I don’t want to give away too much about my job, so I’ll keep this vague. My work has plenty of variety, and occasionally, it includes giving guided tours. Normally, I’ll lead a group of around 20 to 30, showing them around the place that I work. I enjoy public speaking, and these can be a real buzz. Sometimes, I've had requests for more bespoke tours. These are usually one or two people who want a private tour. These can be fun too, although a smaller party can make it a tough gig, so good chemistry between me and the clients goes a long way.

One of these private tours came my way when I was contacted via email by a gentleman from the United States who wanted to book a tour for him and his wife. Their names were –. Their names were confidential, so I’m calling them Mr and Mrs P. Incidentally, let’s say that my name is E – it’s not, but let’s say that it is.

Evidently, Mr and Mrs P were touring Europe and [insert your best guess at my place of work] was a must-see stop. Due to their packed itinerary, Mr P requested that the tour be in the evening, outside of our normal opening hours. I was happy to oblige; a couple of hours extra work for me was fine, especially as I could charge a premium. They would have the place to themselves, so it would also be a considerably better experience for them.

Mr P and I planned the details over email. The couple would arrive in London by Eurostar, and they arranged for a driver to pick them up from St. Pancras and bring them to meet me in the evening. Mr and Mrs P obviously had money; I guessed they were retirees making a ‘trip of a lifetime'.

I arrived at our meeting point in good time and waited for them. It was a beautiful early summer evening, clear and bright and still warm. As soon as I saw the car, I knew it was them. A black Mercedes saloon, exactly the sort of car I imagined a chauffeur to be ferrying his passengers around in.

They drew up, and I gave a friendly wave. Out of the near side, an older man emerged. He was in his early to mid-70s, small goatee beard and glasses, a bit rotund around the belly but pretty fit-looking. He reached for my hand to shake it firmly and introduced himself as Mr P.

The driver got out of the car and opened the other door. Mrs P got out and came to shake my hand too. She was a bit younger than her husband, slightly built with a handsome tanned face, wrinkled around the eyes and mouth. Her hair was in a short bob, brown with streaks of silver. We exchanged pleasantries; they seemed friendly and eager to get cracking.

The tour was – if I say so myself – a triumph. I was in good form, and they were really interested in everything I showed them and the stories I told. I enjoyed sharing my knowledge, and they lapped it up. They were a funny couple; as well as asking me questions, they bickered with each other about the finer details of the points I was articulating.

Mr P was equipped with a camera, and he took photos under Mrs P’s strict directions: “Ooh, get a photo of that." “Do you get a photo of this?” “Make sure you’ve got this.”

Along the way, we made small talk. I asked them where they were from (Connecticut). They asked me if I had a girlfriend (I did not), and so on. The conversation was easy, and I got on rather well with the older American couple.

When the tour drew to a close, they both seemed satisfied. They appeared to have enjoyed it, and I’d had fun too.

“Ohh, Mr P, we must get a photo with E!” said Mrs P. “We can show the grandkids.”

Mrs P took my arm while her husband turned his camera for a selfie. Between their beaming smiles, I gave an awkward smile.

Mr P phoned their driver, asking him to meet them outside the front entrance. Whilst I busied myself with locking up, I noticed Mr and Mrs P engaged in a furtive conversation, throwing me the odd glance.

“Oh E, what are you doing for the rest of the evening?” Mrs P asked.

“I’ll just head home and get something to eat,” I said truthfully.

“Well, we’ve had a real swell time; let us make it up to you,” said Mr P. “Why don’t you come to our hotel for supper?”

This was a bit odd. I had never been invited to dinner by clients before. I assured them there was no need, but they insisted.

Mrs P placed a lingering hand on my upper arm. "Oh, E, you must.”

“It’s a real nice place; it’s not far from here,” said Mr P.

At this stage, I honestly didn’t suspect a thing. They were a friendly, slightly eccentric old couple who wanted to express their thanks. Why not? I thought I could brag to my colleagues tomorrow about being wined and dined by clients. It was agreed then.

---

 When the car pulled and the driver got out, Mrs P announced happily, “E is coming to the hotel with us.”

If the tall, thickset, eastern European driver was surprised by this, he didn’t show it. He smiled generously and opened the door for her.

I stepped towards the front passenger seat to sit alongside the driver, but Mrs P ushered me towards her, “No, no, E, come sit and in the back.”

