This story concerns a pair of sexually active elderly ladies who ask a young man to join them for a threesome. Toby is dubious at first, the ladies are both in their sixties, but once in the bedroom they surprise him with their stamina and lack of inhibitions. I hope you enjoy it and look forward to receiving comments, as always.
The cafeteria was virtually empty at nine am on a Tuesday morning in June, so I noticed them come in and look around, baffled by which table to take when there were so many available. I was lounging by the cash registers, trying half-heartedly to chat up Joanne, the supervisor; she was divorced and in her mid-forties, but I was going through a bit of an older woman phase.
‘Go and see to those two ladies, Toby,’ she smiled at me and I levered myself up from the counter and walked across the extensive floorspace to where our prospective customers stood with their backs to me, still looking around.
I can’t blame them for being confused. The Nether Weston Garden Centre is enormous — it covers about ten acres — and it’s got a cafeteria to match with at least seventy-five tables in the main part, an additional outdoor area and a special section where the tables all have white linen cloths on them and the menu is a bit more haute cuisine.
As I approached them I took in their appearance with what I imagined to be professional detachment. From behind, and based on their dress, I guessed them to be in their late thirties or early forties. One had long black hair and was wearing a leather jacket and a short skirt which left a gap of about six inches between it and the top of her knee-length leather boots. The other was wearing a tight-fitting dark suede jacket, grey leather trousers and stilettos; she had fashionably grey hair cut in a shoulder-length bob.
‘Good morning ladies,’ I sang out as I approached. ‘Inside or outside for you this morning?’
They turned and I got a mild shock as I realised that these two had left their forties behind some time ago. And their fifties. In fact mid-sixties would have been my guess, or older. Both were heavily made-up though that couldn’t entirely disguise the crow’s feet at their eyes or the sagging skin at their throats. The black-haired lady was quite tall and had obviously once been a striking looking woman, full-lipped and with high cheek bones. The other was shorter by a few inches and had a thin, rather severe face with a hooked nose and deep blue eyes. Attractive in a hawkish sort of way. And the grey hair was clearly genuine.
‘Inside, I think,’ said the grey-haired one. ‘The outside area’s in the shade and it’ll be cool out there at this time of the morning.’ Her voice, which was rather deep, had none of the local South Yorkshire accent. In fact she sounded more like a nineteen-fifties BBC presenter.
‘Well how about under the orange tree?’ I nodded at a wrought iron table next to a giant terracotta pot holding a mature tree.
‘Yes, that’ll be fine,’ said the other; her accent was pure Sheffield.
‘Great,’ I smiled. ‘Make yourselves comfortable. Menus are on the tables and I’ll be along to take your order shortly.’
I returned ten minutes later with my electronic note pad. ‘What can I get you ladies to drink?’ Black hair opted for a pot of tea and the grey bob went for a skinny latte. Both asked for the continental breakfast. ‘An excellent choice,’ I beamed at them. ‘The fresh fruit selection is first class and the cinnamon bread is a speciality of the chef.’ It was no such thing, the catering manager bought it in bulk from a local distribution warehouse but I had to inject a bit of life into my job and play-acting to these two old dears was a harmless way to pass the time.
The ladies smiled back at me. ‘We haven’t seen you in here before I don’t think,’ said grey bob. ‘I thought we knew all the staff.’
‘I only started last week,’ I replied. ‘It’s just temporary,’ I added.
She looked at me keenly. ‘Off to university in the autumn are you? I thought you looked a bit smarter than the usual.’
‘Margaret!’ said the black-haired one. ‘You can’t say things like that!’
‘Of course I can, Irene. I’m over sixty. I can say anything I please. And I’m right aren’t I, you’re a student?’ This last remark was addressed to me.
‘No,’ I said.
‘See!’ said Irene.
‘I’ve actually just finished university.’
‘I thought so!’ crowed Margaret. ‘So this is just temporary until you get a proper job?’ she went on, and Irene gave her a look.
‘Excuse my friend. She likes speaking her mind, whether or not you want to hear it.’
I felt embarrassed but it was obvious that this banter was perfectly normal between the two ladies; Margaret didn’t bat an eyelid over her friend’s remark. ‘Stuff and nonsense,’ she said to Irene, then to me: ‘You won’t be working here for the rest of your career, will you?’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘I was hoping to take a gap year before starting work. See the world, that sort of thing. But it didn’t Sarıyer escort bayan work out so I’m working here to save up some money and have six months travelling before I knuckle down to a career.’
