Wallflower Boogie

I have never been attracted to the most gorgeous woman in the room. They always get enough attention anyway, and are often very aware that everyone fancies them. Maybe it is the philanthropist in me, but I am far more interested in the woman in the corner who is clean and presentable but clearly not expecting to be seduced.

And it was in this frame of mind that I attended a drinks do for work. I'm an architect and my firm (not actually mine – the one I work for) was celebrating a new project. It was one of those occasions where you don't know anyone and have to try to make a friend so you can give each other moral support.

This woman was standing near the buffet, reading the PR handout over and over again. She was about 50, I suppose – the same as me – and soberly dressed in a roll-neck sweater and skirt, both black. She had reddish hair, quite short and parted on the side. You would probably assess her as the family type, Auntie someone, who didn't go out much and last had sex 20 years ago.

There was something about the whole thing that turned me on.

I went over and introduced myself.

'I'm no good at these things,' she confessed, meaning parties.

'Nor am I,' I said. 'I'll look after you if you'll look after me.' She looked at me curiously. 'Keep each other company,' I explained.

'Yes,' she said. 'Good idea.'

And so we spent an hour or so talking about this and that. Her name was Sheila, she was a PA to some chief executive, had been married unhappily for two years and divorced for 15 now. She lived 10 minutes' drive away in a semi-detached house on a small close. She had no children and she liked line dancing and crocheting.

Although she said she didn't really drink, Sheila kept accepting the top-ups of champagne that were offered every now and then. Between us we ate all the chilli vol-au-vents and dry roasted peanuts.

It was now about 8 o'clock and the party was beginning to thin out.

'I think we could make a break for it,' I said conspiratorially,' and we plotted our escape. Both still hungry, we would go to the Italian restaurant down the street.

We split up and said goodbye to whoever needed it, then met up again at the outside door. It was a warm summer's evening and a very pleasant stroll down the road.

In the restaurant we opted for glasses of wine rather than a bottle, but still ended up drinking three each.

'How about a coffee?' I said eventually.

'How about a coffee at my place?' she said playfully.

Twenty minutes later we were entering her house after a cab ride in which we had sat nice and close together in the back seat, but without making it obvious to the driver or indeed each other.

Sheila's house was neat and tidy, with some rather cheesy holiday souvenirs from Spain and Florida around the place. She made the coffee as I sat in the lounge as instructed. I chose the settee and hoped she might join me there.

She didn't. When she came in with the cups she sat in her armchair, then got up to put some music on. I joined her at the CD player and stood closer to her than necessary while we negotiated what to put on. We opted for neutral territory: some old lounge jazz by Nancy Wilson, which enabled me to take her by the hands and do a bit of smooching. She danced close to me and snuggled against my chest. I kissed her gently on the neck and she mumbled something I didn't quite catch, then led me by the hand to the settee.

'You're a bad influence,' she said happily. 'Plying a girl with drinks and doing sensual dances with her.'

I leaned in and kissed her on the lips. She moved back, but only slightly, and said 'Well...', with half a smile. I kissed her again and she kissed back. I put my arms around her and she put a hand on my knee, then withdrew herself abruptly.

'Sorry,' she said, 'it's been a long time. I'm not very good at all this.'

'You kiss very nicely,' I said.

'Ohh,' she said with a dismissive hand gesture, then left the room, saying 'Back in a minute. Bathroom's through there if you need it.' She walked briskly upstairs and closed a door behind her. I used the toilet and gave my equipment a quick wash, just in case.

Sheila didn't come back for a full 10 minutes, and when she did she had a Scrabble box in her hands. Perhaps she had been consulting her Old Maid's Guide to Dampening the Atmosphere, but if she had, it didn't work. First of all she had a brilliant seven-letter word: orifice, which her competitive instinct wouldn't let her ignore. I followed that with six letters: orgasm.

'Sorry...' I said as I laid it out, 'but this is all I can offer.'

'Isn't it a funny word,' she said, sitting back. 'With sm at the end. What else ends like that?

'Spasm,' I said. 'And isms. Eroticism. Jism'

'What's jism?' she asked brightly. I thought carefully before answering.

'American slang for... semen.' I explained. 'They abbreviate it to jizz.'

She looked quite taken aback.

'Oh,' she said. 'I suppose I must be very out of touch. Don't they say spunk anymore?'

This time it was I who was taken aback.

'Sorry,' she said. I wondered what she had done upstairs. Had a large vodka? Some sort of prescription drug? Phoned her best friend for advice? I decided to ignore it, to spare her any embarrassment.

