Oldies but Goodies

When you fit stair-lifts for a living, you have to be good with elderly widows. After the first year, I'd calculated that one in eight of them was going to make a pass at me, unprompted. And that average figure seemed to keep up. More or less a weekly occurrence. Mostly, it was just embarrassing - the toothless grins, the wrinkled elbows, the croaky voices. Sometimes it would start with a discreet offer of tea or coffee ('something hot'). Or the classic 'slipping into something loose' (yik!). But just as often, it was a brazen parting of the knees or an eager grasp at my crutch. I'd trained myself not to wince. After all, I was trying to be professional, even if they weren't. (I was working for the third biggest contractor in the country). To me, it was something that just went with the territory, and I'd learned how to refuse the offer without causing offence, letting them down as gently as I could, sometimes with a quick good-bye hug to make up. With a customer-base mainly in their seventies at the least, sexual involvement was the last thing I expected. But you can be too logical and rational about the sexual impulse. For one thing, Mrs. Hendry's living-room was full of pictures of her as a young actress - when she'd been drop-dead gorgeous. Also the voice. No croaking this time. Still honey-smooth and classy as you like. But it was the language that really did it. Without the slightest inhibition, she would toss out a 'fuck' or a 'shit' in that cut-crystal accent, even in ordinary small-talk. To someone like me, from a narrow provincial background, this had always been something distinctly arousing. For another thing, Mrs Hendry had this huge confidence that came shining through every word and gesture. Unlike the others, who were obviously (and off-puttingly) pleading for it, she made sure you understood that you were the favoured one. Just good acting, maybe? Certainly the spreading figure was shapeless enough, even in that carefully chosen outfit. If and when she peeled off, it would certainly fall to bits altogether. But the proud way she held her head up, with that tastefully-dyed reddish-grey hair, and the sheer cheek and impudence in her fine eyes, lifted her well into a class of her own. As usual, it was when we were testing the lift that the horseplay started. I would be standing at the top of the stairs as the new machine glided up to the landing. Then it just seemed natural to lock eyes and smile as it docked, and then for me to help her down from the seat, until she got used to it. The last time round, she didn't let go of my hands at once, but just flashed me a wicked look. "I need my pen, don't I? Otherwise I can't sign-off. Come through..." The way she discreetly stressed the word 'pen' - I'm certain it was a deliberate code for 'penis', and unless I was just imagining it, the sly smile seemed to confirm it, as we came through into her sunny bedroom. Even the way she picked up the pen and twirled it slowly between her fingertips was suggestive. And this room was also full of sexy pictures of her when young. As she briefly glanced in the mirror, I took her shoulders and began to massage them gently, while she let out a lovely soft moan. I was pressing hard against her rear end, shapeless though it was, and starting to rise to it. Now I nuzzled her neck. "Tell me to fuck the arse off you." "Fuck the arse off me." she shot back in a queenly and commanding voice. Ye Gods, I was hooked, my juices going crazy inside. The dress was easy enough to unhook at the back, and suddenly she was standing in her bra, corset and stockinged feet. I helped her pull-off the corset, then eased her towards the bed and laid her on her back. Immediately she turned on her front. As I'd expected, the buttocks were big, bulgy and wobbly. But that voice was luring me on. "Bugger me now. I haven't been buggered for two years." "We need..." Impatiently she guided my prick straight into the forbidden hole - and Hell's Teeth, she'd already lubricated it in advance! Cool, refreshing and quickening to the bl**d. What's more, I was looking directly at a poster above the bedhead, showing her in the costume of an Egyptian princess. This was an unbelievable sensation, fucking her glamorous younger self, while she screamed out in perfect theatrical tones "Now! Spunk into my shithole. Love my shit, love my shit, love my shit!" Well... Definitely not something for the time-sheet. And yes, my work was signed-off satisfactory. About as different as you could get was the only other one I've ever screwed on the job since I started with the firm. A rough, crude, openly randy old Yorshirewoman called Maureen. No doubt quite elegant in her time, good cheekbones, thighs and calves well-proportioned, but the rest of the body skinny and shrunk, and the breasts sadly wrinkled. This time, it was obvious, pretty well from the moment I walked in, that she was gagging for it. Starting to brush past me, closer than necessary, hands everywhere. Before I'd even drilled the first holes in the wall, she was wanting me to drill holes in her body. I thought this would have to be another of those tactful brush-off jobs. But like I say, there's no point trying to be logical about sex. For the first time ever, I started to notice a woman's feet. Of course, I'd vaguely heard about the foot-fetish, but never paid it much attention. Now I was suddenly becoming aroused by the sight of Maureen's stockinged foot, shapely and poised, especially that lovely curve of the instep. So when I helped her off the seat, and she had an excuse to rub up against me, I experienced a sudden gust of longing, and pulled her down on to the thick carpet on the landing. From here, she enthusiastically took over. It was clear she liked being on top, and the way she went at it, I started to wonder why she needed a stair-lift at all. They said she'd had both hips replaced. Well, she might have been slow on her pins, but on her arse she was some kind of super-athlete. And as long as her pretty feet were touching me, I found I could be as athletic as she wanted... or nearly. Losing track of time is one thing. But when you actually notice that it's starting to get dark, you realize there's a limit to everything. Except with her, there wasn't. This was literally a nymphomaniac who was just never going to let up. I'd come inside her twice without uncoupling. I wouldn't manage a third. And also, it really was time to draw stumps. "Going to have to go, darling..." But she wouldn't let me - literally held me down with her ancient claws. "Maureen... I've got to go. Really." And I had to f***e her off me. "You bastard. I'll fucking well complain about you. I'll make sure you lose your job..." My supervisor is a man of few words - partly because he has those dark, expressive eyebrows that manage to convey a lot of meaning. This time, he just raised one of them - with a suspicion of a little half-smile - and left it at that.