I was planning to polish the latest instalment in my Isobel narrative and shoehorn it into this week's Wicked Wednesday prompt then I saw that the prompt was "Ritual". I enjoy ritual whether involving sex or not but I am aware that it has also come to sustain the sexual relationship I have with my wife. I found myself thinking about how this had come about and wrote this immediately on rising (getting up not the other!) I haven't really written about my wife here before and I really need to consider why I am sharing this with strangers (even if it feels like some of you are becoming friends) but I'm not going to share it or at least not in this form with her?
Photo of the Lady herself taken by Old Mike
We met as teenagers and soon there was an urgent need to move on from heavy petting to proper fucking but when and how was driven by lust and circumstance. Later we fucked other people but always came back together. Through our twenties and now a proper “Couple” spontaneity was our watchword and subtlety largely absent unless you include the occasional photo session when we made our own version of the spreads found then in top shelf magazines (sadly none of the pictures survive).
Later we worked hard together to destroy the life we had built as we fucked less, spoke less and shouted more. The pressures from the world outside grew and, though then I couldn’t name it, stress became my companion playing its little tricks on us both.
The years apart allowed me do some learning about myself, about sex and about the relationships between people who fuck each other. I wrote about one part of that here. But the connection between us was never fully severed and it wasn't long before clandestine fucking during the hours of daylight was taking place.
Soon enough we were one again a publicly acknowledged “Couple” and then a “Married Couple” and our sex became more adventurous and experimental for a while. Our honeymoon in New York established the erotic power of even quite downmarket hotels. We worked together then – literally running a business for a couple of years – and survived. Spontaneous sex became less frequent but a the first iteration of our ritual sustained a us and for a while even enabled us to explore some mild kinks.
During our time apart we had become used to sleeping alone in double beds and though now married we continued to do so. Practically it made sense as our sleep patterns are different and it also allowed me to indulge in early morning fantasies while she slept on.
We were kinder to each other now too and provided mutual support through cancer, accidents, joint replacements, redundancies, family losses and sometimes even the need to cope with success. I knew my old acquaintance, stress, better though he had brought his best buddy, alcohol, to stay too. It became our everyday resort without ever becoming a “problem”. These last few months though I have learned that if you send both those little buggers packing your desire for sex is magically and sometimes rather problematically restored! Looking back I also realise just how many times we spurned a chance to fuck because we were "Too tired" in other words "half pissed by 8 pm".
And so it became our practice to arrange sex “dates” where without naming it we would play out our ritual. Sometimes work would mean we were apart for a few nights and carefully worded texts might lead to some serious fucking on my return. The night she collected me at the station wearing only stockings under her coat (I checked of course) still snuggles warmly in some alcove of my filthy mind. But when we entered the bedroom – always mine as her involved a platform bed 6 feet in the air – the ritual would commence.
And so on into our fifties and for her the menopause. It wasn’t the worst but it still took its toll and looking back I realise that our sexual performances while continuing to be ever less frequent also took on their near final ritual pattern at that point. Today we are in our sixties and that ritual is well rehearsed. It is important because we still find it hard to talk about our sexual needs and it allows us to to make love without extensive negotiations. Sometimes I think I should just accept that fucking at all in our mid sixties is something to be happy about but then I think how our teenage selves would have envied us having the time and opportunity to whatever we wanted when we wanted.
And so to the ritual itself. It begins by fixing a time and place and as the hour approaches I tidy the bedroom, arrange the music (usually Goldfrapp’s Supernature), prepare the candles, close the curtains, clean the toys and cock rings, lay out the lube, wipes and finally put my anal plug in the bathroom so I can nip out and slip it in at some point. We both shower and she opens a bottle of something sparkling. She has a good selection of play clothes which we add to from time to time. There is now a trade off between how they look and the practicalities of fucking however. The PVC cat suit can cause an almost instant erection but has to be removed before serious action can take place. The negotiations to replace it with a more adaptable rubber one are going about as well as those concerning Brexit as I find latex a stimulant while she finds it a turn off!
Usually stockings, heels and some flimsy underwear suffice though I am optimistic that a recently acquired leather dress is going to serve us well. And then we begin. We stand and face each other and I to stroke and probe and kiss her. I remove just enough of her clothing make her her cunt and nipples accessible. After a few minutes she moves to the bed, glass in hand, while I strip down to a jock strap.
I then join her and continue to explore her body, removing her heels, encouraging her to grasp the headboard, spreading her lips and beginning to take her to orgasm. Being a man I think I am quite skilled at this and mix it up with tongue, fingers and a variety of vibrators. Recently we have begun to use the Le Joue Mimi for clitoral stimulation - it seems to provide a very deep buzz that works a treat on her. I would happily lick her cunt and clitoris for a longer time but she has stopped shaving and has never been a great one for giving me feedback anyway. Oh how I wish I could arrange a conversation between her and Julia who recently gave me an absolute master class (or should that be mistress class?) in how to help a man work your clitoris with just lips and tongue all the way to orgasm.
