anne - of whom I am so proud'.

There was a long pause. Each gazed away. He knew it was time to go. He stood up. quickly. She looked up at him, a little frown creasing her brow.

' Mrs. Fenwick... Celia... I've enjoyed being here with you. Very,very much. You are a lovely person.' He reached down and helped her to her feet. They faced each other. Space between them. ' Thank you for having me here in your home... and for being such a help. I haven't talked so much to anyone in a long time.'

He took her hand and pressed it, then let her go. He picked up his jacket and put it on. She seemed quite taken aback, trying to find words. Then she took something from under the coffee table and held it out, her hand visibly shaking. He took the brown manila envelope with a minimum of protest.

'Thank you, Mrs. Fenwick', he said quietly, Thank you for everything'. Then he turned towards the door.

'Daniel', There was just a hint of panic in her voice. He turned to face her. She stood with her hands held low, clasped in front of her, looking at him, eyes full of tears,clearly upset, but fighting to keep in control

. 'Daniel... if you've got time... I... I... that is... would... would you like to see the rest of the house before you go?' She got this out in a kind of pleading rush of words.

He replied quite slowly and with no hint of a smile, ' I'd like that very much Celia, thank you '.

Her smile glowed.' Come on', she said, 'I'll lead the way'.

The first room off the hall was a fairly sizable work-room facing North ; a table holding a sewing machine stood at the tall window that looked down on the street with its trees full of autumn gold. There was an easel with a water colour part done, and a bench laden with paint pots and tubes. She blushed as he complimented her on her artistic ability and they laughed easily together.

'And here is how we met', he said quietly, looking into her green-tinged steady eyes as they stood at the computer desk with its printer.

'Yes', her voice seemed to catch in her throat and she looked away.

They did not spend long in her bedroom. It too, faced the street. It was a big room with a high double bed covered by a duvet and had its brass head-board against one long wall while a huge built -in wardrobe with enormous mirror doors ran the length of the opposite wall. The few furnishings: a chest of drawers, her dressing table, the small lamps standing on the twin bedside cabinets and a couple of chairs were all in light wood, giving an uncluttered feeling of space to the room.

That feeling of lightness and space was typical of the house. He told her so and she was pleased.

He loved the bathroom, tiled throughout in warm pergammon and with a varnished pine ceiling, the shower an enormous cylinder of clear patterned glass with side jets, while a large wide bath curved at both ends with a central mixer.

' That bath just invites you to take your clothes off and get in', he joked. She laughed at this. They looked at each other in the large mirror on the wall opposite the bath and she dropped her gaze for a moment.

Then, ' I'm glad you like my house, Daniel', she said gravely,looking at his image, ' I put a lot of myself into it in the last two years and a lot of energy into having it just the way I want it'.

She turned away before he could think of a response and he followed her into the hall-way. She remained with her back to him, her hand on the door handle of the room opposite.

'Daniel', she said - he noted a strange new tone in her voice -'would you wait a moment, there's something... I... need... ' her voice tailed off, then came again, ' You could wait in my work-room.' She quickly entered the room and shut the door behind her. Puzzled, he walked down the hall and went to look again at her paintings.

He was examining an art book from the small corner bookcase when she called his name. He made his way back along the hall. It was the whiff of incense that alerted him to what he would find when he entered the room.

It was just as he had suggested in his e-mails in that long period of communication following her response to his Internet ad.

The dark curtain was drawn so that the only light in the small room was from the candles placed on what little furniture there was, and the tiny lamps with their wicks floating in glass containers, full of scented oils. The large mirrors which formed the doors of the wall-length wardrobe reflected all of them so that the room gleamed and flickered with light.

She stood behind the single bed set in the middle of the room. he noted that the bed itself stood on wooden blocks. he smiled inwardly, 'Thirty inches off the floor,just as I requested'.

Mrs Fenwick turned to a small table at her side and immediately the room was filled with the tinkling of bells and the lovely heart-touching sound of an Irish harp.

'I wanted you to see it, Daniel'. She stood facing him now, the bed between them ' Is it how it should be?'

He stepped further into the room and placed his hands on the large coloured bath-towel that covered the mattress. They faced each other the bed between them.

'It's quite quite perfect' he said gravely, 'absolutely right'.

She did not move, nor did she smile. But he could see the pulse in her neck and the rise and fall of her chest beneath her dress and he knew something of what was in her head.

'Celia', he spoke very quietly, yet very distinctly,' I 'm not being pushy. No way. But If you want to change your mind, I'd be very very pleased. I've all the time in the world. I'm going down the hall to get my coat and case... '

He held up his hand palm out towards her as she started to say something,

'Hear me out, Celia. If you want to go ahead after all, all you need do is close this door behind me. If I see it's closed, I'll go and change in your bathroom. I'll leave you plenty of time in here to get changed before I come back. Just cover yourself with the other towel when you're ready. I've got everything I need in my case... But If it's not to be, then I can only say thank you - for a really lovely time. You are a lovely person, Celia. It has been a joy to meet you. 'Bye for now.'