I hesitated; it would be a squeeze, and it seemed unnecessarily awkward. But I was too polite to refuse. I climbed in and found myself squished in the middle of the back seat between Mr and Mrs P. Our bodies were touching, and it was bizarre to be compressed into such intimacy with complete strangers. Neither of them seemed remotely phased by it, though. In fact, judging by the generous smile Mrs P gave me as we settled in, she was more than happy with the situation.

As we drove through the darkening countryside, they bid me tell them about the sights we passed. I was back in tour guide mode, but I was slightly put off when, as we rounded a tight corner, our bodies were pressed into each other’s, and Mrs P gripped my thigh to steady herself.

She apologised, “Pardon me.”

Through a series of further bends in the road, she again braced herself with a hand on my upper leg, but this time she did not apologise. I began to wonder what was going on. Was I being touched up by this granny? Was she copping a feel whilst her husband sat alongside me?

After twenty or so minutes, the car turned off the road and snaked up a long drive. It pulled up in front of a swanky country house hotel. It could have been called the ‘Something or Other Manor Hotel’ but it wasn’t. While Mr and Mrs P checked in and freshened up, I went to the bar. Over a drink, I pondered what was going on. There was more to this eccentric old couple than I’d first thought.

 ---

When they returned, they had both changed. Mrs P now wore a casual dark olive green tunic top. It was lightweight and floaty with loose three-quarter-length sleeves. Underneath she had she had black leggings and grey trainers. She looked considerably sleeker and more elegant than she had earlier. Mr P wore a brown lightweight jacket and shirt.

We went through to the restaurant, which was by now mostly empty. A waitress seated us, and Mrs P made sure I was again tucked between her and her husband. They both shuffled their chairs closer to me than was necessary at the spacious table.

With an expensive bottle of wine between us, the conversation flowed freely. We talked about their trip, my work, and differences between the UK and the US. All the while, they bickered playfully.

I followed their lead when ordering, skipping a starter. I went for a chicken supreme while Mrs P opted for a risotto and Mr P the sea bass.

By the time our plates had arrived, the conversation had definitely turned flirty. Mrs P fingered the moist rim of her wine glass.

“So E, you don’t have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend, for that matter? I can’t believe that?!” purred Mrs P. “A nice young man like you must have plenty of admirers.”

Surely the wine was going to her head. Although she still seemed sober enough.

Mr P interjected, “Oh, I’m sure he does, Mrs P. But why settle down with one person?”

“Mr P! What ideas you’ll put into his head,” she mockingly reprimanded him, giving me a wink.

The food was excellent; my chicken was thick in a rich, creamy mushroom sauce. By now, though, I had more on my mind than just the meal.

When we had finished eating and we waited for the plates to be cleared away, I felt a hand creep onto my right knee. I hid my surprise, but my heart began to pound. Mrs P gave no indication of what she was up to. Her hand lingered, and then, when I didn’t object, she casually moved it up to my thigh. I caught the couple exchanging a look. Ah, I thought, that is what they’re after.

I started to consider the possibility of what might happen. Was she attractive? Yes, she was much much older, mid-60s at least. I’d often been with mature ladies, so this was not out of the ordinary for me, although she might well be the oldest person I’d ever been to bed with.

She was not stunning but definitely pretty. Her face was wrinkled around the eyes and well-lined around the mouth, brown and grey hair in a bob, and her hands were wrinkled. Small wore wire-framed reading glasses that hung by a chain around her neck and that she perched on her nose to read. It was a granny-ish thing to do, but she made it kind of sexy. Her loose green top hinted at a petite and sprightly body.

She was also cute and playful in a kooky sort of way, which I found sexy the more I thought about it. There was no good reason not to see how far she was willing to go. Had I been brought to this hotel by a stranger to be seduced? Wow! I pressed my leg firmly against hers.

My cock grew hard, as Mrs P must have noticed as her hand massaged my thigh beneath the table. When her hand firmly settled on my bulging cock, there was absolutely no doubt what she wanted. At just that moment, the waitress arrived to take away the plates.

Conscious of the waitress moving around the table, Mrs P relinquished her hand, but our legs stayed firmly pressed together.

Once the waitress had left, I moved my right hand under the table. With my fingertips, I caressed the soft material of her leggings. She pressed her leg more firmly into mine. Slowly, gently, I stroked her thigh with my fingers. With each stroke, I moved farther up her leg.