Most times we get there and when it goes well her orgasms are impressive and nearly 50 years after the first time I still enjoy seeing her nipples grow hard and a red flush creep up her neck before she begins to spasm and thrash about. After a brief period of recovery we move to the final part of our ritual. I prepare my cock to be as hard as I can get it these days using cock rings and a plug that puts pressure on my prostate and add some lube before penetrating her.
This time while my cock is exploring her cunt, slowly pushing apart her lips before pressing deep inside is an absolutely critical time for our whole relationship. It is almost the only time we make eye contact and verbalise our love for each other as though we mean it rather than something said as part of everyday routine. These times are infrequent but I believe they sustain us as a couple who have been lovers on and off for nearly fifty years as well as being best friends for all that time.
It is rare that ejaculation takes place inside her vagina as this can take an awfully long time now so the ritual draws to a close with my cum being spread on her tits and stomach. There is always room for enhancement and one day I may take my courage in my hands and spill the spunk on her face then give her a lingering kiss before she has time to say “yuk”.
Yesterday I was made arrangements to meet up with Jade another one of my favourite escorts next week for some uninhibited sex play but thanks to Marie’s prompt I have been reminded that it has been too long since I took part in our own private ritual. I rather think I need to do something about that very soon - possibly even this very evening – but first I just need to bribe the 20 year old to go out for a few hours, not fulminate too much about politics over breakfast, remember to be supportive when she lags behind on the morning run and perhaps swap St. Vincent for Goldfrapp on the bedroom CD player....
"The Girls in their Summer Dresses" is a short story written by Irwin Shaw in 1939 that addresses a way some men behave and it is as fresh and relevant as when it was written 80 years ago. I wish I could write half as well but it served as the inspiration for this piece which had been half written for ages. Bridget's prompt is "Turns ons" - and it all came together because right now my response is simply "Girls In Their Summer Dresses"
For three days the city had grown warmer and that morning he rummaged through the wardrobe to find a linen jacket and a shirt that would have been overly bold for a man of his years most days but was acceptable when the sun shone this brightly. As he made his way to the Underground station, he couldn’t fail to notice the girls too had rummaged through their wardrobes and were wearing flimsy pieces of cotton that revealed long pale legs or last year's tops that were now just a little tight but very revealing.
The train was crowded and he tried hard not to stare at the legs and breasts on display. Some belonged to girls who were young enough to be his granddaughter and it would have been utterly inappropriate for him to give even a hint of appreciation. Others though were below faces of mature beauty, faces that betrayed the fact that they had witnessed some serious living. Here he felt he could allow his gaze linger just a little longer.
Once he would have looked for the prettiest young girl and smiled his special smile, the one that always seemed to elicit a smile in return. Sometimes that was all but once in a while it led to something more in the naive way it can when you are young. The older women brought back memories of a different time however. A time when it wasn’t the smile but the Saville Row suits and Rolex watches that made clear what sort of man he was and might lead the right woman to make the signs he was seeking. A shy smile and a slight opening of the legs and as she moved to the exit an accidental touching of hands and a backward glance.
And once in a while that glance would ascertain that he was indeed following. Those were the women who understood instinctively how it was going to be and were on their knees as soon as the door closed but others took longer to accept that while he would be gentle and generous to them, first they must submit to him. Now it was only women in their fifties who gave him those small signs indicating their availability and try as he might they simply did not arouse him and so he had learned to avoid eye contact with them.
These days he found it better to pay for his deviant pleasures. The women were beautiful and knew exactly what was expected but they were kind too and told him what they both knew were sweet lies about his looks and performance. He did, however, believe that at least they appreciated the effort he made – no wandering nasal hairs or foul breath for him.
His reverie was interrupted by a young woman with face of quite extraordinary prettiness who stood up and approached him.
“Sir, please take my seat”
This was thing he feared most. He knew his looks had faded yet he believed he was still “interesting” but seemingly this morning his appearance had evoked only pity. Nevertheless he was nothing if not a gentleman, or so he liked to believe, and he demurred but she responded by saying that she was getting off soon.
“Do please have the seat, Sir, it is so hot this morning my legs are sticking to the seat!"
Without thinking he glanced down at those legs which were as pretty as her face. He thanked her and took the seat feeling conflicted in the extreme - both humiliated and turned on. Now he was seated it was hard not to look at the girl and he noticed that her arms were lightly tattooed and it also appeared that there was a hint of a larger one just emerging below the hem of her flowered dress.
He had not registered the facial piercing either when she offered him her seat but it did nothing to lessen her attractiveness - indeed it hinted that there might be other, hidden, treats to be explored. He looked up again and was surprised to realise that she was smiling down at him and he couldn’t stop himself smiling back despite feeling so old. The train was now slowing down and she moved towards the exit and he looked away and in doing so missed her backward glance
As the train began to move again, he realised she was standing on the platform looking at him through the train window and as their eyes met, she shrugged and smiled again but this time rather sadly and then turned away.