He turned, paused, feeling her eyes on his back. 'End on a positive! End on a positive! ' he urged himself.

'Remember the pillows, he said, ' one for your head and one under your tummy'.

Without a backward glance he stepped into the hall, leaving the door half open and turning forced himself to walk slowly, praying that he would hear the door close. There was no sound. He picked up the bag and took three more steps to the hall-stand. He reached for his raincoat. All he could hear was the beating of his heart. He lifted the coat and turned to face back down the hall.

The room door was shut!

His heart skipped a beat and he rehung the coat and his jacket and tiptoed back down the hall. The door was definitely closed.

Trying not to hurry, he crept past and entered the bathroom.

Daniel stood naked and surveyed himself in the large bathroom mirror. At 5'11 and 160 pounds, he was in excellent shape.The rich brown-tanned skin and the absence of body hair accentuated the rippling abs and pecs and the black bush around his thick uncircumcised penis. Daniel knew that at 7 inches hard, his was not the big organ that writers of erotic fiction create for their male subjects but he knew that he was not small and that his member was thick... and effective. Even now hanging limp it looked good. He remebered Denise's nickname for him given on their honeymoon; ' I'm going to call you Lovely Cock', she had laughed, and she had taken him into her mouth

He pulled on the black boxers and stepped into the trousers. He liked the feel of silk on his skin. He pulled the drawstring tight and put on the little waist coat with its single fastener. It had the effect of showing off a little of his flat belly as he moved while the deep Vee above the fastener gave a hint of the muscled chest. Daniel picked up his small tray, removed his oil from the wash-basin where it had stood in hot water while he changed. The oil was his own creation: a mixture of almond oil and aromatherapy musk which he had spent ages experimenting with. He reentered the hall.

Her olive-skinned body gleamed in the candle-lit room. She lay on her tummy, a big white bath towel draped over her buttocks. Her pillowed head was turned away from him as he approached but he knew she was watching him in the mirror. He arranged his things, moving with a slow, silent, feline-like grace now that he was in the room with her. There was only the faintest sound of her breathing, and the tinkling taped music.

He stood facing the couch, her head to his left, her feet to his right, the edge of the mattress just at his genitals as he reached out and slowly lowered his hands, palm downward, until they just rested on her back; his left hand between her shoulder blades, the right hand just at the the base of her spine at the point where the swell of her buttocks started.

For a full minute he stood without moving, his hands pressing lightly on her warm supine body.

He began :

'I want you to breathe in through your nose as I say it,... In through your nose... Don't force it, just nice and deep and easy, into your tummy', he paused, hearing and feeling her breathe. 'And out through your mouth'. Gradually, as he said the words in his slow quiet voice, her breathing adopted a rhythm, and he went on with the relaxation exercise. In a slow measured tone he instructed her, moving her awareness from her toes up through her body and head, telling her that all her weight was borne by the couch.

'The room is full of light', he spoke clearly yet still with that dreamy warmth in his voice, 'and as you breathe in, I want you to breathe in light... and breathe out tension' He matched the words to the rhythm of her breathing: 'Breathe in light... and breathe out tension... '.

... until he knew she was completely at peace.

He stood perfectly still, centring himself. The little finger of her left hand was just touching the black silk of his trousers but she seemed oblivious of it. He spoke very softly,

' I won't say much from now. All I say will be through my hands. If you want to talk, please do so. If you want to grunt or yell', he felt a little tremor of amusement pass through her form, 'or laugh or cry, feel free. If I do anything you don't like, or if there is something that you are really enjoying, give me some feedback. o.k.?'

She murmured inaudibly into the pillow.

Moving as little as possible round the couch, he adjusted her arms so that they lay alongside her body. Finally he pulled her feet and legs downwards and a little apart, to break any remaining tension.

Daniel then stood at a level with her hips and folded the towel along her back, exposing it to a point where the cleft of her buttocks was just visible. He poured the aromatic oil into the little container, dipped his fingers and rubbed the oil into the palms of his hands. With long flowing effleurage strokes he began to massage her back, upwards from her waist to her shoulders and neck, using a gentle firm pressure. There was no sense of haste, no urgency in him now, as his oiled hands slid over her soft skin.

Kneading and rolling, using fingertips and knuckles and palms, he worked on her back enjoying the response of her ever-relaxing body as she settled deeper into the mattress and gave an occasional great sigh as she exhaled tension. She was getting into it.

He moved round to the top of the couch, pulling his little stand with its oils with him, while his free hand kept contact with her back. Now he leaned over and using the same long flowing strokes, massaged downwards from her neck and shoulders along the sides of her spine till his finger tips edged below the folded towel and his oiled palms glided outward over the curves of her buttocks. Then they slid up her sides, over her long sloping muscles, fingers grazing the outer swell of her breasts before sweeping up to their starting point between her shoulder-blades. As he bent forward on the second of these downward strokes he felt the top of her head press on his genitals through the silk trousers. It registered in his mind that she too would be aware of this but he remained totally focussed on the massage. On the next downward stroke he pressed a little more firmly into her soft yielding buttocks and as his fingers slipped under the edge of the towel, it slid further off her bottom, exposing the twin globes of her bum. He flattened his hand and gently massaged the exquisitely soft flesh in slow circular movements, never losing contact with her bottom.

