The Old Man's Tale

Drink and vanity have always been my two besetting sins; well vanity usually made worse by drink. Oh, and lechery but... I'll explain.

I'd been for a drink with my mate James one evening and as usual, after several pints of bitter, we had gone back to his place for a drop of scotch. Well, there I am, stretched out in a chair in front of the fire, single barrel malt in hand, when he tells me that he has a bit of a problem that I might be able to help him with. Ha - that's something new! It seems he has a business interest that is coming to fruition, but the agency handling the publicity is just not coming up with the goods. They're fairly local he tells me, having kept it that way so that he could keep an eye on it.

"Change them," I say.

"Too late now," he replies, "they've less than a fortnight to get it all together."

"So what do you want me to do?" I ask. But, of course, I've already worked it out.

What he wants me to do is go and stand over them and get what he wants done, he assures me that he has every confidence that I will get it just right. Manipulative old bastard. And I tell him so.

"You don't spend your life working for big corporations without learning a thing or two, especially about creatives," he tells me, grinning from ear to ear.

Creatives are basically artists and that is what I am. I started out in graphics, but, since being left on my own, I have been eking out an existence as a full time artist. Piss artist if I take this one on; but the vanity is already piqued.

So the following Monday, bright and early - God knows, I just hate that - I am talking to the partner in charge and feeling very much like a pork sausage at a bar mitzvah. I am feeling my way very gently, because he isn't a happy bunny. Neither would I be.

"How about showing me what has been done," I suggest, "I been briefed on what's required."

"I'll take you along, and introduce you," he says, "although what you can do at this stage, I really don't know."

Nice to start on a positive note, but what did I expect?

We go along a corridor and into a large office.

"This is Michelle," he introduces us. "She has had charge of the project and will show you everything. She's very experienced and has done a lot of excellent work."

I am stunned, not that you would notice, of course. I've had many years selling, plus some of the old amateur dramatics, and it all counts in the instantaneous recovery. If I am fazed, it doesn't show.

But nevertheless... I am introduced to the most gorgeous creature I can remember seeing in many decades of lechery. She is thirtyish, quite tall; with a slim almost boyish figure; she has a face that I feel I could paint and paint time after time set on a long neck. She has a pale complexion over a superb bone structure. Her auburn hair is pulled back and forms a mass of curls on the back of her head. That description doesn't do her justice, but neither would my painting. I have little doubt that she could launch several thousand ships. She is young enough to be my daughter. But she isn't.

Dream on old man and concentrate on work.

Well, she isn't going to make me very welcome either. We spend the rest of the morning going through all the stuff, and I can see what James means. Oh, it's all top quality work; it just doesn't quite fit the bill. Just a degree off. And I need time to think.

First a word with the partner to clear what I have in mind, to which he reluctantly agrees and I return.

"Lunch," I say, "I know a nice little place just out of town."

You might think that I had suggested attending a public hanging for all the enthusiasm she displays, but the job is important. So she comes along.

I fire up the tart cart, well ok, maybe that's putting it a bit strong after all I have had it several years and only paid two fifty for it, but it's black with leather and everything is electric; some of it even works. Anyway we leave town, and my little way out of town turns into twenty miles, and I am turning on as much charm as I dare. I want to get her away from her own environment, so that I have the best chance to get her on my side. Don't, for one minute get me wrong, all this is in the interests of the job, I did say this girl is young enough to be my daughter, and whilst I can dream, that is all it's going to be.

During lunch she begins to thaw, still not happy but the old magic (ho, ho) is starting to work. That and a couple of glasses of quite expensive wine, bear in mind that I am not paying, and James never drinks rubbish, so why should I? Oh, and the food is excellent.

"You've met James I presume?" I ask

"Oh yes, he seems like a nice guy," she replies, rather non-commitally.

"OK," I say, "we'll go and see him at home, walk the dogs, you'll get more of a feel for the guy, and don't worry, you're not expected back."

"Oh." Is all she says.

By the time we get back to town it's well past knocking off time and the thaw seems pretty well complete. James has helped to relax her, and tea in front of the fire is something that seems new to her, and she really enjoys it. The dogs like her too, but then they like me; so that's nothing to go by. We agree to start work at eight the next morning and get things on the right track. Unfortunately, I have still no idea what that track is, but I have all night to think about it.

So I get home and head for the pub.

The next morning I am there at eight, and ready for a brainstorming session. I have ideas, not too radical, it's too late for that, but they need knocking into shape. A word with the partner, who now seems quite enthusiastic (I have a suspicion that he had a phone call last night, but as long as the job gets done, I don't much give a monkey's) and we are under way.

At the end of the following week it's all done, all on time, James is ecstatic, and everyone at the agency is very happy.

So a good job jobbed, and shall we go for a celebration drink? Too right we will.

An hour or so later we all head off for our respective homes. As we leave Michelle asks me if I will give her a lift home because she had a problem with her car that morning. I am only too delighted to extend my stay in the company of a girl, who has become a friend for whom I have considerable respect. She really is very able, very clever, great company, and, oh yes, still gorgeous. I'd have thought that conversation with someone that much younger would be difficult, but it never seems to be.

