She was stunning, the girl, petite with cascading auburn hair, parted down the centre, that reached as far as her waist, entrancing teak eyes, a cute snub nose, dry chapped lips, and a delightful smattering of moles around her dimpled cheeks. She wasn’t wearing make-up. Natural beauties like her seldom did, a quality that Richard appreciated in his women. Just a knitted lemony yellow woollen sweater and slim-fit skinny jeans.
Her fingers bore no rings; he was relieved to find. She did wear thick silver earrings, and her skin was as pale as milk. Perfect, for him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She must have been at least half his age probably less. So? She made him feel youthful again, didn’t she? Made him relive his hectic teenage years, when he was virile, strong, handsome, and irresistible to girls.
The train left the terminal, jarring over points. The crowd of weary passengers occupying the aisle shifted, blocking his view, and he lost sight of her, consigning the girl to oblivion.
He did this for a reason, the man, dressed smartly in his dark business suit, open-necked crisp white shirt, silver cufflinks. Rode the train into the city, walked the streets, rode the train back to the coast then walked home. He had little else to do since he lost his job, and lost hope. The train stopped at a junction. Passengers alighted, some boarded. He tried to see the girl, but couldn’t, so, he closed his eyes and dreamed of fading sensual romances, fleeting illicit liaisons, sordid affairs. In fact, his lack of any real love in his life at all.
There were three of them in the bed, with him. Julie, Connie and Eve, all of them naked, save for their pants, clutching his body. Julie held his hand. Connie, the shortest girl with the fattest breasts, pressed herself against his naked body, frontways, and kissed him. Eve, naughtier, foxier than her teenage friends, curled her lean torso around his buttocks and stroked his cock. Julie complained that their mums would be wondering where they were – it was their suppertime – stood and dressed. Connie stopped kissing her boy on the lips, said she liked him, dressed, and left. Eve, though, was determined to stay for as long as she could and make the best of him.
The train pulled into the busy mainline station. Several passengers alighted. Richard just opened his eyes in time to catch a glimpse of the girl. She must have been shopping today. She was gripping three shiny carrier bags. Funny how he hadn’t noticed them before. She gave him a polite nod of the head, the slightest hint of a childish grin (he appreciated that), then looked out the window. The train set off, he closed his eyes, and resumed his dreams.
Lara arrived on court wearing a pristine tennis shirt and skirt, the pretty tortoiseshell hair slide her mother gave her when she was a little girl. He was slouched on the bench outside the chain-link fence in tattered navy flares, and a floppy tangerine vest which accentuated his hairy chest. He slid back the rusting bar to the gate and came on court. Lara went and stood at the net, po-faced. He was shocked by the change in her appearance. Her lips were split and sore, her face was pale, haggard and drawn, black bags clung to her almond eyes. ‘What happened, Lara?’ he said, casually strolling up to the net.
She bounced a ball on her racket and burst into tears. He brushed her soft cheeks with the back of his big, hairy hand and held her tight. She loved it when he did that.
‘Better?’ he asked.
‘Mm, much.’
She smiled for the first time that day.
‘How did the tests go?’
The smile disappeared.
‘The cancer has spread to my mother’s spine and organs,’ she said, dully.
He was stunned. He didn’t know what to say, at first. Struggling to retain any sense of self-composure. When he did speak, his voice was trembling, withered with concern for her. Lara looked so ill: ill with worry for her mother, exhausted trying to care for her.
‘God, I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Just be here for me, Richard, will you?’
He put his hands on her shoulders, gazed into her eyes, and gave her the loveliest smile.
‘I’ll always be here for you. Come on, let’s play tennis.’
He spun his wooden racket. It clattered to the court’s hard surface.
He called, ‘Rough or smooth, Champ?’
He made her laugh, ‘Smooth!’
He felt the cat-gut strings. ‘It’s rough. I serve first.’
