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Chapter 5: Gestures and Dreams
I saw Mary before she spotted me. The first thing I noticed was her stockings. Her late birthday presents shaped and smoothed her sturdy calves and thighs complemented by her well fitting black skirt and black ankle boots. She had a gold coloured padded jacket on, unzipped, with a yellow sweater underneath and her rich chestnut hair tumbling down her back waved now and thicker and softer than ever. She looked oh so desirable and more sophisticated.
But when she saw me she ran over, breasts bouncing shamelessly and flung her arms up around my neck like a love struck teenager. I missed her so much that I couldn’t help responding and we shared a long kiss, both passionate and affectionate, right in the middle of the coach station concourse.
It had been five weeks between our dirty birthday weekend and her trip to spend Christmas with me in Hemel; far too long. But she had had to do weekend overtime during the pre Christmas rush at the frozen food factory where she worked.
I was also busy with the annual round of parties and glad handing which go with a senior job in marketing. Somehow I had also managed to get started re-shelling my Lancia and complete my MBA project. Mary encouraged me more than she knew by her support during our online chats. They had become almost nightly. But cyber love was not the same as holding her and feeling the comfort and promise of her big womanly body enfolding me and seeing the sparkle in her brown eyes.
Then she suddenly pulled back and her eyes dulled. She asked quietly and hesitantly, “Do you mind being seen with me, Steve?”
This was a high stakes moment. I quickly realised that when I followed her gaze. A woman was looking directly at us with a smirk on her face which turned into an ironic victory sign when she cottoned on that I had seen her. I recognised Chloe, our self styled arbiter of fashion, from the purchasing department.
“Of course not,” I told Mary automatically. But even to me it didn’t sound convincing. In truth trouble was staring at us. It was a long story but basically, as I explained to Mary later, I am trying to run a customer centred business. My vision is to place the marketing objective of satisfying the customer’s needs profitably at the centre of everything the company does. Not everyone in the organisation agreed. For a start the purchasing department remained obsessed with cost cutting regardless of considerations of quality and availability. But my MBA project had proved that the model they were using was flawed. I had raised hackles by passing on my results to the board.
Negative gossip doesn’t help with company infighting at the best of the times. Even if the issues should be decided on purely business criteria experience has taught me that it doesn’t always happen that way. I realised that the knowledge that I had a 30 something BBW girlfriend could be twisted to suggest that I was out of touch and projecting the wrong image. When all said and done we were in the teenage fashion business so that could be dangerous to my career.
Did I really mind being seen with Mary? Sod it no I decided, “The company doesn’t own me.” I took Mary’s hand firmly, squared my shoulders and went out of our way to walk straight past Chloe returning her stare. She flinched first. Maybe she knew she wasn’t going to get good loving that night and I was. I don’t know and I didn’t care.
“Thanks, Steve. That means a lot,” Mary said quietly, took a deep breath and settled into my car. “Why don’t you mind? She’s from work, isn’t she and she’ll tell everyone I’m fat and ugly.”
Mary wasn’t an educated woman but her perceptiveness continued to surprise me.
“It was a long story,” I said trying to put her off. But she wanted to hear it. “Basically,” I explained, “I am trying to run a customer centred business. My vision is to place the marketing objective of satisfying the customer’s needs profitably at the centre of everything the company does. Not everyone in the organisation agrees. For a start the purchasing department remains obsessed with cost cutting regardless of considerations of quality and availability. But the MBA project you helped me with has proved that the model they are using is flawed. I have raised a few hackles by passing on my results to the board.
Negative gossip doesn’t help with company infighting at the best of the times. Even if the issues should be decided on purely business criteria experience has taught me that it doesn’t always happen that way. If gossip gets about that I had a 30 something BBW girlfriend it could be twisted. They could make out that I am out of touch and projecting the wrong image. When all said and done we are in the teenage fashion business so that could be dangerous to my career.
But I have just realised that I don’t care.”
Mary said nothing but just smiled; a secret smile of deep contentment.
“Do you get that kind of back biting at your place?” I asked.
“Not so much cebeci escort now. They all reckon I’m past it, on the shelf, like. But when I were at school yeah. Any time a boy looked at me they’d tease him till he dropped me.”