‘There,’ said Irene. ‘Satisfied? You’ve interrogated this young man quite enough. He hasn’t even given our orders to the kitchen yet. And I’m sure he’s got other things to do.’
I indicated the electronic notepad. ‘It sends the order in automatically,’ I said, apologetically.
‘And there’s no one else to serve,’ said Margaret, looking round pointedly at the empty cafeteria.
‘Well, I should be going,’ I said, backing away. ‘I need to get your drinks.’
‘You’re not wearing a name badge. What’s your name?’ asked Margaret.
‘Toby,’ I replied, backing further. ‘I’ll bring your drinks straightaway.’ And on this note I turned and headed for the drinks station.
‘Making new friends?’ asked Joanne as I passed her.
‘They wouldn’t stop talking,’ I complained, fiddling with the drinks machine.
‘They’re regulars,’ she said, and I groaned. ‘In here every Tuesday and sometimes Thursday as well.’
‘Do they always have trouble finding a table,’ I grumbled.
‘Be nice to them, they’re big tippers.’
‘Thank you, Toby,’ said Margaret, five minutes later as I put the drinks down on their table. ‘We didn’t introduce ourselves. I’m Margaret and this is Irene.’
‘Pleased to meet you both,’ I said, remembering Joanne’s words, and extended my hand. Margaret’s hand was thin and veined. She wore no rings and her nails were painted a deep red. Her grip was light and birdlike. Irene’s hand was smoother, her grip firm. She wasn’t wearing any rings either and her nails were post-box red. It was the first time I’d shaken hands with a customer, although I’d only been there a week. Somehow I didn’t think it was the norm and I felt a bit awkward. Irene seemed too sense this and she smiled at me with her generous mouth.
‘Pleased to meet you too, Toby. And sorry for going on a bit. We do like a gossip I’m afraid.’
The rest of the morning passed quickly. Margaret and Irene asked me a few more questions about myself when I delivered their meals and again when they paid. They also left a ten-pound tip, which was nearly half the size of the bill. I tried to protest, though not very hard, but I was assured that I had earned it with my polite and attentive service. ‘If only all the young waiters were like you,’ said Margaret and she shared a look with her friend.
And that was how I met Irene and Margaret. Throughout the summer and into the autumn they came in every Tuesday morning and sometimes Thursday too, as Joanne had said. And embarrassingly, after a few weeks, they started to ask for me if another member of staff got to their table first. ‘Nothing personal love,’ they’d tell the waiter or waitress, ‘we just prefer Toby.’ Which meant I got the big tips and a certain amount of good-humoured ribbing from the permanent staff.
Irene and Margaret became known as “Toby’s girlfriends”. ‘You’re well in there,’ Joanne would tease me.
‘I bet they’re a right pair of goers,’ said Emma from the kitchen, and I laughed along with everyone else.
I continued to get nowhere with Joanne, though not for want of trying. She got all my best lines and stories but she refused, in the gentlest and nicest way, to meet me after work; it appeared that my older lady phase was a bit of a non-starter. ‘If you’re looking for a more mature lady,’ she smiled at me one Tuesday, after Irene and Margaret had gone, ‘those two are practically drooling at the mouth over you.’
‘They’re way too old,’ I protested.
‘They’re not bad lookers though,’ she replied, ‘especially the black-haired one. There’s many a good tune played on an old violin, Toby my boy.’ I thought she was being ridiculous and my male pride was, if not deflated, at least slightly punctured by her gentle rejection of my advances.
In fact, although I’d never looked at the old ladies as sex objects, I liked Irene and Margaret very much and looked forward to their visits as a valuable distraction in what was fundamentally a screamingly boring job. They were interesting and interested in me; they discussed news items and politics and asked me questions about my plans and my family and my friends. They also quizzed me about my girlfriends, with arch glances at each other.
Then came the Tuesday in late November when, as I was delivering their breakfasts, I mentioned that I was leaving the Nether Weston Garden Centre the following week and would be starting out on my abridged travels a couple of weeks after that. I think they were both a bit shocked, perhaps they had forgotten what I’d told them about the temporary nature of my employment. ‘We’re very sorry to hear that,’ said Margaret, ‘although obviously we’re thrilled that you’re starting your adventure.’ She looked at her companion.