Lara padded to the baseline, hitched up her skirt and scratched the itchy, red rash on her thigh. His heart went out to her. She was always in the wars. Sniffing, she leaned forward, twirled her racket, bit her bottom lip, and concentrated. Lara nearly did the splits trying to reach his first serve, an ace that landed in the far right-hand corner.
‘Oh, good shot!’ she cried, sportingly.
‘Fifteen- love!’
Her boyfriend hopped to his left. Before she could settle, he threw the ball high in the air, then slammed it out of reach.
‘Thirty-love!’
‘Oh, well done!’ she yelled, admiringly.
Another brutal ace followed, this time to her weak backhand, then another, that narrowly missed hitting her in the stomach.
‘Sorry, Lara, did I hit you?’
She shook her head.
‘My game, I think,’ he grinned at her, ‘Like to change ends?’
‘No, thanks. Me to serve!’
She bounced the ball, one, two, three times, glanced at him and smiled to herself. He always let her win. The former netball court was covered in moss and detritus. As she went to serve, she slipped and fell. He gasped in disbelief. He wanted to wrap her in a shroud of cotton wool.
‘Lara, you’re bleeding!’ he cried.
He threw down his racket, leapt the net, rushed to her side, kneeling to inspect her wound.
‘I’ll live,’ she sighed happily, ‘It’s only a graze, Richard.’
She leaned back on her elbows and watched him pick the sharp, embedded, grit out of her sore knee. Neither of them felt much like playing tennis anymore. Yearning intensely for one another, they left the court and walked hand-in-hand across the playing field, along a red earth path, until they reached their hidey-hole-in-the-hedge.
The sweethearts scrambled through a gap into a leafy glade. A lonely, secret, place where sunbeams danced on their faces. They lay in the lush, long grass watching a skylark beat its way across the cloudless sky. The sun was at its zenith. Its hot rays seared their skin. Richard took off his vest. Lara gently stroked his hairy chest.
‘I love you, Richard,’ she said, dreamily, ‘You’re my world.’
He told her he loved her too. His heart raced with excitement. Her eyes sparkled like stars on a clear summer night. She smirked mischievously, twirling a strand of her straggly blonde hair.
‘What would you like me to do?’ she murmured.
He really did love her.
‘Kiss me,’ he said.
She kissed him, a longing, loving kiss, then gazed into his sad eyes. He was all she had left in the world. A delicious, tingling sensation passed thru her body, her cheeks blushed roses.
‘Do you know what it means when we kiss like that?’ she asked.
He had no idea what it meant. He hadn’t learnt the facts of life.
‘No, what does it mean?’
‘It means we want to make love.’
He stared at her, mystified. ‘Make love?’
‘You know. It means we love each other so much, we want to make a baby.’
‘Make a baby?’ he questioned, his mind and body filled with wonder, ‘With you Lara?’
‘Mmmn…’
They listened to the blackbird singing in the swaying trees. Heard the rat-a-tat-a-tat of a distant woodpecker. A bee buzzed past their faces. A jet plane, bound for a destination they would never reach, flew high overhead, clouding the clear blue sky. Some children played on swings and roundabouts in the park, calling, laughing. They heard a baby’s cry. He found her secret place. His head swam with love. He shook the mystical cobwebs out of his head, tried to focus.
He loved her so much. He could never let her go. He wanted her to share his life, always, so he could care for her and protect her from harm.
She loved him. She wanted to have his baby. Their own little child. Someone she could nurture, cherish, and love for the rest of their lives. They walked hand-in-hand to his flat.
Lara was sitting astride him on the bed, dressed in her tennis shirt and skirt. He was naked. She leaned forward, and they kissed, penetratively, open-mouthed. He heard her murmur.
‘What would you like me to do?’
‘Take off your skirt and top,’ he said, eagerly.
Lara unclasped her tennis skirt, ripping if off, revealing her wet sports pants and sprouting tufts of teak pubic hair, leaving him breathless, clamouring for more. He felt himself swell under her crotch. She leered at his blushing face as she pulled her t-shirt off over her head, shaking out her tousled mane of blonde hair. She leaned forward and kissed penetratively, thrusting her tongue inside his mouth. They paused to breathe, panting. She asked him if he loved her. He told her he loved her more than life itself. They wanted to make love.