When we arrive at her home she asks me in for another drink. Now, if I am honest, out around the back roads of the countryside at night I have been known to drive when I perhaps didn't ought to, but in town... I happily accept an invitation for coffee.

Home is an apartment that occupies the top floor of a large old house in a part of town which was once exclusive, and today is still desirable. It is partially in the roof, and largely open plan. It is a proper conversion, and judging by the space, and the furniture this young lady is very well set. It is all very tidy, a total contrast to the tip that I infest, but like me she has lots of pictures, some originals, and some are signed prints. None of mine but there you go. Actually most of my work is three dimensional, although some of it could hang on walls. Michelle puts the kettle on and fusses around with mugs and filters and things, whilst we chat about the pictures, and whatever. Then she disappears to the bathroom.

She returns a few minutes later, and finishes the coffee, whilst I lean against the kitchen units behind her.

Milk - yes, sugar - no, she turns with a mug in each hand and looks so kissable that I lean forward and do just that

Did I not mention her mouth? How very remiss of me. She has the most beautiful full lips, with a perfect cupids bow and they are clearly delineated without the need for the little lipstick she uses. She returns the kiss. I break off after a few moments because it really isn't fair to make her stand there with a mug in each hand - not fair, but it makes it very difficult for her to resist. She looks at me and smiles. She sets the coffee mugs back on the countertop, and we are immediately back into a major clinch. This seems to go on for ever, but after perhaps half an hour, half a lifetime, or possible only a couple of minutes, I scoop her up and carry her to the couch in the sitting area. I settle beside her, and as I put my arm back around her to continue the kiss, I brush my hand across her right breast. Through her blouse I can feel a very nice small firm breast without the benefit of a brassiere - funny I would have sworn she had one on earlier, I notice these things - and a little while later, who knows how long, I tease the hem of her blouse from the waist of her trousers and slide my hand up to encase these magical manifestations of femininity. With firm upstanding nipple, and just the right resilience this is something I could play with for hours. Well, a few minutes anyway, before we head further south.

A little later, and I have opened her blouse, and I am, after a moment or two, contemplating visual perfection, bestowing kisses to these objects of my great admiration and delight, and teasing her nipples with my tongue. I now decide that the time has come for my left hand to explore a little further. As my hand goes to her waist, she is hugging me tightly to her. To be honest it is somewhat close to a death grip. But; she hasn't stopped me; so I undo the button, and gently slide the zip down. I caress her tummy, and slide my fingers under the waistband of her knickers on my way down to heaven... s above what's this? Well I'm buggered - something that now takes on a distinct possibility - because what I have encountered is a cock, and just a little further, yes, there's the rest of the family jewels! Ho hum...

Like I said earlier, I never show when I am fazed, but this was a difficult one. I probably deserved an Oscar, but I swear I never flinched!

Now what? I was still in a vice like grip; I really wouldn't have thought that she was that strong, but she was beyond any shadow of doubt, scared stiff. This is not surprising because I have an idea what most fellows would be doing now. And it wouldn't be very nice. Now, although I say it myself, I have considerable experience of playing with willies, in fact I have been doing it all my life, well ever since my arms were long enough, so I decided that the best course of action was to gently play with it. I was sure that the reason why it was soft was due to fear, and if I could relax her then we would see where things went. After a minute or two the grip relaxed a little. I carried on, and hey presto, just as I thought, we had a little stiffy. Nothing to write home about in these circumstances, but stiff anyway.

I slowly prised myself away from her and raised up so that I could look at her. She was staring straight at me, tears rolling from those great green eyes. Goodness, I didn't mention those either did I? They're not really enormous, or in anyway out of proportion, but they are a prominent feature and yes, you've guessed it, they are gorgeous.

I leaned forward and kissed the tears on her cheeks. She closed her eyes. Then I kissed her eyes. All the while I kept gently playing down south.

I had some thinking to do. I decide against saying anything. What was there to say? Almost anything would be wrong. What I had been attracted to in the first place was purely visual. And that hadn't changed. What I fell for was a mind. And that certainly hadn't changed. What had changed was what I expected. I suppose you could say that it was dishonest not to inform me that my expectations were incorrect, but what had I expected? Whether it was love or infatuation, and anyway did I know the difference, the person was still the same. Tomorrow is another day, but tonight, carry on with what you started. Virgin territory for me, but I kept my left hand occupied with gently stroking her willie, kissed her eyes, her mouth and down past her breasts. They were still as beautiful as when I started. She tensed slightly when I kissed the end of her now rigid cock, and then I leaned forward until it hit my throat, slight gag and then I withdrew. Not so difficult, after all, women do it all the time (well according to other guys), and it can't be that difficult can it? I wriggled her trousers and knickers down and she kicked them off one foot.

Then I kissed her cock again. I reached up, and caressed her breasts and then settled on gently milking her nipples. This was not quite what I had intended doing originally, but then it wasn't so very different either. A very few minutes of this, and with a loud gasp she came. I swallowed. Well, it saves the carpet and it really doesn't taste that bad. A gentle clean up to the now wilting willie and then I worked my way up to the top again. She looked exhausted, and I suppose that her emotions must have been drained.