Celia gave a soft moan of pleasure and turned her head to breathe on the other side. The movement of her head against his genitals as she turned beneath his outstretched upper torso, sent a warm heat through his groin and he straightened slowly, drawing his oiled hands upward till his finger tips rested lightly on the outsides of her breasts, flattened against the couch. For nearly a minute he stood there, motionless, centring himself again, listening to her breathing, allowing the very slightest tremors to transfer from his finger ends to the soft warmth of her breasts. Again she sighed and mewed, pushing her head into him ever so little. She was enjoying this.

'It's warm', he said. They were the first words he had spoken for many minutes.

'Mmmm', she purred, 'it's lovely... lovely', she turned her head - and he knew she was aware of and could feel his cock as her head pressed against the silk trousers. She gazed at him in the mirror, her eyes opening and shutting lazily, then she turned and snuggled her nose into the softness of the towel-covered couch.

' It's lovely', she murmured into the pillow, 'It's good.'

With no suggestion of haste, he moved down the side of the table. slipping out of his waist-coat then pulling the drawstring on his bottoms so that the trousers slid to his feet. In almost the same movement, he pulled the towel back over her body and moved silently to the foot of the table. Once there, he stood, arms outstretched, his palms pressing slightly on her towel-covered calves while the soles of her feet made contact with the silk boxers covering his upper thighs. He made an adjustment to his stance so that his front thigh muscles pushed a little more firmly against her feet, their warmth penetrating the silk. He maintained that posture for some time. Now he took hold of her left ankle and lifted her foot a few inches off the couch, giving her leg a firm pull and shake before replacing it, so that now her instep just touched the outside of his thigh. He did the same with her other leg and, as he replaced her foot, he moved forward, so that he now stood between her feet. He bent forward and placed his hands on the backs of her legs behind her knees. He could feel her warmth through the towel and noted the increased rate and shallowness of her breathing.

'Breathe in through your nose... and out through your mouth... ', he intoned several times, until she was again quite relaxed. As the tension eased out, he felt her feet move, to press their inner sides against his thighs.

Very gently he ran his fingers down the outside of her towelled legs until they came to rest on the soft skin of her ankles and feet. In a slow caressing movement he began to massage her upper feet. She sighed deeply and he saw her body wriggle a little as she seemed to burrow its length into the couch.

Holding her left foot with his right hand, he moved round to the side of the couch then, pulling gently on her foot, he bent her limb so that it was at a vertical right angle to her upper leg, with her foot at a level with his head. He began to massage her calf with a firm kneading while at the same time allowing her lower leg and her foot to slide across his body and his face as he worked on them. He felt the edge of her hand graze against the hem of the silk boxer shorts and as he continued to massage her calf, her little finger drifted under the hem and touched the hairiness of his upper thigh. Little by little she allowed her hand to move until its back rested against his thigh with her little finger grazing his leg a little way up inside the boxers. Daniel moved a little and, making a fist, began to massage the sole of her foot with the knuckles of his fingers. His movement and the involuntary response she made to his contact with the ticklish sole brought her trailing fingers into touch with one of his heavy balls for a mere fraction of a second.

He gave a little laugh as he moved a little down the table,

' Tickly? Sorry'.

He continued to massage her foot as she squirmed a bit on the table against the tickling sensation, bringing her right arm up to rest her head on her forearm, while she gripped the couch edge with her right hand. Her left hand now hung over the couch, fingers trailing a few inches from his leg. He replaced her foot on the couch and moved to the other side where he began on her right lower leg.

As he lifted her foot and moved round to her side to begin the calf massage the towel rucked up on her plump upper thighs. At the same time Celia moved her arm from under her head to resume it's former position, stretched along her side, only now it lay on top of the towel. At the same time she brought her left fore-arm up under her head, turning to lie with her face towards him and the wardrobe mirrors. He began to massage her calf but this time he stood a few inches along the table, nearer to her head, so that as he moved, every now and again her hand, resting on the table, made contact with his flaccid penis. She did not remove her hand. Daniel allowed himself a little lapse of concentration and felt his member grow as her hand touched through the silk. Then he moved just a little so that her hand now rested on his thigh as he began to massage her upper foot. Much less hesitantly this time, her fingers explored the hairs of his thigh and her little finger crept under his shorts and, as he kneaded her foot, he felt her fingers touch and trace along one of his balls. He moved his hands back to her ankle totally focussed on the massage. Then he switched to the sole of her foot. She gave the slightest of jerks causing her hand to touch his now tumescent penis. He allowed a second to elapse, while her fingers remained in contact with the soft flaccid penis, before he moved and replaced her foot on the couch.