The Sexual Exploits of Ngaire Jessop E-Book

Paige Turner

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 39

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

 "As he massaged the life back into these saggy old breasts I felt my nipples grow hard with excitement as they pushed painfully against the flimsy mixture of cotton and silk, and when he ran the palms of his hands over them I swear that I orgasmed there and then. There was nothing I could do to stop him and the deep moans of satisfaction leaving my lips betrayed the fact that there was nothing I wanted to do to stop him. Writing as Paige Turner, this short story is Dimpra Kaleem's first dip into the pool of erotic fiction and the introduction of Mrs Ngaire Jessop, a woman old enough to know better but not too old as to care. So, start you engines because this  senior sexpot is going to take you for the ride of your life.

Leseprobe

Paige Turner

The Sexual Exploits of Ngaire Jessop

Paid in Kind

To all of you that have brought me this far. Thank you. BookRix GmbH & Co. KG80331 Munich

PAID IN KIND

So, let me tell you a little about myself before I continue with, what I feel is one of those ‘you had to be there’ moments.

My name is Harmony. My surname is not important as I have been divorced now for the past three years and still haven't made up my mind as to what name I am using yet. I am roughly 5’6, and even more roughly around the seventy kg mark. All irrelevant in the context of this story but the aim is to show you that I am nothing out of the ordinary which should highlight how extraordinary my experience was.

My divorce was finalised on, of all days, my fiftieth birthday. Not the greatest day in my social calendar, if I am honest for such was the yawning gap caused by such a separation I felt the need to justify my worth in the world and to fill that gap created by the absence of friends, who proved themselves to be nothing of the kind. The details of the divorce were there for all to see and I was not presented as ‘wife of the year’ by my ex-husband’s lawyers.

Anyway.

With settlements settled and contacts broken thirty years of marriage had come to a grinding halt with the realization that a life spent in the shadow of success was not yours to own, and to help rebuild a better life I sunk myself into my work until something else came along to fill the void that had previosly been the role of dutiful housewife and mother. In a bid to validate my existence, and maybe put something back into a world I had so greedily taken from over the years. I decided that the new me should learn to make more time for those who would feel the loneliness of old age, a feeling that had snapped at my heels in recent months. These would include retirees, widows and widowers that have outlived their families and friends only to find themselves secluded in a world where waiting for the reaper’s touch is all that they have to look forward to. The main bulk of these forgotten people were housed in varying retirement homes around the city, and it was there that I would find myself on most days with list’s provided by the local church. There were some, however, that still lived in their own homes and one such person was Mrs Ngaire Jessop whose attention I had come by by way of a request from the pastor that she also have someone to keep her company.

Just someone to chat to. A companion maybe, and a bridge to take her closer to that deeper human interaction we all crave. Well, most of us.

I had called her one the telephone about a week before I met her and had arranged a visit. She seemed very pleasant on the phone and I detected a faint Welsh accent that would connect her name to its origins. Mrs Jessop was quite keen to have me over for a visit, and so, on one fine Thursday morning in May I made my way along a series of forgotten country roads that led me to the outskirts of town. As I drove up to her house I smiled at how quaint her little cottage was. Roses around the door, white picket fence intertwined with jasmine, The whole nine yards. I didn’t think places like this existed anymore and after a brief introduction I found myself in her living room with a cup of tea and having a conversation that was in danger of falling foul in a sea of awkward silence as It became yawningly obvious that the recent middle aged divorcee and the widowed octogenarian had nothing in common.