He was puzzled by this and for several moments struggled to make sense of it. Then it came to him and his heart sank and he silently cursed his own stupidity. No one under 50 ever calls someone “Sir” these days unless they are preparing to submit…
Newspaper headline "Middle East Deadline"
Jazz musicians are down on the breadline
Soho (needless to say)
I'm alone on your streets on a Friday evening
Soho (needless to say), Al Stewart
This week's prompt is "Unmentionable" and while some of the things Carla and I did might be unmentionable in polite company that isn't the link. The very fact that I had a joyous two hours with her is unmentionable to my friends, my family and in particular, my wife, which is a shame because it was a lot of fun but at least I can share it with you! PS - Isobel will be back next week
Picture of Carla James used with her permission
It felt good being back in Soho with sex on my mind but the nerves that usually reach a crescendo as the time of an appointment approaches were strangely absent. I was about to spend the afternoon playing out an extended scene with one of London's most accomplished role players yet I wasn't nervous! Had I known what the next two hours would involve I would have been but Carla's warmth had shone through our email exchanges as we worked out the roles we would play - I the "Master" and she the "Submissive" albeit one who knew what she wanted and how to get it only too well.
And then there were the masks! I have long harboured a fantasy about sex with a complete stranger while we are both masked - only when my cock is deep in her cunt are the masks removed and we see each other's faces for the first time. By the time I left that particular itch was going to be well and truly scratched.
The flat had a delightfully decadent feel while the four poster hinted of pleasures to come. When I emerged from the shower I found "Miss James" standing tall in heels, stockings and exquisite underwear - she looked me in the eye and handed me a collar and leash. I resisted the temptation to lay hands on her arse and spank it because she needed to be collared and then made to kneel before me so she could take my cock between her lips for the first but not the last time that afternoon.
I knew Carla could switch and I had given her free rein to take her character where she wanted but there was a palpable tension in the air when Miss James first asserted herself and made it clear that if I was to continue to enjoy her body I would need to let the alpha female out to play for a while. In that mood she was just a little frightening and I really shouldn't have encouraged her read my about the caning given to me by Julia because before long I understood what the four poster was really for as I was first tied to it then flogged.
But there is only so much a man can take and I reasserted myself making it clear that it was now time for her to present that marvellous rear for some attention. I let her know that if she behaved herself perhaps an orgasm might just be permissible too Unfortunately for her she allowed herself to come much too soon so now she too would feel the sting of the flogger and the paddle. Yet this punishment only served to cause her to demand yet again that I, despite being the master, should actually submit to her perverted desires.
However I have been called a gentleman on occasion and it is rude to deny a lady her wish to have a little fun so I felt obliged to do as I was told. Being half choked by Miss James's strap-on cock as it was rammed down my throat may not have been uppermost in my mind earlier while I wandered the streets of my old stomping ground but here I was on my knees learning what a face fuck feels like. When told to present my arse ready for a serious pegging I knew that I would have to make her regret this outrageous behaviour before we finished.
The creator of Miss James had told me during our planning that she enjoys giving A play and she now set about demonstrating just how skilled she is at it (and here I must thank Julia who has been mentoring me for some time - had this been my first time I fear I would have been overwhelmed by the extended fucking I had to take).
Nevertheless being penetrated so expertly and deeply was a challenge to my self control and I knew that if something wasn't done I would find my self repeating Miss James's error. So I forced myself to call a halt and once more I asserted my dominance of this extraordinary woman by insisted that it was now her turn to kneel and see just how far down her throat she could take a cock - quite a long way as it turned out!
Finally it was time for me to fuck this gorgeous, infuriating and alluring creature - and so I did. After a few deep thrusts into that lovely cunt she in turn mounted me and the moment I had been waiting for so long had arrived. As Carla looked down at me first she removed her mask revealing just how pretty that face is and then removed mine too although this revealed a somewhat craggier visage, of course.
In my fantasy at this point I not only kiss the beautiful stranger but ejaculate as I do so. I at least managed to kiss those sweet lips however as for the latter I am man of advanced years who had just undertaken an afternoon of extraordinarily vigorous sexual activity - well that's my excuse. Fortunately another of Carla's many virtues is patience so with more than a little manual assistance from her matters eventually reached a highly satisfactory if messy conclusion.
Now out of character we chatted for a while and I moaned about how Soho wasn't the same since Jimmy's closed down like I do while Carla told me about where she spends some of her private time and other matters which are no one's business but ours.
Carla James is a very special person - you quickly realise that if you met her in any circumstances her warmth and humour would draw you to her and being in her company would help make the world feel like a better place. I don't know what the path was that led her to become the exquisitely skilled professional she is today but for the time we were together she committed herself totally to making our private, intimate drama become a performance that would have merited a standing ovation had there been an audience to witness it.
I am a fortunate man to be able to occasionally enjoy such pleasures and I thank Carla for making it possible and I even have a sufficiently large ego to believe her when she said that she too had found it to be a rather "hot" afternoon.
Carla James web site can be found here - she is also a rather good advert for the Kinky London Escorts group (KLE)
An old man called Mike remembers sex in London before the internet, rants about the hypocrisy of today's society and shares some links to the best companions around today......