“More fool them,” I said with emphasis. “Darling, you look great! I’m proud of you.”
She did. I had just discovered something else about Mary. She could travel, four hours with a change of coach, in winter, and still look fresh and exciting. But she just blushed and hung her head. She still didn’t believe in herself.
I followed her eyes and said, “I love your stockings, baby. They were a great choice.”
“Your choice,” she modestly replied. “I’m always being told I can’t wear stockings ’cause I’ve got fat legs. But they feel nice.”
She slowly eased her skirt up till I could see the broad lacy tops. They hugged her thighs slimming without pinching and looked sensuous; then, when she moved her legs a little apart, downright provocative. I wanted them wrapped round me there and then and my cock thrusting into the little black lacy panties I could just see peeping. I got a massive hard on slap bang in the middle of the multi storey car park. Luckily my Audi has tinted windows!
“You really miss me that much?” she said looking at the bulge with undisguised interest.
“I’ll show you how much.” I said. “We’re going to have the best Christmas ever.” I wished I hadn’t said that as soon as it had slipped out. I should have remembered that Christmas was the anniversary of her mother’s death. I didn’t know what she was expecting and the season might be more poignant than festive for her. I immediately apologised. But she took a deep breath and said, “Life has to go on and at least now I have something to hope for. Are you a big Christmas fan?”
“Actually Christmas hasn’t been my favourite time for a long while. I find it hard to get into the swing of the festivities……. Enough said. Let’s not spoil it now we are together again at last.”
Mary had enough sensitivity not to pry into the details. She seemed to have her own private thoughts and we contined the journey in silence.
I wrenched my thoughts back to the present and decided I had to make an effort starting with a visit to my local Sainsbury’s for last minute Christmas shopping. I added Mince pies, chocolates, biscuits, a Christmas pudding and so on to the turkey I already had. Mary asked about decorations and I had to admit that I hadn’t put up the tree yet. I needed her there to motivate me to get started on it. She laughed at that and we had a fun half hour choosing baubles, tinsel, lights and, at her insistence, a fairy from the limited stocks left.
Mary always had a capacity to cheer me up. But I soon realised that I was far more at home in her simple, relaxed, feminine home than she was in my bachelor pad. I am tidy minded and like a clean, orderly place. That much we had in common. But the masculine black leather sofa and book lined study seemed to intimidate her as did the motor racing memorabilia around the place. She seemed scared to disturb anything to put up the Christmas stuff.
“What’s wrong,” I asked her. “Don’t you like my place?”
“It is nice and smart. But it needs a woman’s touch, like some flowers.” She said this gently, with a smile, but at the same time meant it. I should have known better. Her home was always full of fresh flowers and I should have bought some to welcome her.
Determined to impress her I rushed out to the little Asian shop which always ignored Christmas. They had one bunch of red roses left, thank heaven.
It didn’t solve the problem. She still seemed frightened to make herself at home in my kitchen. It was brand new, professionally fitted and had all the latest, matching stainless steel gadgets. But maybe it was too clinical and intimidating. Hers was a basic twenty year old council house set up but always warm and cheerful and, unlike me, she could produce fantastic meals in no time.
She disappeared into the bedroom to unpack but called cheerfully, “Don’t try so hard, Steve. I’ll take what comes same as you do at mine. You don’t have to impress me. I already love you, remember.”
“Oh well,” I thought. “Here goes” and waited for the ping to tell me the main course was ready. I put the plates on a tray and took them into the living room.
I hadn’t heard Mary come back. She had changed into the pink dressing gown we had bought in York and it suited her. She looked fluffy and cuddly but she was standing nervously by the window instead of sitting down on the sofa. I put the tray down and scooped her up. Or rather I tried to. I am not as strong as I thought and staggered under her weight. We tumbled backwards onto the sofa, laughing and the ice was broken at last.
Her dressing gown cord didn’t survive the tumble. She had her birthday filmy red negligee and black stockings under her dressing gown. Blushing she showed me that was all. She had çin çin escort no bra and no panties on.
“Wow! You look ravishing.” I told her.
