Chapter 1: A true story

Why am I writing these sordid episodes of my disgracefully sneaky pervy life? I have been through life’s mill in terms of occupation, not university, sales and management. My body is fucked now where I used to be very sporty. Scaffolding I call it in both lower limbs due to fractures from a traumatic incident, means I can’t run and since a stroke in 2014 my mind wanders in mysterious ways and I have lost a lot of balance. But I am alive and want to talk as always.

As far as I can make sense of it all, recent stuff has alerted me back to sexual thoughts at a time when I rarely look at porno or even ogle a tasty girl and this is very recent and I am over 80 years of age, but I became aware of how sensitive my nipples are. I can’t remember being switched on to the reaction in the charming little buds that flowered on my quite ordinary chest, but I think it was a cold night arriving home and my wife of over 50 years Clare dashing upstairs to change into winter warm clothing, leaving me instructions to bang the heating up.

At the point of raising my arm to the thermostat, my shirt rubbed my nipples and with one hand fumbling the dial, my other hand fondled my breast and then sneaking under my shirt finding the sharp stub alert and beckoning. The main and relatively new curiosity about my nipples has been their firmness when cold. I now attribute that to coming indoors from the frosty night. They feel massive because of the sad state of my fingers, until I see them in a mirror and remind myself they’re normal. I have seen amateur porno videos, featuring women with nipples as big as their finger tips, so mine are nowhere near. Without a sexual stimulant, say just sat chatting in a pub with arms crossed, my hands will brush on my nipples and sometimes I will play with them discreetly under suitable clothing. To try and formulate some sort of continuous pleasure when private and alone I did try home made clamps, all too painful - although there will be a type with not too much pain as they seem to be in use but I have not bothered to seek them out and they are expensive for something I am not going to use long term. Ice cubes - OK but not a huge thrill or sensation.

Luckily, in an ironic way, due to a major traumatic incident in 2013 I have no feelings in the tips of several fingers so it is like someone else fingering me so I think of Emma, more about her later, Sophie Loren, a long term pin-up and a now ancient TV presenter like Judith Chalmers who I always lusted after. The same fingers are always cold because of nerve damage and the sensation is electric. I use an extremely light touch, firstly on the tips and then round them and gradually moving out to circle them, moving my fingers back to the stubs and back again. The areolae tend to crinkle and reduce in diameter but don’t seem all that extra sensitive. Also my nipples feel like they are half and inch wide and deep, because of the dearth of sensitivity. Pressing on the tips firmly creates a slight variation and in the way I have always done through my life time, impatiently, rushing on to the next big thrill, I finally nip and roll both stubs really hard. At that point, seemingly to lose interest I cease activities on them and go to sleep. After prostate surgery, the cancer resurfaced and I took hormone pills for a while until all tests became normal, but they made fucking tits grow. This was very disturbing and I refused to go to a leisure centre for a swim. The doctor said the tissue could be removed but I decided against more knife cuts and live with it and swim regularly now. My tits are not big but they do protrude but are not any more sensitive as I hoped when the nipple interest grew. I have shaved the hairs round them for closer sensations but that hasn’t achieved any more than before. Clare hasn’t spotted my temporary nude nipples either – shows how much interest she has now. Over the years and it’s difficult to remember how it started, I have been curious about everything female in terms of clothing, underwear, their bodies and sexual issues from an early age. These days transgender issues are frequent but I never had any doubt about my make-up. I do recall occasionally buying a copy of Spick and Span, what was then in the late 40s considered a top shelf magazine and now and then if the opportunity arose surreptitiously taking a copy too. The publication was totally black and white photos and rarely illustrated full nudity and always the pubic hair was airbrushed out.

It did feature a lot of up skirt views, the models would display their stocking tops and suspenders – Eeeee! Those were the days. Maybe it was the sight of nylon stockings and suspender belts that triggered my later addiction – up skirts. I think what the magazine did do was to form me into a tit man rather than an arse/leg man, hence my continued fascination with breasts of all colours and ages. Ironically I have been very lucky that Clare, who has what are known as cup cakes, very small boobies ( god knows why I picked her out ) has two lifelong friends, our age now of course but still large in our life and their breasts large in my interest. I will get to them later.