'How about another kissm?' I asked, putting an arm around her neck.

'Yessm please,' she replied, and this time she entered into the arrangement enthusiastically, her tongue playing with mine, deep in my mouth.

'Let's go upstairs,' I ventured.

'What for?' she asked with fake innocence.

'I want to lie down,' I said simply.

'Oh, okay,' she replied and led the way to the upstairs landing. Her bedroom door was open, but she promptly opened a smaller room and said 'You can sleep in there. Spare toothbrush in the cabinet in there,' indicating the bathroom. 'Good night,' she said and entered her room, closing the door behind her.

I brushed my teeth and had a bit of a nose through her bathroom paraphernalia. Mouthwash, eye drops, hair brush, but nothing of a sexual or even intimate nature. No condoms, no tampons, no pills. I concluded that she had had the menopause and never expected to have sex again.

I went into my little room, undressed and got into bed. I lay there for maybe 15 minutes, considering having a wank, when I heard her door open and then a knock on mine.

'Hello,' I called.

'Does that mean come in?' she asked.

'Come in,' I said, almost irritably.

She came in and the light from the hall showed that she was wearing a very plain knee-length dress, a cross between a proper dress and frumpy nightie. She sat on the bed and said 'I thought you deserved a goodnight kiss.'

I gently pulled her down on top of me and we kissed long and slowly. My hands roamed her dress, looking for a way in, but there was none, just the top and the bottom. She was wearing pants.

'Why don't you get in?' I said.

'Okay,' she said, 'but we're just kissing.'

'Fine with me,' I said, but when she lay beside me I slid my knee between her legs. I tugged at her dress and said 'What's this?'

'It's a house dress,' she explained. 'For wearing around the house.' Her hand touched my lower back.

'You're not wearing anything,' she gasped.

'I'm in bed,' I said as my hands wandered beneath the cotton and caressed her body. She didn't even flinch when I came to her breasts and began to knead her left nipple.

'Take the dress off,' I implored.

'Okay, but that's it,' she said, sitting up in the dark and removing it, then sliding back down and resuming the kissing. This time my hand came to rest on her buttocks, stroking gently. My erect penis nudged her thighs and I could tell it had precum on the end.

'Do you want me to touch you?' she said in a matter-of-fact way.

'Yes,' I said softly, taking her left hand and placing it on my cock. She felt the slippery wetness on the end and rubbed it on my leg, then lay on her back, legs still together.

I kissed her breasts and licked the crease just beneath them, then moved to her stomach. As I headed for her pubic hair, she grabbed me by the shoulders and said 'Come up here.'

I moved back up and kissed her lips, my right hand tickling her groin.

'Let's take your knickers off,' I said eagerly.

'No,' she said firmly. 'You can do lots of things as it is.'

I sucked her nipples, which she enjoyed immensely, then headed south again and kissed her between her legs, which were now slightly apart.

'Uh uh,' she scolded and wriggled away. 'They're staying on.'

'Okay,' I said. 'Just let me lie between your legs.'

'You don't go in,' she warned.

'Okay,' I replied in a resigned voice. I moved on top of her and lay between her warm thighs with the head of my penis pressed against her crotch. I reached down, took hold of my own end and rubbed it firmly against her clitoris. She made involuntary noises of pleasure, then uttered 'Oh, it's torture... sweet torture.'

'I want to get inside you,' I pleaded.

'No,' she said.

'Let me lick you, then,' I continued.

'Not there,' she said.

I slid my hand round to her buttocks and said 'There?'

I couldn't see, because it was dark, but I'm pretty certain she made a disapproving face at that suggestion.

'Okay, I said finally. But I want to give you some jism.'

Her hand was wrapped around my erection, so I slid it back and off, then took myself in hand and masturbated. I could sense her excitement as a naked man respected her wish not to be penetrated, but continued with his lustful animal ways.

I came into her open hand and she left it there, not moving a muscle.

Eventually she said 'I need something to wipe it,' and thought for a moment. 'Take my knickers off,' she said finally. I moved down to comply and after I slid them off I kissed her vaginal lips briefly. She didn't complain or even move.

As I gave her the cotton jizz-wipe she thanked me and said 'That was lovely. It has been a long time, you know.'

'I want to shag you,' I said, deliberately using the coarse word because I thought she might enjoy it at that point.

'Maybe,' she said. 'Not tonight,' and she slid out of bed and went into her own room.