As Mr P watched us silently, Mrs P slowly snaked her hand back to my bulge, feeling the hardness twitch.

I squeezed her thigh. Then, I slid my hand up her inner leg to the warmth of her crotch. With the faintest of sighs, she clamped her legs together, trapping my hand there.

At just the moment the Mrs P and I were intimately engaged, the waitress returned to ask if we would like to see the dessert menu. Mrs P quickly snatched her hand back, a little too quickly because it caught the girl’s eye

“Oh sure,” said Mr P.

The three of us made more small talk. Then, unexpectedly, I felt Mr P’s firm hand on my left knee. Aha! Now I really see what they’re after. This wasn’t what I’d expected. I don’t actually know what I had envisioned. I’d obviously hoped that I’d get to play with Mrs P, but I hadn’t really been sure what his role was going to be; passive cuckhold observer? Tag-team teammate?

I fully appreciate the advantages of batting for both sides, and indeed I envy those that can enjoy both sexes, but I have not yet myself developed homosexual inclinations and was not about to at this moment. Better to nip this in the bud, even if that jeopardised the night’s other adventures. I looked at Mr P and decisively shook my head. He smiled, held up his free hand in apology, patted me on the knee, and withdrew his hand.

His wife gave him a commiserating look, then she replaced her hand on the front of my trousers to continue her own progress around my groin.

Mrs P surveyed the menu through glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“Gosh, it all looks delicious, but it’s not really the kind of dessert I had in mind.”

"E, do you see anything you fancy?” asked Mr P.

I was incredibly nervous now. I had a lump in my throat. I regretted not having drunk more wine. I’m pretty sure they were just as nervous, though this can’t have been the first time they had done this sort of thing.

With as much confidence as I could muster, I looked Mrs P in the eyes and nodded, “Yes, but it’s not on the menu.”

She put her hand on my hard bulge and squeezed. The hard-on strained inside the confines of my trousers.

There was a long silence. Mr and Mrs P reached across the table in front of me to hold each other’s hands. They exchanged some meaningful looks.

Mr P cleared his throat, “E, would you like to come to our room?”

My penis twitched. I was so turned on; were it not for the confines of my trousers, I genuinely think it would have overturned the table. I looked at him, unsure whether this was all too good to be true. He wasn’t joking. I’m sure he wasn’t joking. I looked at her.

"Yes, I think that would be a lot of fun,” I said.

There was a release of tension. We all smiled at one another, and Mrs P massaged my hard-on enthusiastically.

“E, why don’t you and I head to the bar for a nightcap?” suggested Mr P. “We’ll let Mrs P freshen up.”

I agreed, and with a final squeeze of my knee and kiss of her husband’s cheek, Mrs P departed. It took some time for my boner to subside enough to make the short walk to the bar.

Mr P ordered a brandy; I asked for a scotch. I’d been careful not to drink too much wine. I hadn’t wanted to get drunk and make a twat of myself. Now I really needed a shot of Dutch courage.

We chatted awkwardly, ignoring the elephant in the room. I privately wondered how long Mr and Mrs P had been seizing me up.

Casting around for a suitable topic of conversation, I complimented Mr P on his beautiful, vivacious wife. This got him going; he enthused about her. I really hoped I could please them both.

After around thirty minutes, Mrs P got a message on his phone. He announced that Mrs P was wondering where we had gotten to. We finished our drinks and made our way to their room. This was it then.

 ---

By the time we reached the door, my heart felt like it was going to burst through my chest. Mr P let us into a large room, dimly lit bedroom. I caught my breath. Mrs P was perched on the edge of a high, luxurious bed; she had transformed into full-on cougar mode.

Her green top, leggings, and trainers were gone. Now, she was wearing a black lace bodysuit that clung to her slim frame and petite, saggy boobs. Her crossed legs were clad in sheer black hold-ups with lace-tops, and she wore strappy black platform stilettos. She was sex on legs—every inch the perky American hotwife fantasy.

“Glad you could make it,” she said.

She bounced off the bed to greet us. Mrs P kissed her husband on the lips, then she kissed me on the cheek with a squeeze of my upper arm. She smelt of vanilla perfume. She had applied mascara, eyeshadow, and vampish dark red lipstick on her thin lips. Around her neck was a necklace of peals, complimented by delicate pearl earrings. She looked mature and sexy.

“Wow!” I exclaimed, letting my jaw drop as I looked her up and down.

Husband and wife beamed with pleasure at my reaction.