‘Would you like me to take off my bra?’
He gasped as Lara reached behind her back, unclipped her bra, and slowly uncupped her exquisite breasts, revealing her sensational dusky pink flat nipples smattered with tiny teatlets.
The lights flickered as the train entered a tunnel. Lara’s rosy face faded, then disappeared.
He was kneeling between Cathy’s plump thighs on the bed. Cathy was short and chubby, with puppy’s ears for breasts and a dense bush of curly black hair covering her love-hole. She extended her short arms, as if they were antennae reaching out for him, searching for his sex.
‘Take me, I’m all yours,’ she pleaded.
The train pulled into the airport station and nearly everybody got off, lugging their cases to the sliding doors. The doors slid shut, there was a brief announcement by the transport police asking passengers to remain vigilant at all times, report incidents by text on 60016, and see it, say it, sort it. Richard appreciated that, the catchy phrase neatly summed up his erratic sex life, to an extent. He’d certainly seen it, the girls had all said it, but they’d never quite managed to sort it. At the age of fifty-eight, time was running out. He stared up at the train destination indicator flashing station names past his eyes, bright orange lights. There were fifteen stations to go before the train reached his destination, an hour and a half left.
Richard loved this part of the journey best: the train was invariably empty after the airport. Most of the stations along the coastal stretch had short platforms. He had chosen well, selecting the seventh coach out of eight, ensuring his dream wouldn’t be interrupted. He smiled when he heard the voice, big and bluff, like it’s owner, saying, ‘Ticket please, Sir.’
He duly showed his mobile to the grey-haired inspector who scanned his ticket, thanked him, and moved on down the train. Fifteen minutes and three stops later, she passed him, giving him an encouraging smile which said, I look forward to seeing you next time you travel with Southern, have a good trip. He smiled a contented smile, said his silent thanks, and watched her pass through the sliding door, the door that led to their cubicle of secrets.
The girl was sitting on the opposite side of the train, three rows down. She smiled broadly at him, and raised her right hand, curling her index finger towards her mouth, ‘Come and join me, then.’
She was perfect for him. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was eighteen years old, less than a third of his age. So? She made him feel youthful, didn’t she? Made him relive his hectic teenage years, when he was virile, strong, handsome – and irresistible to girls.
He stuffed his phone inside his empty laptop case, and rushed across the aisle to join her. She patted the seat next to her, threw the carrier bags on the table, and turned to face him.
‘You brought the bags then, Josie?’ he said, reaching up to slide his laptop bag onto the overhead luggage rack, seating himself beside her. The train left the mainline, joined the coastal stretch, and briefly stopped at Hove.
‘As if I’d forget them,’ she held his hand, he felt all soft, warm and hairy, her older man. ‘Shall we?’
‘I think we should, don’t you?’
‘Mmmn, rather!’
Josie picked up the carrier bags and followed her man as far as the sliding door, he pressed a yellow knob, and the door slid open. The train lurched as it left the station, she smiled. He loved it when she smiled at him. She made him feel loved, real love not faked, warmth, all giving.
It came as no surprise to them when they found the cubicle empty. He pressed the open knob, and they stepped inside. Josie pressed the close knob then the lock knob. They embraced and kissed passionately. There was plenty of room, plenty of time left, a hook for jackets on the spotless cubicle wall, and, in true Southern tradition, the floor was clean, spotless. Josie wasn’t taking any chances. She handed the first carrier bag to Richard, and said, ‘For you, to keep your smart clothes clean.’
Josie shut the toilet seat, sat, and watched her man undress. His brogues he unlaced, took off and parked them on the dimpled floor in front of the door. No spring chicken, Richard slumped against the frosted window, lifting his feet in turn, and let her pull off his woollen socks. He handed them to her, so that she could store them in his shoes. She stood, knelt, then stuffed his socks inside his shoes. Her old man did, after all, suffer from a bad back after all those years slumped in front of a computer in the accounts office, billing clients. Richard took off his jacket and hung it on the hook – no point in getting it all creased up. Next he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his greying hairy chest, the slightest belly paunch.
