Chapter 1

Mabel Hanratty liked her new flat. It was on the third floor and all the apartments in the bloc were privately owned and a firm paid by the owners maintained the stairway. The living room and her own bedroom were large and airy, overlooking a large park, full of slim birch trees and well-cared-for flower beds, while the back-bedroom and kitchen looked across to, and down upon, a row of semi-detached villas with a patchwork of small gardens, separated from the communal garden of her apartment bloc by a stone wall, about eight feet in height.

Moreover it was good to know that over 400 miles now separated her from the drunken abusive waster who had been her husband and that her friend Agnes was only a few miles away. After only two weeks into her new abode Mabel felt very much at home. Her neighbours were quiet friendly people, all of them a few years older than her, but at 38 and recovering from a nasty divorce she wasn't looking for noisy parties and certainly not for drunken reveling. What she did miss though was sex.

Eddie Hanratty was a violent drunken slob but he had been a good fuck, with a vivid imagination, and possessed of sufficient anatomical endowment to keep Mabel very satisfied - on those occasions when he had been sober enough to perform. The trouble had been that such occasions had become fewer and fewer over the last five years - and when Mabel had found that Eddie had been squandering some of that sexual energy, to which she felt she had a monopoly claim, on the barmaid at one of his boozers, the end was reached.

'You should join one of those dating agencies. With your looks you'll soon get fixed up.' Thus Agnes had responded to Mabel's confession that she was missing sex. They had been having coffee earlier in the afternoon of a warm summer's day.

'Agnes', Mabel spoke with cold steel in her voice, 'believe me, the last thing I want is to be fixed up! I've had all the husbands I'll ever have! No! What I want', and her voice softened, ' is good uncomplicated sex, a couple of times a week, preferably in the afternoon, with a man, preferably a young man, who will disappear from my life as soon as I have had my wicked way with him —until the next time.'

Agnes laughed, 'Well there's no use lending you my Jimmy. First of all he's not young enough and secondly he can hardly manage sex with me more than once a fortnight, far less keep you happy!' And the two women had doubled up with mirth.

Mabel smiled at the memory and moved to the kitchen window. From there she looked down on the terraced houses. Yes! He was home. Swiftly she moved into the back bedroom.

It had been a month ago, when fixing her new curtains, that she had spotted the figure in one of the villas opposite. She had the clearest of views of the room and while she had reproved herself for peeping, her curiosity was aroused. Climbing down from her small stepladder she had pretended to work with the curtains while she observed the youth in his room.

She had guessed he must be about 15 and judging by his blazer and gray trousers, he had just returned from school. As she watched he opened the wardrobe and hung up his blazer, next he took of his tie and shirt to reveal a slim hairless torso. He turned to sit on the bed, facing the window.

Mabel, her heart beating faster, moved to one side of her window to better conceal herself behind the curtain. And picked up the monocular that she had bought her ex for a birthday. He had loved it and she had taken it without his knowledge.

Torn between guilt and curiosity she had focussed on the scene in the bedroom, with a voice in her head telling her, 'This is wrong'.

The boy first took off his shoes. Then he stood up and removed his trousers. Now wearing only light-blue boxers and socks, he went back to the wardrobe and hung his trousers on a hanger before bending down to place his shoes on its floor. Having done so he reached deep into the wardrobe and seemed to be searching for something. He straightened up and turned. In one hand he was holding a magazine.

Facing the window, the boy threw the magazine on to the bed and took off his boxers. For a second or so he stood there, naked, causing Mabel to catch her breath and experience a warm moist heat in her groin.

He stood about five feet ten or eleven inches in height with a shock of fair, almost blonde hair; he had relatively broad shoulders, tapering to a slim waist and prominent hip-bones. His belly was flat and muscled and his arms and legs long and quite thin, with thighs that gave the impression of a lad who was a runner. The hair between his thighs and on his lower belly - the only body hair he had - was slightly darker than that of his head. In the glimpse Mabel had of his cock she thought it seemed rather long but not unduly so and it certainly was not thin.

'Whereas the rest of him is... skinny!' she thought.

All of this imaged through Mabel's mind in that brief second before he threw himself on top of the bed and, lying on his back, opened the magazine.

Totally unaware that he was being observed and now lying full length and totally exposed on the bed, with one hand touching his member, he slowly turned the pages. As Mabel watched in fascination, his cock slowly extended from its sheath and moved up his thigh in a series of stops and starts, thickening and lengthening as it did so.

The boy stopped turning the pages and, folding the magazine so that he could hold it with one hand while looking at a particular page, now began slowly to stroke his cock, in a manner that soon had it standing erect from his belly and pointing at the ceiling. The strokes now became faster and he grasped his cock in his fist and pumped hard. The magazine dropped and the hand that held it now grabbed the discarded boxers. His head and shoulders came off the pillow and he covered the head of his cock with his boxers. His eyes were shut and Mabel could see his face contorting, mouth open, as he squirmed on the bed. Then his bottom lifted clear off the mattress and he seemed to stay there in a kind of suspension for just a second before he fell back and lay inert.