"You look ready for bed"

"Mmm..." She smiled and nodded. I scooped her up in my arms again, she kicked her trousers off completely and I carried her into the bedroom, turned back the blankets and laid her on the bed.

"Stay with me," she whispered.

I shucked my jumper and jeans and laid beside her. She cuddled in and fell asleep - just like a bloke really! Yet I was unable to think of her as anything but female. I tried to reconcile this anomaly but after a few minutes with no conclusion, I joined her in the arms of Morpheus.

It must have been some time later that I was awakened by a delightful sensation, caused by a warm mouth engulfing my rigid, and so far unsatisfied cock. Within moments it was no longer unsatisfied. After a few minutes cleaning up which were most enjoyable, the perpetrator of this delightful wake up call looked up and grinned.

"I hoped you would like that," she said.

"I do like a girl whose hopes are so easily satisfied," I replied

"I've never done that before," she said, as she crawled up the length of my body, and planted a kiss on my lips.

"Well, that makes two of us being fast learners then, you were certainly very good," I smiled. "And, I've never done that before either."

She snuggled down.

"You were very good too." She reached out and switched off the light.

Ho, hum. Well, what fella doesn't want compliments on his performance? Might be me actually, but right now...

We kissed again. By golly, but she did feel good, just that one little thing. Was it a problem? That would have to be sorted out in the light of day.

We both drifted off to sleep again.

The Maid's Tale

I was furious. I'd been working for this agency for several years, producing top quality work on a variety of projects, and in line for a directorship. This particular project had never seemed to go quite as smoothly as it should, but to have the client send in a no account nobody to 'put things on course' was just too much.

I was called in and told this just before lunch on Friday, which was, I later found out, about twelve hours before he knew. I was having lunch with one of the heads of department at the local art college whom I had known for some years. We often did this to compare notes on some of the students (I lecture in the evenings), and see if any of them might be suitable for a placement with us. When I arrived it must have been obvious that something was wrong, and after we greeted each other and got a drink, we sat down she asked what the problem was.

"Is it really that obvious?" I asked

"You look like thunder," she replied. "I was in two minds whether to ask, in case I got my head bitten off!"

We laughed and I proceeded to tell her all about it. She provided a sympathetic ear, and 'Oo'd' and 'Aah'd' in the right places, and in no time I started to relax. After all it couldn't be that bad.

After a while she asked me who this dreadful person was.

"Oh! Didn't I tell you," I asked.

"No, you seem to have made him out to be a sort of enforcer for the mob," She laughed. "I expect he'll turn up dressed in black and wearing shades."

So I told her his name.

"Didn't mean a thing to me, some sort of artist and writer," I said.

"I know him," she replied. "I taught him several years ago on an evening course. They were a brilliant group that year, sparked of one another, all older students, but they really worked hard, and produced good stuff. He was very clever, but always had an oblique angle on things. You should get on well with him."

"You have to be joking, of course," I said. "He's coming in to rip my work apart, and I am supposed to get on with him? Huh!"

Then we passed on to other business and lunch, and then as we were finishing...

"You know, I don't think he will rip your work apart," she said thoughtfully. "If I remember him rightly, he will be very pleasant and just add a little something, you'll see."

Yes, indeed I will, I thought.

And, on that note, we parted.

Monday morning I was at pains to look extra business-like and efficient. Adrian, who is one of my team and as gay as they get, looked up as I came in.

"Ooh my, you look good enough to eat," he giggled. "Are you going to seduce the monster or are you going to the block in style?

I told him to, umm, well, go and make love elsewhere, and stalked over to my desk.

"Not very ladylike, I must say." I heard him mutter.

I didn't feel very ladylike.

It must have been getting on for mid-morning when my boss came in. With him was the ogre himself, except... well she was wrong, he wasn't wearing shades. And he was only about average height; balding; had spectacles, and a beard. What hair there was, was short and curly, as was his beard. He was very broad shouldered with only a slight paunch, and could almost have passed for one of those archers on the Mary Rose, you know, built like brick outhouses.

He did a double take when he saw me; well recovered, I'll grant him, but a double take nonetheless. So the power dressing had scored; he gave me a very nice smile as he shook my hand.

"Call me Greg," he said.

If they weren't his own teeth he certainly had a good dentist. And, his hand was warm and firm, a big powerful hand and... if I wasn't careful I was going to like him. And, I just refused to do that.

We got down to work, and I showed him everything we had done, which took us pretty well to lunch time. I supposed I was going to have to take him to lunch, when he excused himself and left me. A few minutes later he returned, and said,

"All cleared, we'll go for lunch. I know this little place, just out of town where the food is simply wonderful."

Not a lot of choice then. I didn't get a say, and lunch would be on his ground not mine. I surmised that I was about to be softened up, tenderised before he decide to barbecue me. Right, just wait and see how tough I am.

We went out to the car park, and he led me to an elderly black thing, which was crouching in one of the visitor's spaces. I suppose it had central locking but I was quite sure that when he opened the door for me it had been left unlocked. Well, no one in their right mind would want to steal something like that!