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It was Cathy, my girlfriend, who found me the flat. When my old landlord died, and his son served notice on the tenants, I needed somewhere cheap, and available quickly. Of course, the ideal thing would have been to move in with Cathy. But she shared her parents’ old house in Bedford with her sister, and anyway, I’d tried commuting from there into London for a couple of weeks. The ‘BedPan line’ — Bedford to St Pancras — was legendary at the time as not so much a rail route, more a fiendish torture cunningly designed by the operator to drive unwary commuters insane. After two weeks of sweltering daily in a carriage packed like a sardine can while we waited an hour outside Mill Hill Broadway for the signals to change it was killing me, and I had to flee back to digs in good old London Town. It was for much the same reason that Cathy didn’t move in with me: she worked just north of Bedford and the commute would have been dreadful; plus the new place was tiny. So she just came down to see me at weekends, and we agreed she’d wait for a permanent move until just the right job came up in the capital. She applied for two or three, but unfortunately, for one reason or the other, they were never quite just the right job…

Anyway, my new place was in Plaistow, not ideal but as close to the centre as I could afford, and a straight bus or tube ride to my office. We’d hired a van to move my stuff, and as we shifted box after box up the narrow staircase of the converted terrace house the lady who lived downstairs stood at the front door to her apartment, watching us struggle and attempting to pass the time of day with us. Cathy and I exchanged pained grins — oh great, the obligatory Nosy Neighbour. I must admit, though, we were glad of her half an hour later when she tapped on my door and entered with a pot of tea and three cups on a tray. Both dripping with sweat and red-faced, neither of us had wanted to be the one who searched through my boxes to find the kettle or the ingredients for a nice cuppa. As she made herself at home I surreptitiously studied my new neighbour. In her late 60s I guessed, about the same age as my gran, stick thin apart from a generous bosom — it seemed the right word, somehow; nicely permed white hair, a face which had probably been very pretty once, now deeply lined and full of character, with an interesting twinkle in her eye. She introduced herself as Gertrude — Trudi to her chums. She was a real Cockney character, and it soon become clear she liked a good laugh. When Trudi left Cathy said “Thank God for that, I thought we’d never get rid of the old bag.” Personally I thought she was a sweet old duck; I could imagine far worse sorts to have as a neighbour.

A week or so after I’d moved in, on a Monday evening, I was sitting staring morosely into space, missing Cathy after her weekend sojourn to visit me. I think I was actually beginning to nod off when my doorbell rang. Rousing myself I went out into the hall and, on opening the door, saw Trudi climbing the last couple of steps from the front door of the house, where she’d pressed the button, to my flat. “Sorry love, I didn’t want to just be presumptuous and knock on your door. I know your nice young lady’s gone home and I wondered if, rather than sit on your own up here moping, you might like to come downstairs for a cuppa and a chinwag; get to know each other, so to speak.” I thanked her, lied that I was in the middle of cooking my dinner, and said I’d think about it. Ten minutes later I finished thinking. What the heck, she’d guessed right, I was moping, and after all, it wasn’t as if there was anything good on the telly…

She looked surprised when she opened her door to me. “Oh hello love, I didn’t really expect to see you again tonight — I thought that was just your polite way of telling me to bugger off. Come in, come in.” Feeling slightly guilty, I followed her into a cosy sitting room crowded with big, heavy furniture and dozens of china ornaments. As I sank deep into an old armchair she made me a cup of tea, rabbiting away to me through the open kitchen doorway. She then settled herself down in her own chair, as her marmalade cat leapt into her lap and made itself comfortable. I wasn’t quite sure if she realised what she’d said, or whether I was meant to laugh, when she gave me a wink and chuckled “I like to sit here of an evening stroking my old pussy.” It was a really interesting evening, as she told me about herself. She had spent nearly all her working life as a ‘clippie’ — a bus conductor, working out of the Upton Park garage just down the road. She had lived in her current home for more than 30 years, with her husband George, until he’d dropped dead of a heart attack three weeks short of his retirement. She had a daughter who was building a family in Australia, and ‘phoned her every couple of weeks, and a son who, last time she heard, was living with his family in the north of England. “I sent him a birthday card, but it was returned with ‘gone away’ written across it.” She added almost as an afterthought that that had been more than two years previously.