After a bit he stood up, his back to the window.

' Oh my! Oh! Wow!' Mabel gasped to herself, 'look at that beautiful bum.' She now became aware that she was very wet. Over in the other room, still with his back to her, the boy was wiping himself. He took the magazine and put it back in the wardrobe then went out through the bedroom door holding his boxers, crumpled in his hand

'He'll be having a shower' she thought.

That had been on a Tuesday afternoon just after 4 p.m. There had been no sign of him on the Wednesday but on Thursday much the same performance had taken place and he was there again on Friday. It seemed to be his routine: home from school, masturbation, shower, etc Later she was to discover that Wednesday was athletics training and Monday was swimming.

From the time of that first viewing, Mabel found herself in a confused state. Her head condemned her voyeurism as a perversion, particularly when the person she was spying upon was a boy young enough to be her son. But each night in bed, her mind filled with images of that skinny body and the hard young cock. And she would reach for her vibrator, then as she brought herself to the point of climax, it was the boy who was fucking her.

Mabel did not disclose this new thing in her life to Agnes, despite the latter's questioning her about what she perceived as a definite change of mood.

'You've signed up with a dating agency', her friend cried — this after having had emphatic denials that Mabel had met someone — ' you're waiting on the replies. I know that's it!'

Mabel shook her head. 'No', she said, 'it's your imagination. There's nothing going on. Honestly.'

She began to wish there were. She wondered if she should join a dating agency. Instead she found herself arranging to be in her back bedroom at four o'clock each Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. There were other times she saw the boy in his bedroom. But there was no sexual activity apart from those days, and at nights the curtains were always drawn.

It was on the Saturday of the fourth weekend that she passed him in the street just outside his house. She had just posted off the latest chapter of her new book and was on her way home when he came out of his door. She had taken to coming past his house several days back, kidding herself that it was a quicker and more pleasant walk back from town.

As they passed on the narrow pavement he stepped off to let her past. 'Thank you', she said and smiled. He smiled back and she had to fight the urge to reach out and touch him. He had the loveliest smile and the bluest of eyes.

All at once she realised that she was standing still on the pavement, as he stood in the roadway to allow her to pass with her shopping bags.

Then he spoke, 'Are you all right, Miss?' Concern was written all over his face.

His voice broke the spell and she recovered herself and the words tumbled out, 'Oh I'm sorry. I was dreaming for a moment. You look like someone I've seen before... '

'Why the hell did I say that?' she thought. Then, ' I think I must have been on autopilot. It's been a long walk from town.'

'Would you like me to help with your bags for you, Miss. I was just out for a walk anyway. I'll be passing where you stay. Let me take them.' He reached out to take the bags.

Mabel almost began to protest, then thought better of it. 'That's very gallant of you, young man. I didn't know that knights in shining armour still existed.' To her delight, he blushed. ' Here, you take the heavy one, I can manage the other.'

'How do you know where I stay?' She asked as they walked.

Her heart gave a little flutter as he blushed again. 'I... I... I've seen you sometimes when I've been passing, Miss.'

'My God', she thought, 'maybe he fancies me.'

An image of him naked, with his lovely cock, stiff as a poker up his belly, flashed through her head. Then out loud she said, 'Well I'm very flattered that such a handsome, polite, young man noticed me. And please don't call me Miss. I feel like a schoolteacher when you do. My name is Mabel. It's not the sexiest of names but you may call me that — unless you think I'm too old.'

'No Miss, not at all'. Then realising what he had said, he stammered, 'that is... I mean... '

Mabel laughed and grasped his elbow, ' Come on, before the rain starts. I know what you meant. And I'm glad you don't think I'm too old. Now let me hear you call me Mabel, just in case you meant something else. And tell me your name.'

She now felt in total control of the situation and was enjoying it. But she needed to take it slowly. And wait for an opening.

The boy had made no attempt to disengage from her and he had joined in her laughter. In fact he seemed to have recovered from his early embarrassment. 'My name is Graham. Graham Johnstone. And I don't think you're old at all... Mabel.'

'Why thank you, Graham. That is charming of you.' They had reached the entrance to the flats. 'If you can spare the time would you be a dear and carry my bag up the stairs for me?'

'Of course... Mabel', he said her name quite deliberately and she gave his arm a little squeeze in response.

'You are an absolute darling, Graham', she said this softly, her mouth only a couple of inches from his face, 'and I'm so lucky to have met you.' Then she let go of his arm and put her key in the lock.

Chapter 2

He had accepted her offer of coffee and had helped her first put away the contents of the bags. Over coffee and biscuits she had gradually drawn him out. His mother was a widow; he was an only child, good at school, keen on running, hoping to go to University. Yes, he had friends but no-one special. He was keen on astronomy...

It was at that point he had suddenly dried up and seemed embarrassed. Mabel immediately thought that she had the opening she was looking for. Instead of plunging straight in though, she told him that it was her turn to tell him a bit about her.