Well, I couldn’t blame it on anyone else!
I mean, there I was, off on a course for a few days, staying in a sleepy little archetypal English village. Next door was a pub, next to that was the church, dating from the 1100s, next to that another pub. One called the Swan, the other the George and Dragon. The Bed & Breakfast overlooked the village green - more typically English would be quite impossible to imagine. Except that the housekeeper in my old English Guest-house was actually Hungarian. About 36 - 26 - 36 Hungarian to be more precise, with an accent that was so strong it dripped stereotype continental sexy.
We had spoken several times on the phone, so her, ‘so we meet at last,’ wasn’t as contrived as it sounded when she greeted me at the door. I asked about her accent - ‘Hungarian,’ was the reply - so of course I had opened my big mouth and told her that my forebears had also been from that part of the world. From that point, we had gotten along famously.
She signed me in then led the way to my room. I followed her up the stairs - closely - and had to resist the temptation to caress the rather lovely backside in front of me. As she walked along the landing, in front of me, she had stopped suddenly and without warning and I had bumped into her as she showed me the bathroom - I got a grin rather than a complaint - then on down
the short corridor into my room.
She sat on the four-poster bed briefly, then perhaps realizing what she had done, blushed a little before getting up and pointing out the ‘features’. I followed her downstairs again where she waited at the door while I got my couple of bags in from the car. She insisted on carrying one of them back upstairs for me - determined it seemed to make a fuss of me, as she told me I was the only guest and therefore it would appear the only other person in the house that night.
She seemed almost reluctant to leave me, though really at the time I was more than a little tired and didn’t pick up on it. It was only later when I thought about things that I realized. I mean, white-haired men of over seventy do not attract twenty-five-year-old women - except it seemed I did.
About an hour later she had brought me an unexpected ‘bedtime drink’ and again, even though I was working on my laptop, she had lingered to chat. Again, that wonderfully sexy accent. It raised, amongst other things, the hair on the back of my neck.
Not a great deal later as I’d had a long day I turned in, perhaps a little earlier than normal. Maybe she heard me turning off the light, maybe not. Half asleep, I was vaguely aware of the door opening and then closing. I felt the bed move as someone got in beside me.
Monica said, ‘Sven - I’m lonely - hold me.’ Always a gentleman I decided I had better do so…
Now, I sleep naked, and so it seemed did Monica. I discovered that even at sixty the application of one hundred and twenty pounds weight of naked Hungarian female to my one hundred and ninety-pound weight of naked male still has a very rapid effect on certain parts of my anatomy. I became instantly, achingly, as hard as nails. Monica found it with a hand about one second later.
“Oooh! Is that for me?”
Well, as there was just the two of us in the house I sure as hell hoped so because I would hate to have wasted it. She threw the bedclothes back - it was summer and not at all cold - looked down at him standing quite nicely, even though I say it myself, illuminated by the moonlight shining in through the window.