I really enjoyed chatting bahis firmaları with Trudi and lost track of time, not returning to my own flat until nearly midnight. At the weekend I tried to tell Cathy about it, but she wasn’t really interested. “God, what do you want to go sitting with that boring old cadaver for? And as for that pussy thing, it shows she’s either completely gaga or just a disgusting, crude old woman.” After that I actually spent a couple of nights a week visiting Trudi for a chat. I never mentioned it to Cathy again though.

Trudi rarely came up to my place; except for when Cathy visited it felt more like somewhere to sleep and eat than a home. Trudi’s stuffy little sitting room, on the other hand, had a lifetime of experiences in it, and I started feeling really comfortable there. She was a great raconteur too. She seemed to have an infinite number of stories about her old mates on the buses, the practical jokes they played on each other, their eccentricities, the scams they pulled over the years…I could imagine her publishing a memoir, like a number of elderly working girls in recent years who had led fascinating lives. I could just see her telling her tales to Terry Wogan or Jay Leno as they sat wiping tears of laughter from their eyes. I even asked if she’d let me tape some of her stories, but she just laughed “Don’t be silly love, who’d be interested in me?” One night we were sitting together on her sofa so she could go through a photo album, pointing things out to me as she talked. It was full of photos of juvenile holidays in Broadstairs, her pals at work and so on. She pointed out a very cocky looking bloke in a London transport uniform, his hair greased and combed into a teddy boy quiff. “That’s John – same name as you; he was my driver for a few years. There was one night, I had him and both his brothers, one after the other.” I stared at her in amazement, sure I must have misunderstood what she had said. She chuckled at the expression on my face. “Oh yes, we was all at it. The day I started on the buses they nicknamed me ‘gorgeous Gertie.’ After a few days they changed it to ‘flirty Gertie;’ then one night I spent a few hours in the repair shop with a couple of the lads, and after that I became ‘dirty Gertie.’

The funny stories continued to come after that, but they were increasingly interspersed with details of her sexual exploits, often equally amusing. To hear her talk the garage sounded like one big knocking shop, where they broke off to drive buses occasionally. It was at the same time startling, humorous and, in some strange way, actually disturbingly erotic to hear this seemingly genteel elderly lady talking so candidly about such an intimate part of her life. “Honestly dear, I had one of them up me from behind, a second one with his prick stuck in me gob, and the third one off to the side playing with himself while he waited for his turn.” Totally without prejudice, Trudi, or Gertie as her colleagues had known her, had fucked her way through the place paying no heed to race, colour, religion or gender. Her husband, whom it seemed she had loved very deeply, apparently never suspected a thing. “He was a lovely bloke my Georgie, but not very sexual, if you know what I mean.”

One night, a Monday after a weekend when Cathy hadn’t been able to visit me for some reason, Gertie told me a particularly involved story about her sexploits. She didn’t deliver this one in her usual rollicking, jokey style, but slowly and in a soft, reflective voice. It was really quite romantic in its own way, if that term can be applied to a 40-year old woman seducing a teenage virgin on the top deck of a London bus late at night. She was clearly remembering the incident as if it had happened yesterday, and her voice took on a dreamlike quality, the delivery slow, her tone rising and falling, almost hypnotic in its own way. As I closed my eyes I could really feel myself in the place of that lad, only a few years younger than I was now, excited yet at the same time terrified, anticipating pleasures as yet unknown. In my mind’s eye I could see the younger Gertie closing in on him, like a predator claiming her victim. I could actually feel her hand pressing against the front of his straining fly…

I opened my eyes with a start as I realised I really could feel Trudi’s hand pressing against the front of my fly, and my cock really was straining against it! As I stared in astonishment at her hand she curled her long thin fingers, squeezing the outline of my painfully stiff member. I glanced up and my eyes met hers, glinting with a sort of wicked cunning. Softly she murmured, “That’s an awfully big package for you to take all the way back upstairs with you love. Why don’t you let me look after it down here for you?” She hesitated for a moment to see if I was going to stop her and, seeing I wasn’t moving a muscle, was barely breathing, she unzipped me and pulled down the front of my briefs. I felt my freed cock spring out, and her cool fingers wrap confidently around it. Here eyes never leaving mine, she breathed, “Ooh, you’re Cathy’s a lucky girl Johnny. You’ve got kaçak iddaa a real whopper here.” Still holding my eyes with hers she began firmly rubbing her hand up and down my prick, pumping the foreskin. I closed my eyes and eased back on the sofa, my breathing deepening as she whispered “God, it’s years since I had my hands on one of these.” After two or three minutes I felt myself about to come, and she sensed it too. She dipped her head down and closed her lips over the tip of my cock. Her teeth pressed into me, and she tickled her tongue up the tip. It was that that finally finished me off, and I shot my load into her mouth. After a few seconds she sat up and gave me a tender kiss on the cheek. “Thank you sweetheart. I’m just going to get myself a drink of water now.” I have to be honest — the moment she disappeared I bolted, doing up my fly as I went, feeling a little dazed, and very conflicted about what had just happened.