Josie murmured her approval, encouraging him, ‘You’re still a fine figure of a man, then?’
‘I try to keep myself in shape.’
‘I can see that.’
He loved that about Josie: the stress she placed on certain words: them, rather, still, that, all said in her distinctive country accent, all said with such giving, freely, to enthuse him.
He took off his shirt, folded it neatly, and slid it inside the empty olive green carrier bag.
‘Pull down your trousers, let me have a good look at you,’ said Josie, goading him along.
She sat on the toilet watching him pull his trousers off, neatly fold them in half, and slip them in the bag. He blushed, conscious of the huge bulge swelling inside his underpants.
‘And your pants,’ she said, enthusiastically, remaining calm, staying in control of her sex.
There was a security announcement asking passengers to remain vigilant and report any incidents by text to 60016, ‘See it. Say it. Sorted.’
Richard pulled down his y-fronts, and sprang out for her, sprang out in a way that he had never quite managed to spring out before, for any other girl. He left them in a damp heap, on the rubber floor.
‘Sorted!’ the smirking young girl cried, as she pulled her lemon sweater off over her head.
He stood there, naked, fully erect, blushing from head-to-toe, before her – her older man.
‘Close your eyes, Richard,’ Josie said, mischievously, ‘While I get myself ready for you.’
He closed his eyes, and heard a rustling noise: the girl, drawing surprises out of her bag? Felt something soft and fluffy kiss his toes. Josie told him to lie on the towel with his eyes shut. He smiled. He did exactly as he was told. She pulled off her slim fit skinny jeans, placed them along with her jumper in her shiny neon red carrier bag and changed, then…
Josie was sitting astride him on the towel, dressed in her tennis shirt and skirt. She leaned forwards, and they kissed, penetratively, open-mouthed. He heard her murmuring, sexily, ‘What would you like me to do?’
‘Take off your skirt and top.’
Josie unclasped her tennis skirt, ripping if off, revealing her wet sports pants and sprouting tufts of pubic hair, leaving him breathless and clamouring for more. He felt himself swell under her crotch. She leered at his blushing face as she pulled her t-shirt off over her head, shaking out her tousled mane of auburn hair. She leaned forward and kissed penetratively, thrusting her tongue inside his mouth. They paused to breathe, panting. She asked him if he loved her. He told her he loved her more than life itself. Josie felt like making love.
She whispered seductively in his ear, ‘Would you like me to take off my bra for you?’
He gasped as she reached behind her back, unclasped her bra, uncupped her exquisite breasts, and revealed her sensational dusky, pink, flat nipples, smattered with tiny teatlets. She climbed off of him and lay on the towel by his side. His heart pumping madly at the thrill of her, he heard her softly murmur, a kitten’s purr, a sexy Josie kitten’s purr of love.
‘Roll on your side, that’s it!’
She pressed her breasts against his nude body frontways and kissed him. Josie, naughtier, foxier, than all his other girlfriends, curled her torso round his buttocks, stroking his cock until he was fit to burst. Josie felt like making love.
She told him, ‘Take me, I’m all yours!’
He knelt between her slender thighs. Josie was shaven, bald, had ample breasts, beautiful auburn hair that flowed as far as her waist. She extended her pale arms, reaching for him, searching for his sex, gasping as he slid his rigid shaft inside her love-hole, she loved him.
The train would soon arrive at his station. He sat on the seat and watched Josie dress, then quickly pulled on all his clothes. The train slowed. They just had time for one last kiss, a satisfying hug, a close, loving embrace that said, I really love you, while the train stopped.
His beautifully young, vibrant, loving, all giving, girl pressed the open knob. Standing in the doorway, Josie turned to face him.
She said the glorious words he’d always longed to hear.
‘Same time next week, Richard?’