Clare’s was the first pussy I ever saw, we married in the 60s, real porn wasn’t easily gettable in my formative years in the 40/50s, Spick and Span magazines with airbrushed crotches and that was it. Then I found US naturist magazines but they were initially on subscription, not over the counter and then one or two back street book shops made second hand versions of them available and I bought a few now and then. They were a complete revelation to me and I devoured details in the photos like size of cunt lips, hairy minges, tits of course and mature and elderly ladies baring all. Clare’s full on fanny has many folds and creases, a considerable overhang and thick, dark, highly textured flaps from which protruded a sumptuous full inch outside before I got my hands and mouth on it. It is gloriously hairy and she has never shaved it since I told her I loved it. I adored the whole and initially, until I started to play away from home, only genitalia accessible and still do and prefer them in porno stuff. I remember when we talked about it she stated she thought there was something wrong with it when growing up. I didn’t find out if she discussed it with her friends (very unlikely in those days and knowing her friends even now) or asked her doctor and definitely not her dragon ( her description ) mum. Having viewed, played, studied, sucked, chewed, photographed, drawn and penetrated many fannies in real situations plus countless porn, I reckon I have seen the lot and always prefer big, fat, juicy, meaty, hairy ones. This is a point I should hate myself and admit to spying on those really charming, sometimes irritating big titted ladies referred to earlier, but that’s life, I’m a slimy pervert and there is a common denominator – guess what ... enormous boobs.

One of them Andi, the farmers wife with her strong features, ice coloured short crisp hair, robust but firm figure, slim legs, sharp tongue and enormous tits was a wonderful early intro for me in terms of closeness in her presence and pleasing views. I can remember seeing her in the street over 50 year back, she worked with Clare before I knew either of them, striding purposely, her bosom jutting, not bouncing like the prow of a galleon. She looked like a ship in full sail. I mused that her brassiere would be a colossal structure to hold those massive jugs I would ogle them as she passed, getting a steely eye in return, not knowing I would one day see her in close friendship and topless. I gave her a nickname Torpedo Tits, which I later revealed to her, Clare and later Ged. I grew to be pals with her husband Ged, his tight fistedness - OK with me, but ended their marriage after two kids. In those day I would go rough shooting with him on one of his family’s big dairy farms ( that was the annoying thing about Ged, he was loaded, why his long pockets? But maybe that’s how the family got rich ) we would kill vermin like pigeons, squirrels, rabbits and such.

I had to return to the car and leave early for an appointment, so I left Ged in the copse and returned to my car to get a bag. I was pretty dirty and needed not only to wash up, but to change my clothes and boots. Their ancient listed farmhouse door was never locked and I had access thinking Andi was out. Her car wasn’t there and Ged’s was in its usual place. It was a big rambling place so I by-passed the kitchen and went directly to the adjacent utility/boot room but first I packed the shotgun in the gun cupboard, Ged had offered to clean it for me...

I washed my hands having offloaded my boots and corduroy trousers and stood in my underpants, drying and then I heard noises in the kitchen. Puzzled, I stepped to the just open door and through the hall I could see straight into the kitchen. It was fucking glorious. Andi on her knees, her sensible trousers covered her bounteous bum but she had for some reason decided to do her housework topless and her udders, no other acronym as a farmer’s wife, for those mighty orbs would suit them, hanging and swaying, her nipples nigh on scraping the old cold slabs on the floor. As she scrubbed, which was one of the reasons that finally ended the marriage, Ged wouldn’t pay for a house maid, Andi worked hard on what little grime there was, but that was her upbringing.

Pale, pendulous orbs with very erect nipples swayed and clashed each other as Andi scrubbed and I stood silently, holding my breath, mesmerised two rooms away until she shuffled on her knees out of sight. I had been amazed she hadn’t kept her clothes, or at least her brassiere, on to keep the weight in harness. I dressed, sorted my bag, making my decision to enter the utility room making a noise at the same time go into the kitchen and then see what happened.

