“Look at the nice bum on that young man walking down the street.”

I carefully placed the delicate china cup and saucer down on the coffee table. Getting up and crossing the room to look out the window, I was just in time to see a man dressed in short, tight, denim cut offs pass by and disappear out of sight.

I crossed the room to the velvet sofa and seated myself again, wondering if I really had heard her correctly.

“I love a nice bum on a man, don’t you?”

Well my ears were working perfectly. Obviously, she really did say what I thought she said.

I couldn’t believe I was sitting in my neighbor’s living room, or parlor as she called it drinking tea from her best china service, nibbling on chocolate coated digestives and having this conversation. This lady was at least seventy-five. Although Jean was well preserved and sharp as a tack, men’s bums as she called them was not the topic of conversation I had expected when I accepted her invitation to join her for afternoon tea.

I looked over at the white haired lady and smiled. I wasn’t sure how else to respond.

“Well my dear. Are you an ass woman?”

I nodded in her direction as I chewed on a bite of cookie holding my linen napkin just so, to catch any crumbs before they reached the velvet sofa.

“Are you familiar with the Sharpe series from television, dear?”

Now this I could talk about. I had read all the books and watched the series avidly. As I endeavored to explain this all to Jean, she cut me off in mid stride by saying, “You know I taped them all from the television. I have them lined up on my bookshelf. I just love Sean Bean’s ass, don’t you? Sometimes I fast forward to the end where they always have that shot of him walking away. Not many men have an ass like that.”

“You’re right Jean. I have to agree with you. I’m a big Sean Bean fan myself. Have you read the books the series was based on?”

“Oh I don’t know dear. Likely I did. I don’t remember all the books I’ve read. That’s one of those things that happens to you when you get older. But no matter. You can’t see Sean’s ass in the books any way now, can you dear?

“Another biscuit? Do try the ginger ones. I made those myself.”

I sat quietly sipping my tea and wondering how soon I might leave. I could say I had a headache. Yes, that would work. Jean, with her old world manners would see me to the door and hurry me on my way with suggestions of a cure, I was sure.

Just as I was about to offer my excuses she spoke again. “Yesterday I was out in my garden weeding and two young boys walked past. I heard them call me grandma and then they used the ‘f’ word several times in loud voices, before running off down the street. I must say I found it most distressing.”

Trying to hide the grin that was threatening to break across my face, I murmured words about lack of respect in young people, etc.

“Oh no, dear. I’m not upset at the language. I’m upset because they thought I wouldn’t know what they meant. Well I’ll have you know I was fucking my Harold long before you were ever born, or they were ever thought of. They don’t begin to know what a good fuck is at their age, and I resent the fact that they think I don’t know anything.”

“Right, Jean. The wisdom of age and all that, ” I mumbled, sipping my tea.

“Nothing to do with age. It’s experience that counts when you’re talking sex. The first time my Harold put that big cock of his inside me, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. You know mothers always tell you all these stories about how it’s going to hurt, and you have to be brave, and do your wifely duty? Well that’s a big load of crap that is. I never really forgave my mother for lying to me about that. I suppose mothers are still saying that to their daughters. Shame!”

I nodded as I filled my mouth with tea and cookie, while trying to think of something to say. Jean was on a roll though, so I needn’t have worried.

“After that we did it as often as we could. Why I remember the time when we were moving in here. The place was full of boxes with nowhere to sit. We went out back there on the little deck and drank a ginger beer. We were so happy to move out of his parent’s house, and to have a place of our own, and so horny. It’s pretty hard on a young couple you know, living at home and having to be so quiet in the bedroom. Anyway that Harold, he put down his ginger beer and kissed me with one of his full tongue kisses. Before I knew what was happening he had the front of my dress unbuttoned right down to the hem line. I dropped it off my shoulders onto the deck floor and stood there in my undies.

“It was a hot day so I didn’t have any stockings on and only my short bloomers under that dress. Well Harold, he was like a crazy man, pressed me up against the wall of the house and took me right there. I swore I never saw his cock as big and hard as it was that day. He thrust it into me over and over again. I had my first real orgasm and it was a wet one too. Ran all down the insides of my legs afterwards. Sort of scared him.” She laughed.

“Here let me get you some hot tea dear.”

“That would be nice. Do you use Red Rose or Tetley, Jean?”

“What was that dear? Oh the kind of tea. Well I’m a Tetley person I guess, but whatever is on sale will do.” She refilled my cup and set down the pot.

“Now as I was saying about Harold. From that day on we did it in every room in this house. I’d be working in the kitchen and Harold; he’d come up behind me stark naked, with that cock standing at attention. He’d lift up my dress, pull my panties down around my ankles and bend me over the sink. Now that was fucking. What do these kids today know? Nothing, I say. They think a bit of fumbling in a dark corner is having sex. It’s a crying shame our society doesn’t let us seniors show them what it’s all about.”

“I’m sure you could teach them all they need to know, Jean.”

“Well, dear, I don’t know about that, but I could give it good try.”

I took this moment to make my departure.

“You’re going? Oh yes, it is getting on. Here, take some of these biscuits home with you. So nice of you to come over for tea.”

Standing on her step, Jean handed me the container of ginger cookies and just as I was about to walk away she had the last word. “You know Aspire, I have to say I agree with Bob on your last story. Not enough pepper. Every story needs a little pepper to spice it up.

“I’ll be reading you on the list, dear.”

© 2004 Aspire. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.