Warning: Contains some scenes of an explicitly sexual nature.
A situation that some women dream about: Alex wakes up in her bed one morning with a stranger... but he isn't a stranger. He's her first love from thirty years ago. How did he get into her bed? And why is he there? Has he come back into her life forever? Can she keep him? (And does she want to?) What is the secret he seems to be keeping from her?
We returned to my home; Alan had contacted his brother in Oxford, warning him that he expected to see him late tomorrow after collecting his bags from London. We were drinking coffee on the sofa and reminiscing about our first courtship.
“You were a pretty bold schoolgirl, ringing me up out of the blue, weren’t you?”
“I’d heard a rumour in class that you were dating Anne Sharp. I had to get in fast.”
He laughed. “I can’t think who you got that from. It was a complete fabrication. But I told you this then, and I’ll tell you again now: I fancied you, I really fancied you big time, but I didn’t think for one moment that you’d give me a second glance. Most of the girls in our class were after men a couple of years older, don’t forget.”
“That’s true. But I put you up on a pedestal. And I really didn’t think you’d want to waste your time with me.”
“So we both considered ourselves very lucky to have each other.”
“And I’m indebted to Jane Gold for her stupid antics, getting us back together again now.”
“So am I. You’re the first girl I’ve slept with since my divorce.”
“And you must be out of practice. You slept right through.”
“I promise not to do that tonight.” He put his hand on the inside of my thigh. “You’re still very attractive, you know.”
“Greying hair and stretch marks. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed the stretch marks.”
“They don’t matter. Not to me. It’s the eyes that matter. They’re your windows. I can see right through them, deep into your soul. And what goes on between your ears – that’s important too. After you captivated me with your good looks at school, I fell in love with your mind too.”
He always had a way with words. I wanted to ask him if he still loved me, but hesitated. I felt like a silly young girl again, scarcely able to believe my luck; I should not rush the pace, and I had to keep such thoughts to myself. Already, I mused, I would be truly devastated if I lost him once more. He was easy in our long, thoughtful silences; I wanted to talk to him, to get him to talk to me, to reminisce about the old days, old friends, and old places we had visited during our courtship. But there would be time enough for that.
“May I entertain you to dinner this evening?” he asked. “I’m sure you can recommend a good restaurant here.”
“That would be very nice. There are a couple of places we could go to; I don’t get out too much – it’s no fun dining out by yourself – so this will make a lovely change.”
“I’ll leave it to you to book a table, then. But let’s get there reasonably early. We have a long agenda back here when we’ve finished.”
When dressing to go out that evening, and in preparation for our later agenda, I dressed in stockings and my sexiest underwear, making sure he didn’t see me now. When we got undressed later, I wanted to surprise him; he’d already be excited by then, and my goal was to give him the best time he'd ever had.
About Rachel Cray
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Published June 4, 2011
Erotica, Literature & Fiction.