Did I fancy a fuck? Is the Pope a Catholic? but my appointment was really too important so I would have to chance another encounter with Andi if she succumbed to my charm. Barging into the kitchen startled the farmer’s wife dramatically. She knelt up and flung her arms over her tits, simultaneously knocking the bucket of water over, hiding her nipples but a lot of flesh was still visible, her eyes wide in surprise, her jaw down until she softened slightly, her shoulders lowering and spoke. “Gawd, you frightened me D. Where’s Ged? What you here for? Oh fuck... , “ the frantic questions rolled out and stopped as she saw the wet floor, then calmly proceeded to wipe it dry, while one hand tried to contain the bulbous hang of her bags. “I am sorry Andi, you surprised me too. I have to go early, he’s still shooting and I thought you were out.” “That’s what comes of having an open house, but it’s the first time anyone’s come in like that,” she answered getting up to her knees, one hand on a chair for support, the other arm still failing to shield my view. “Must be more careful.”

Andi must have noticed my slight smile as I absorbed how white and bounteous they were with a network of pale blue veins coursing them. “You’ve seen tits before haven’t you?” she challenged sharply with a giggle raising her arm to augment the screening. “ Oh gawd I am sorry D, I’ll find my stuff.” “No need to be sorry and apologise Andy love. My mistake really, should have shouted when I came in but I thought you had gone out in the car.” “Harry,” I knew that was her brother-in-law at the garage. “Came to take it and work on the clutch, so I got on with the housework. Gawd if he’d walked in like you did and he does, with my tits out, gawd that would have been awkward. It’s a bit differe...” “Bit different ‘cos it’s me Andi? I don’t think so, you’re just a good mate for Clare. That doesn’t mean I have free access to seeing you ... well like this,” I gestured at her heaving scarecely hidden bosom. “ It is nice though,” I giggled, turning to leave and ease her embarrassment.

“Oh you men, all the same, get on with you,” Andi retorted jovially swivelling towards the lounge, finally shouting, “Don’t tell Clare will you.” “Course not. I’ll let myself out then,” I called nearly at the back door, turning and getting a last view of her now free to swing and wobble jugs as she disappeared through the lounge door. I never did find out why she was scrubbing the floor topless. I could only put it down to the fact that it was extremely hot, we didn’t shoot much, most stuff would be in the shade and I knew Andi an ex-town girl suffered with a medical condition – hyper something. The right moment or occasion never got me to fuck Andi, but we had many a laugh about that surprise encounter.

The other dear friend of Clare’s is Cara, same age now and close from early teens I gather. To put it bluntly she is a real pain in the arse these days, having being controlled by Oliver her husband and become extremely nervous about anything. They were childless of choice. She can worry for the nation and she has always been concerned about her big bust Clare tells me. She has always hidden it under sturdy brassieres and never ever wears cleavage revealing clothes, always loose albeit expensive garments. On the beach which is the only, bar one, occasion when I have seen her anywhere near naked, her one piece ( forget bikinis or simple two piece) swimsuit was all enveloping, low square cut 40s style at the thigh and crotch, well trussed, formidable cups at the top.

I haven’t see a single chest tremor or wobble ever and we have holidayed with them many times. For instance her excessive worrying once surfaced on the M25 motorway south of London on our route to Dover to catch a ferry to the the Continent to go either skiing or birdwatching as a foursome. This wasn’t the first occasion she asked either, I am convinced Cara doesn’t like silence when with friends, always needs to chat. My wife and I are happy with our own company or silence Oliver was driving this time, we would take turns and use each others cars. Two ladies in the back seat, somewhere near Clackett Lane services. “Are you sure we are going the right way?” came the query from behind. For fucks sake I thought to myself, how many identical journeys have we made like this. I could write a book on her. Her hubby muttered a pleasant reply, scarcely disguising his annoyance. If Clare had asked I would have given my usual blunt and impatient response. There are many instances like that, but lets get back to Cara’s tits.

They stayed overnight with us after a typical beautiful dinner, Clare’s a damn wonderful cook and Oliver and Cara always reciprocated. Three bottles of wine were consumed and we’d had aperitifs beforehand. This was a long time after we’d met them and I was now into serious voyeur opportunities. We would all be in our mid 60s at a guess. I had the equipment. Why not see what Clare told me for myself even if the pair of bangers I wanted to see were not in the first flush of youth.