“Ain’t she something!” Mr P said proudly.

“Would you like to take a shower, E?”

I’d been working all day and could definitely do with cleaning up.

“That would be great, thanks.”

Mrs P tottered across the room in her towering heels. She pressed a large, folded white towel into my hands.

“Don’t be too long,” she grinned, running her finger along my forearm.

In en suite, I looked at myself in the mirror. Was this happening? It felt like it was happening to someone else.

I stripped off, neatly piling my clothes in a corner. The shower was large and luxurious. The powerful jet quickly grew hot, and I stepped in. The shower was good, but I was not going to leave Mrs P waiting. Having washed and towelled off, I wrapped the thick towel around my waist, suppressing my semi-erect knob.

---

With a deep breath, I opened the door into the bedroom. The couple were sat on the bed, embracing. Mr P had stripped down to a pair of dark boxers. His girthy belly was hairy, his arms and legs muscular.

Mrs P hopped off the bed and moved towards me, checking out my body, with a shy smile on her face.

Gently, she stroked my muscled arms. My cock twitched with excitement, pressing against the towel. Up close, I could see Mrs P’s skin was freckled and wrinkled, bathed golden in the subtle lighting of the bedroom.

Her hands worked their way up my arms and across my bare shoulders. She ran her fingers around my bearded chin, then down to my chest. I could hardly contain my excitement. I badly wanted this naughty GILF, but I was unsure of the etiquette.

Mr P got off of the bed as well and came to join us in the middle of the room. Sandwiched between two men. Mrs P kissed first her husband, then me.

Her mouth was lined and careworn, her thin lips red and moist. Our tongues met and tickled. Delicious. Her hand was at my crotch, rubbing my dick through the towel. My hand moved from her waist to her saggy arse cheek, gripping it firmly. She kissed Mr P again, then eased herself to the floor. She kneeled between us, rubbing our stiffnesses. He pulled out his cock for her. I let the towel drop, exposing my naked self to the granny on her knees. She giggled quietly to herself as our two stiff members sprang towards her.

“Oh honey, we have a foreskin!” she exclaimed in delight when she studied my dick. “You British guys with your cute little foreskins.”

She took a cock in each hand and began to stroke slowly, concentrating hard. Next, she turned her full attention to me, kissing the underside of my shaft, probed with the tip of her tongue, and – when the anticipation was unbearable – she took me fully in her mouth. Her blowjob skills were exceptional. She sucked my head, gorged on my balls, and it wasn’t long before she was deepthroating my entire length until she gagged and gasped for air.

Meanwhile, Mr P, completely naked, wanked as he watched us. I was inches away from this big old naked man, but all I could do was focus on what his fabulous, experienced wife was doing to my penis. My P put a helpful hand on the back of his wife’s head as it bobbed up and down.

Unexpectedly, Mr P placed his other hand on my arse and started to fondle my buttocks. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with this, but, given that he had paid for dinner and was now letting his wife nosh me off, I figured this was the least I could allow – quite frankly, it would be rude not to. I had to bat his hand away when a cheeky figure took an exploratory turn for my anus, but I couldn’t blame him for trying.

The foxy old woman finally took a break from my dick – not a moment too soon because I was already dangerously close to blowing my load. She started to blow her hubby. My cock was stained red with her lipstick. She grabbed it again, tugging me while she sucked Mr P. Mrs P pulled us closer together and greedily sucked us in turn, her mouth swapping from one dick to the other. She loved sucking cock!

This situation had made me so excited, and Mrs P was a real blowjob queen. I couldn’t control myself as she glugged my man meat. It was suddenly too much for me. I was cumming. I groaned, spurting hot cum into the cougar’s mouth. Mrs P moaned with delight. She gripped my cock tightly between her lips while it pumped and spasmed. When she released the throbbing pole, she had a big grin. She opened her mouth so I could see the spunk on her tongue. She gulped it down before wiping her lips and chin clean.

“That’s delicious! Sweetie, that was so good.”

I laughed, embarrassed at having ejaculated so soon.

“My god, that was fantastic! You are incredible.”

Mr P patted me on the back.

“She can get any man off in no time,” he said with a grin.

We both helped Mrs P to her feet. She was still smiling; I brushed her hair back and kissed her gently on her wet lips.

“Mmmm, thank you.”

---

I cleaned myself up in the bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I could hardly believe how this night was turning out. When I returned to the bedroom, the couple were laying on the bed, and she was sucking him.