‘Yes,’ agreed Irene, ‘and we’d love to have the odd postcard, Silivri escort if you can manage it.’
Forty-five minutes later, after another pot of tea and another coffee, they signalled for the bill. ‘Everything to your satisfaction this morning, ladies?’ I asked.
‘Yes, except we’re going to lose our favourite waiter,’ said Margaret. ‘It won’t be the same without you. Maybe we’ll go to Wilson’s across town instead.’
‘There is something else,’ said Irene, counting banknotes out of her purse.’
‘Yes,’ continued Margaret. ‘We’d like to thank you for the excellent service you’ve given us for the past six months. It’s made our visits here a real pleasure and we’d like to do something for you, wouldn’t we, Irene?’ she finished.
‘We would,’ agreed Irene, and I waited expectantly. ‘We’d like to take you out for a nice meal one evening, if you’d like to that is. I know we’re just a pair of old-age pensioners but we’ve had some lovely chats with you while you’ve been here and it would give us a lot of pleasure to be able to thank you.’
‘That’s very kind,’ I began, ‘but there’s really no need. You’ve been very generous with your tips and…’ I noticed the disappointment on their faces and it tweaked my heartstrings. ‘And yes, I’d be delighted to be your guest for dinner one evening.’ We arranged to meet up on the following Friday at a pub in the centre of town and then go on to an Italian restaurant. I had mixed feelings about the whole thing. Yes, I liked the old ladies but a whole evening in their company? I wasn’t sure. But I’d agreed and that was that.
When I got to the pub at seven o’clock on Friday they were already there, sitting at a table in the corner of the saloon bar. It was that quiet spell after the office workers had gone home to their dinners and before the evening crowd turned up. I walked over and said hello and asked if I could get them a drink.
‘Sit down, Toby,’ said Irene. ‘We’re looking after you tonight.’ I sat down next to Margaret and Irene stood and went to the bar to get me a craft lager. She was wearing a dark-grey woollen dress that showed off her hips. I could also see a lot of stocking clad leg as she walked over to the bar on three-inch heels. I was aware of Margaret looking at me gawping at her friend and I turned my head to talk to her.
‘Quiet in here,’ I remarked. It was a pretty poor opener but Margaret smiled and told me that the two of them often came in at about this time of night for that very reason.
‘Not that we’re big boozers or anything,’ she laughed. Margaret was wearing a black cocktail dress; she had made her face up carefully and her grey hair was shining. In the more subdued lighting of the bar she looked rather attractive. Irene returned with my drink and we clinked glasses and toasted each other. If Margaret was looking unexpectedly attractive, Irene was looking striking. She appeared to have lost ten years. Her black hair was coiled up in an expensive looking arrangement and her skin was shining in the glow of the low-wattage wall lamps. The woollen dress highlighted the contours of her bust while at the same time revealing a hint of cleavage. This wasn’t what I had expected.
And indeed the next three hours were unexpectedly pleasant. After an hour in the pub we repaired to the restaurant where Irene and Margaret were attentive to my every need and interesting and amusing company too. About ten o’clock we left the restaurant and stood outside in the November cold.
‘Thank you both so much for a really excellent evening,’ I began. ‘I’ve had just the best time and I will certainly send you postcards from everywhere I get to.’ I thought for a moment. ‘I’ll send them care of the Garden Centre, that way you’ll have to keep on eating there!’
‘That would be lovely, Toby,’ said Irene. For some reason the two ladies looked a bit uncomfortable. A bit tense. There was an awkward silence. Eventually Margaret nudged her friend.
‘Go on then, give it to him.’
Irene reached into her handbag and drew out a card in an envelope. ‘For you,’ she said, quietly. ‘Open it when you get home.’ At that moment a taxi appeared and Margaret flagged it down. Both ladies gave me a hug before getting into the cab. Margaret pecked my cheek but Irene kissed me full on the lips.
‘Goodbye Toby,’ she whispered in my ear. Then they were gone and I was staring after the rear lights of the taxi as it accelerated down the High Street and disappeared round a corner. ‘That’s that, then,’ I said to myself. But I was very much mistaken.