The cams were set in the guest room, one nestled among books on a shelf which would give a side on view if Cara washed or tarted herself at the wash basin, plus full frontal as the travel bags of all guests would be in the area in front of the camera. The other mini camera was lodged inside a vertical vent grille in the opposite wall, a foot and half above the covers and very close to the bed. That had taken some effort and working out to position it.

The following Sunday after a continental breakfast, they left and it took a lot of time clearing the mess of dinner and cooking, then Clare told me to vacuum the two rooms while she mopped and cleaned the kitchen floor, the machine taking care of the dishes etc. She went out for a training run on her usual circuit which normally took about one and half hours. I retrieved the cams and switched the computer on to view the results.

Oliver is a big bloke and initially Cara was behind him as he undressed and she was fussing with her stuff in bag. Finally he moved across the room and by then he was wearing big white Y fronts and pulling on a tee-shirt. Several glimpses of her flesh and un-robing, previously un-absorbing were now in full close view

What did come out of the scenes I had the pleasure of witnessing, was that our very good friends didn’t show each other, any visible signs of sex play or familiarity, certainly not when preparing for bed. More remarkably was that neither of them were naked or exposed at any time; clothing was removed without exposing her tits and fanny, nor his cock. It was like watching a clever stage act until I realised that they turned away at any time personal bits were to be revealed. Oliver was in bed and turned towards the far wall, so with a swift glance to the bed Cara carefully pulled off her pretty vest which had been under a blouse and then proceeded to unhitch her substantial brassiere.

Was this couple a throwback from the old days? I remember my mum told me and Clare that her and dad had never seen each other naked. Incredible. The view was so fucking good I could almost read the label and size of the plain white and quite formidable brassiere.

Very large, under slung breasts flopped out and I gazed at some very smooth, featureless nipples in barely distinguishable, neutral toned areolae with no blemishes, wrinkles or visible blebs. Hmm! Un-sucked by infants, possibly even by Oliver I mused. They were rare sightings for me after a lifetime of ogling tits. Her not quite fun’obags hung very low and only started blossomed out to their full roundness about half way down. From where they started to raise high on her chest, Cara’s breasts curved gently outwards for a length of three inches and then they curved even more outwards about another four inches where the areolae started on a luscious, flush surfaced, round arc until they gently swept under to an immense overhang crease of flesh. The crease they formed curved long and high on her side under her pits. I’ll bet she could hold several pencils under them, never mind a solitary pencil. The wobble was tremendous and she kept holding the irritating, to Cara balloons down. Oliver was completely oblivious to the magnificent display, still curled up facing the far wall.

Prior to another convivial gathering at our home which we anticipated to extend into the evening for a BBQ in the garden for a gang of pals and acquaintances, I approached a couple Linda and Malcolm and offered them the guest room on the basis they had the farthest to travel and several of us including them were going on to a function the following lunchtime. They lived some forty odd miles away from the rest of the crowd, both liked a drink and at the time I contacted them, luck again, hadn’t received any offers of a lift or staying over elsewhere. They accepted, I told Clare.

Malc, phoned two days before our party to check if they were still OK to stay. I was over the moon as they say - Linda although 4 months pregnant aged 24 has one hell of a figure, hence my intended, pervy choice. To add to that, she is extemely attractive, ginger hair with a slender shape. Damn good athlete too, plays tennis, squash and runs for a club near them. Clare never quizzed me on who I invited to stay over, I made a point of getting in first, they were all good fun, we knew them well and in some cases we had stayed at their homes previously.

The day we prepared for about 16 guests, the room was dressed and the cameras were primed as they had been for Cara and Oliver. The event passed as usual, loads of food and booze apart from preggers, sensible Linda and our guests retired a little before Clare and I as we only had one upstair bathroom, there being a down stair toilet. In bed, playing with my nipples I thought about the youngest couple who had stayed with us in the comfy attractive room and if they would attempt any sex in front of the cameras before sleeping. I looked forward to viewing the video.

It was two days before I got privacy when Clare went off to coffee with her pals. During Malc and Linda’s brief stay I had no chance to examine their travel bags and apart from a tight tee-shirt she wore over a denim knee length skirt at breakfast, I got no sample views of the pleasures I was sure awaited me. Her four month bulge was evident and there were lots of chat about their thrills at becoming parents the first time and of course a lot of laughs with C and I telling them what lay ahead, having had two kids of our own.