The next day I left for work earlier than usual, and sat at my desk all day reflecting on what had happened with Trudi. I couldn’t believe that a woman three times my age had been able to get me going so easily. I mean, I liked her as a person, but…there was something else about her, that I couldn’t really define, something strangely alluring. I found I was getting a huge hard-on just thinking about her wanking me. It wasn’t until I was on my way home on the bus that I made my decision. I kept turning it over in my mind in my flat that evening, but at nine o’clock I made my way nervously down the stairs. I tapped lightly on Trudi’s door — perhaps subconsciously hoping she wouldn’t hear me — but within seconds she opened it, giving me a huge smile. “Hello sweetheart, I thought I might have scared you off after last night. Would you like to come in?” She saw I was taking in the fact that she was wearing a dressing gown and slippers. “Oh, it’s all right dear, I was just making meself comfortable. You come on in. We’ve got some unfinished business haven’t we — I never finished telling you my story.”

As I sat nervously on the sofa Trudi finished her story about the seduction of her teenage co-worker, and the brief but intense affair that followed, while she stood in the kitchen making us cups of cocoa. Then she joined me on the sofa, our bodies about six inches apart, and for a while we talked about other stuff, none of it even vaguely sexual. I was beginning to think maybe I’d misinterpreted the situation, and the previous night had been entirely a one-off, when she started talking about a holiday she and George had once taken to Southend. No sexual content at all, but as she talked, so casually it seemed completely normal, she reached over and started undoing my trouser belt. Instantly my prick sprang to rigid attention. My God, in two years of dating Cathy she had never produced anything like so quick a reaction in me. Continuing to talk about donkey rides along the beach and suchlike, almost as if her voice and her body were completely divorced, Trudi efficiently unzipped me, and as she tugged at my pants and trousers I, sitting watching in utter amazement, lifted up to allow her to pull them down below my knees. Then she said “Georgie bought me this lovely big ice cream cornet, and I swirled my tongue around it…”

As the words left her mouth she ducked down and took me in her mouth. She slid her lips down my shaft, licking her tongue back up to the tip then swirling it slowly back down to the base, round and round much as she’d licked that ice cream cornet. At the same time one hand cupped and slowly massaged my balls while with the other she placed a thumb and finger round the base of my cock and wanked it. Cathy hated doing this for me, and on the rare occasions she did, it was with quick efficiency, to get it over and done with. It seemed that to Trudi it was as much a pleasure to her as it was to me. She gave occasional low moans as she sucked on me, and the hand at the base of my prick stole away and into her knickers, and I saw finger movements under the material as she slowly frigged herself. That was fine — her hands on me were nice, but it was that incredible, mobile, teasing tongue, tracing up then swirling down, over and over, which, together with occasional sharp little nips form her teeth, were so excruciatingly wonderful, and had me pushing my hips forward to get even more of me into her mouth. I squeezed my eyes shut, enjoying this more than anything I could remember, and tried to keep it going for as long as I could. Eventually though, the sheer eroticism of it was too much, and I released a mouthful of spunk, which she swallowed. Even after I’d finished, though, she continued to suck me and frig herself for a full minute, to continue her own pleasure. Slowly, seemingly reluctantly, Trudi sat up and smiled at me. “I’m just going to get a drink of water, sweetheart — now you’re not going to run away this time are you?”