Back at home I told mum and dad about the meal out. Mum thought it was lovely of the two ladies to thank me in that way. Dad was deep in a crappy detective thriller and just grunted. Upstairs in my room I sat down on my bed and opened the envelope. Inside was a card wishing me luck on my travels and signed Irene and Margaret; there was also a folded piece of notepaper, which I opened and started to read with a growing sense of unreality.
Dear Escort Topkapı Toby,
This is going to seem like the weirdest letter in the world and all I would ask is that you read it to the end and consider what I’ve said.
We have both enjoyed your company immensely over the past six months and tonight’s meal out was the least we could do to thank you. We both feel as if we’ve made a new friend, despite the age difference! What you may not be aware of is that both of us are very attracted to you. That probably sounds ridiculous but believe it or not we are still sexually active females and have the same desires and needs as younger women. Maybe even more so.
This is where it gets (more?) difficult for me to write the letter but here goes!
As you probably have gathered, Irene and I are both divorced, Irene about five years ago and me over a decade ago. We’ve been friends for ever; we met while we were working for the local council, thirty-five years ago or more, and after Irene’s divorce we became even closer. Very close in fact. One evening — I won’t bore you with the details — we got a bit drunk and maudlin and ended up in bed together doing things with each other that we’d never done with another lady before. We haven’t made a thing about it, nobody else knows and we don’t live together or anything like that, but we’ve continued to “see” one another once or twice a week for over four years now. I guess we’re both on the bi-sexual spectrum. I don’t think either of us are gay, which brings me to the nub of the letter.
As I said, we are both very attracted to you and we would love it if you would join us one afternoon or evening so that we can show our appreciation of you, and our feelings for you, in a more discreet and, we would hope, a very intimate and pleasurable way. We will not be offended if you don’t wish to take up our offer, although we would obviously be disappointed. All we ask is that whatever you decide you don’t mention this to anybody.
If you would like to join us we would be thrilled and very excited. Our mobile phone numbers are at the bottom of this letter. Just text us your decision, one way or the other.
Finally, our apologies for not having the courage to ask you face to face. I hope you can see that that would have been very difficult for both of us.
We look forward very much to hearing from you.
Margaret and Irene xxx
I read the letter through again, then a third time, then I stood up and went and stared unseeingly out of the window while my mind processed what I had just read. My initial thought was that it was a practical joke, but that didn’t seem likely and I dismissed the idea. The only other option was that it was genuine and two old-age pensioners wanted to have a threesome with me.
Eventually, after reading the letter for a fourth time, I stuck it on my desk and got ready for bed. Things would look different in the morning and I would text the old ladies then, though I hated to hurt their feelings. If only they’d been thirty years younger. Or even twenty!
Inevitably sleep would not come and I tossed and turned as the illuminated numbers on the beside clock flicked over, counting the hours of darkness away. I thought of how Irene had looked in the pub, and later in the restaurant: skin shining, full lips painted a glossy red, woollen dress showing her figure off and legs shapely in black stockings. But what would she look like undressed? And what would Margaret look like? She had a pretty trim figure too, although maybe a bit on the skinny side. But would they be all wrinkly underneath? And what did they do with each other? Visions of the two of them writhing together in their underwear flashed through my mind and my penis twitched and started to enlarge as blood rushed into it. Images of Irene tonguing Margaret’s labia danced before my closed eyes as I reached for my cock and began to stroke it. God that felt good. I was rock-hard now and leaking sticky secretions which lubricated my glans as I gently masturbated, sheets of pleasure flashing through my cortex like summer lightning.
What would it feel like to be naked with the old ladies? What would their breasts feel like and how would it feel with Irene’s full lips around my erection? How would it feel to be deep inside Margaret’s vagina while her friend watched, perhaps kissing her or sucking on her nipples? Sexual feelings rose up and overwhelmed me. Christ, what was I thinking of? I’d be mad not to take them up on their offer! So what if they were a bit wrinkly. Who knows what might happen?
I stopped suddenly and reached for my phone. I knew that if I masturbated to orgasm I would crash down to earth afterwards and probably be repelled by the idea. I had to reply now, while I was in a state of arousal.
Dear Margaret and Irene, I texted. Thank you for your letter which I read with much surprise and excitement. Surprise because I had no idea that you had were attracted to me. Excitement because yes, I would be delighted to take you up on your offer and I look forward to it very much, albeit with some trepidation. As you know I am leaving the country the week after next but as I have now finished work I am free every afternoon and evening until then. I look forward to hearing from you. Toby xxx