Mr P looked up. “I hope you're not going anywhere, E?”

“No,” I smiled sheepishly.

“Mrs P ain’t finished with you yet.”

I sat in a chair watching them. Still naked, my spent cock was beginning to twitch. I was soon ready to go again. After a while, Mrs P turned to me and beckoned me over. She knelt on the bed, looming over her prostrate hubby. The crotch of the bodysuit rode high to reveal slack bum cheeks. I moved behind her, feeling her tight body through the fabric of her lingerie. I grasped her small empty boobs with both hands and pushed my body up against her.

My dick was growing hard again as it pressed against her bum. I pummelled her breasts, feeling her rock-hard nipples through the lace. I kissed the soft skin of her neck and shoulders. Mrs P loved it, working her arse against my dick. My hands moved down to her slim waist to pull our bodies tighter together.

She spun round and hungrily kissed my neck in return. Her hands slide all over my arms and chest, followed by her mouth, kissing and licking all over. She grasped my firm buttocks with an exclamation of delight, kissed her way down from my chest down to my belly, and took my dick in her mouth again.

I needed her GILF body. I playfully pushed her down onto the bed, climbing on top. Her body was old but still so very sexy. I buried my face in her neck, then her shallow cleavage. Her boobs were by now free of the body suit. Her tits were small, but wow, those nipples were like bullets. I used my tongue to work my way around them, occasionally using it to flick her nips against my teeth, which thrilled her. My mouth found other parts of her exposed flesh, kissing and licking ravenously. Rolling her sideways, I playfully bit and slapped her wobbly bum.

"Boy, she likes that!” Mr P exclaimed.

I laughed and slapped her butt again harder. I felt her mound beneath the bodysuit fabric. Pulling aside the lacy gusset to fully reveal her pussy, I was surprised that she was completely shaven, only the hint of a stubble beginning to poke up. I’d already clocked that there was a bottle of lube and a selection of condoms on the bedside table (thoughtfully laid out by them in preparation). Mrs P was wet, but I applied a generous dollop of lube to my fingers and slid them between her warm pussy lips. I rubbed the length of her slit, massaged her clit, inserted one, two fingers inside. She was audibly gasping.

“Oh yeah, E.”

I revelled in the smell of her fanny, laced with fresh sweat and fruity lube. I spread her pink lips and got to work with my tongue. She squirmed in delight, encouraging me, while she pinched and pulled her nipples.

“Lick it, baby. That’s it, lick my pussy!”

I loved eating her out, but I suddenly remembered there were three of us in this bedroom. I turned to Mr P, moving aside so he could get between his wife’s legs. I spread her minge wide with both hands for him to lick.

I kissed Mrs P and played with her boobs while her old fellow worked her pussy with his mouth and fingers.

“Your pussy’s so fucking hot,” I whispered in her ear.

She giggled, “Mr P, don’t be greedy. Let E have another lick!”

We swapped positions. Mr P sat on his wife’s chest, his cock in her face. With her gorgeous pussy to myself, I stepped up my tonging. I could soon sense from her jerking body that she was close to climaxing. The double thrill of her man’s fat dick in her mouth and my energetic oral made Mrs P cum.

She orgasmed with a series of cracking “Hooooo-hoooo-oohhhh-hoooo…”

---

 Mrs P lay back on the bed, chest heaving, struggling to catch her breath. We took a break, wiping ourselves off and thirstily gulping water from the minibar. Soon, the husband and wife started playing with each other again, slowly. Laying side by side, they kissed and fondled; she tugged him, and he fingered and rubbed her. I sat at the end of the bed, enjoying them pleasure each other.

The tangled body suit was discarded. Mrs P was just in heels and stockings. There’s nothing hotter than a babe who fucks in heels. She turned to me and gestured me towards her with a cocked finger. I crawled across the bed to her, and she put her arms around me. My mouth found its way past her neck, boobs, and baggy tummy to back to her inner thigh. Inhaling her hot female smell, I started hungrily licking her cunt again. My tongue lapped her moist lips and strummed her clit.

This revved her up, and we flipped over. Mrs P lay on top, giving me a face full of boobs. I bent a knee, forcing my thigh against her pussy. She gyrated her hips, grinding her wet snatch on my hairy leg. My dick was pulsating wildly as her body moved against it.

“Go ahead and fuck me, sweetheart. Fuck me real good.”