Still slightly stunned, I shook my head. When she returned she sat beside me again, put her arms around my neck and pressed her thin lips to mine. I was overcome by a surge of passion, the force of which kaçak bahis took me slightly by surprise, and, hugging her to me, I slid my tongue past her teeth, reaming her mouth with it, playing it around her own sweet, talented tongue. She made a slight squeak of surprise at that, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. As the kiss extended we slid down on the sofa until I was laying on top of her, my body between her legs, which reached around me, the soles of her bare feet rubbing my calves. I could feel my cock stiffening again and she felt it too, and started to wrap her hand around it. When I stopped her she pulled her head back and gave me a slightly quizzical look, tinged with disappointment: until I said “I want to go to bed with you.”

For some reason we both got strangely shy at that point. I stayed in the sitting room to strip while she disappeared into her bedroom. When I walked in a couple of minutes later Trudi was lying in an ancient double bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. I slipped in beside her and pulled her to me, kissing her deeply again. As my arms circled her I realised how thin she really was — apart from her big tits, which cushioned against my chest. My rapidly rising cock stroked against her sparsely-haired mons pubis and she rolled onto her back, taking me with her. I twitched my hips and I was inside Trudi’s warm, slack cunt. I started pumping her, slowly and gently, as she sighed and accommodated herself to me. After a few seconds she whispered, “That’s lovely; but I’m sure a big strong boy like you can put a bit more weight behind it than that.” I had tried to take account of her apparent frailty, but I needn’t have bothered. I gradually increased the speed and tempo of my strokes, and before long I was hammering my cock into her and Trudi was loving it. “Ooh, that’s better, a nice hard hump with a big long knob…ooh yes.”

On each stroke I pulled out right to the tip of my prick then slammed it back in with all my strength, feeling her pubic bone rubbing against it. Trudi giggled in anticipation each time I pulled back, and I started holding it there for a moment, circling my hips to make the tip twitch around inside her before sliding it back in to the hilt. She grabbed the cheeks of my arse and dug deep bony fingers into me, trying to increase the strength and depth of each of my thrusts. Having already come once I managed to make it last quite a while, but eventually I could feel I was going to burst inside her, and started making shorter, very fast strokes. Trudi understood and, seconds before I came, rammed a finger up my arse, swivelling it around in small circles. It was that which actually put me over the top, and I shot deep into her before sinking down to again kiss her, breathlessly. I then laid my head on her soft, incredibly silky tits, nibbling on the longest, thickest nipple I had ever seen. Trudi stroked my hair and my back tenderly, and whispered, “Thank you Johnny. It’s a good few years since I’ve had a fuck, and a very long time since I had one that good.”

I spent the next two nights in Trudi’s bed as well, and for a woman of her age she had admirable stamina. Cathy came down for the weekend on the Friday evening and was slightly hurt, but tried to be understanding, when I explained that it had been a long hard week at work, and that I was really too tired to make love that night. Awful as it might sound, on the Sunday evening I couldn’t wait for my 23-year old girlfriend to leave for home so I could return to the bed of my 69-year old lover. As I lay cradling Trudi’s naked body in my arms I admitted to myself that she wasn’t some old slapper who was available to me to fuck whenever I wanted: I was beginning to fall deeply in love with her. She was funny, intelligent, affectionate, sweet-natured — I felt we were true soul mates. Yes, there was a gap in our ages, but that was just another difference between us, no different really than the fact that we had different builds, different hair colour…I told Trudi a couple of nights later that I loved her, and instead of the reaction I might have expected — incredulity, cynicism, blank disbelief, whatever — she simply kissed me gently on the lips and whispered, with tears in her eyes, “I know you do, Johnny darling. And I love you too. I never thought it would happen to me again, but it feels so nice being in bed with someone who loves you, and who you trust completely.”

Later that evening I was enjoying having a good nibble on Trudi’s big nipples. The skin of her breasts was incredibly soft — not so much silky, more like fine, delicate crepe paper. I loved licking my tongue down them feeling the slight give in the soft tissue beneath, then prodding her nips with my tongue and chewing gently on them. That night I dropped my head a little lower and licked along the skin just below her breasts. I felt her tense slightly, and worried for a second that I’d somehow worried her; but she murmured, “Johnny love, you wouldn’t kiss me somewhere else would you? You know where I mean.” To be honest it had never occurred to me, simply because it wasn’t something Cathy wanted me to do, so I had very little experience. But in answer to her question I trailed my tongue down her belly, across her navel, and kissed her on the very edge of her slit. She bucked and gasped just at that touch. I moved lower.

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