Mrs P turned to offer herself up on all fours, back arched, arse up, pussy gaping. She had invited a man half her age into bed to fuck hard. My assignment, I understood, was to give this cougar a serious pounding.

I pulled on a condom – American ‘Trojan’ brand. Clapping her butt cheeks and pulling them wide apart, I slid easily into her lubricated slit. I was soon ploughing hard and deep into her pussy. Mrs P buried her face in a pillow to stifle her screams. If she was trying to save the blushes of the other hotel guests, it was already too late; half the hotel must be hearing her wild ride. With my hands on her hips, I smashed her vigorously, my ball bag clapping against her thighs.

Mr P lay on the top of the bed holding his wife’s hand with one hand and jerking his dick with the other; she occasionally took the opportunity to jerk it for him, but she was mostly head down moaning.

I was now dangerously close to spunking again, so I tagged out. It was Mr P’s turn to stuff his wife. He laid on the bed, and she climbed on top and rode him. This GILF was a wild fuck!

After a while, she was exhausted. We worked ourselves into the new position: Mrs P lay flat on her back, legs spread, she liberally reapplied lube. I took her legs, positioned her slut shoes, red toenails peeping through, either side of my head. Sliding into her slippery bald cunt, the new angle felt incredible.

Mrs P gave me encouragement by spanking my arse a few times. I grasped her slinky stocking-clad calves, and I pumped like my life depended on it. Her floppy tits jumped, her pearl necklace bounced, and her creased tummy juddered as I pounded her.

After a while, I slowed my pace, allowing Mr P to take care of her top end, massaging her boobs and filling her mouth with his cock. I held her legs aloft, gripping the heels of the sexy platform shoes, and thrust deep.

We all swapped positions again. I ended up lying on my back while, at the end of the bed, Mrs P kneeled facing me. Mr P was behind her gathering her floppy boobs in his hands from behind and kissing her hard and long on the mouth while I watched, my cock still engorged and twitching. He then eased her forward and entered her from behind. No sooner had she let out a long, low groan, than she pushed her head to my cock. She nuzzled my cock and balls. As their pumping settled into a rhythm, she set about working my shaft with her tongue and taking me in her mouth.

Mr P came unexpectedly, with a satisfied series of grunts.

“Ooh yes, baby. Yes, yes, yes,” his wife cooed, still on all fours.

Mrs P was shattered, her face contorted with pleasure. I took her face by the cheek and gave her a wet, passionate snog. My hand reached for her pussy, but she pushed it away.

“Fuck me, just fuck me!” Mrs P gasped.

I rolled her over on her back again. For a moment, I teased her, rubbing my head around her creamy cunt.

“Put it in me, honey. Give it to me,” she whimpered.

I stuffed my length deep into her, and she almost cried in ecstasy. With her arms around my neck, our faces were pressed together, sharing short, hot breaths. Mrs P hooked her heels around my tight arse and urged on my frantic thrusts. She was very nearly there. She grabbed my butt to dictate the pace and angle of my movements, steering me into hitting her right spot.

"Hoo-hoo-hoo, urrgh yeah!” Her fingers clutched at the air as she came again.

After a few moments to regather herself, Mr P gave me a filthy grin.

“Cum for me, baby,” she purred.

With the last of her strength, she straddled me, guiding my cock into her. Passionately, I kissed her sweating face, our lips and tongues meeting in an animal snog. I really couldn’t last any longer, and it only took a couple strokes before I came too. I gripped her bum hard as the waves of ecstasy shuddered through me and my balls pumped the spunk out of me.

---

We cleaned off the excesses of sex juice and sweat and lay amongst the tangled, expensive sheets. Mr and Mrs P held hands. My hazy sex brain slowly returned to planet Earth. It was late, and I had to go.

Before I made my way to the bathroom to clean up. Mrs P had an idea.

"Oh, honey,” she said. “Get a photo!”

Dutifully, Mr P reached for his camera and took a selfie of the three of us together on the bed. We were all naked, glistening in sweat. My body was pepped in lipstick smudges. Mrs P’s mascara had run, lipstick smeared, and her hair was awry. It was not exactly one to show the grandkids.

Mr P phoned reception to order a cab for me. When I was dressed, Mrs P kissed me on the cheek. Mr P shook me firmly by the hand, stuffing my palm with a thick wad of notes. I politely tried to refuse, but he was adamant. A tip for the guided tour, he insisted.