“I don’t know about ravishing but I’m ravenous. Come and feed me first then you can fuck me, eh, Father Christmas,” and she plonked a silly Santa hat on my head.
We shared the lasagne with forks from the foil dish. The food was only so so but she didn’t complain. Instead she was flattered that I had remembered that she liked rum and coke. Mary was like that. A glass was always half full with her. Then the cherry pie and whipped cream stunned her. If I say it myself it was good and she tucked in with gusto. So much so that she asked for more cream. Luckily I had a little but it didn’t go in her mouth. I had a wicked idea and with the cream poised in a lump on the spoon looked pointedly at her nipple clearly visible under the red chiffon. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said laughing.
“Wouldn’t I?” I replied.
The cream covered her tit and I licked up the most delicious dessert ever. There was no more cream but it started off the most uninhibited, joyous romp I had ever had up to that point. We went all over the room with our games but ended on the sofa almost as I had imagined in the car with her big, warm, soft clad thighs wrapped tightly round me and my cock ravishing her pussy. She got more satisfying every time.
She was exhausted after her long day’s travelling so I put her to bed and lay beside her. But I didn’t sleep. I was well into the Christmas spirit by now and improvised with two old pillowcases. I made labels, Steve and Mary, with Word Art on the computer and hung them on the bottom of the bed as Christmas stockings. I filled hers then I lay beside my sleeping beauty.
A squeal of delight woke me in the morning. She had beaten me to it and discovered the stockings. She was busily filling mine from her holdall.
We showered, Mary soaping me madly with excitement and gulped down coffee and toast. Then we sat on the living room floor in our dressing gowns opening our presents under the tree. “I used to do this when I was a kid,” I said feeling a bit foolish.
“Me too,” she told me then added wistfully. “Christmas is for kids.” Still we can be big kids, can’t we?” I noted that hint about wanting a kid.
But time to worry about that later. Right now it was better than being a kid again. I got a biography of Archie Scott Brown, a motor racing hero of mine. Now I understood why she had been nervous about all my books. She was afraid I would already have the one she was going to give me. I hadn’t and thanked her with increasingly passionate kisses as I looked forward to many evenings of pleasure reading it.
There was also a smart blue patterned shirt and matching tie. She asked me to dress for Christmas lunch. I thought it was a bit pointless as we weren’t going out. But she was scared that my new shirt wouldn’t fit. It did, perfectly; aided by her fingers smoothing the luxurious material against the muscles of my chest and shoulders.
Finally I un-wrapped a home made cushion with a cross stitch cover showing a love heart and our names. It was girlish but beautiful. It didn’t suit the sofa as she had realised yesterday. But I showed her that it looked great on the bed, the pink and cream pattern complimenting my crimson bed set and giving the room the feminine touch she wanted.
I was deeply moved by the amount of time and trouble Mary had taken and by the message that her love extended to supporting my career and my motor racing For the first Christmas in years I didn’t have to hide my disappointment at doing all the giving and getting nothing back.
For her part she opened a gardening book. I had selected it more or less at random. But she was thrilled to bits with it saying that she had always had to make do with old stuff from the public library. If the fluffy pink slippers to match her dressing gown delighted her then the seductive primrose bra and panty set sent her into raptures. I asked her to try them on. She emerged from the bathroom saying, “They make me feel like a model,” and proved it by trying to do a cat walk imitation across the living room.
She was deliberately hamming it up and the result was not only provocative but funny. I creased up laughing and she joined me lying back on the sofa. The colour looked fantastic against the black leather of my couch and I took my time savouring her. She
hadn’t expected them to stay on long and seemed surprised. But she had missed something. Like a kid she had gone for the biggest packages first. I took out a tiny navy blue box from the bottom of the bag and slowly opened it in front of her. She looked at the second finger of her left hand with a besotted expression on her face.
Now I knew what her dream was. But she was going to be disappointed. I gently reached behind her neck and parted her hair. Then she knew what it was. I watched her eyes carefully. Dashed ankara escort hopes showed for just a second, no more. Then she picked up the ruby I had let fall between the tops of her breasts and kissed it.
I let her caress it between her finger tips and picked a rose from the vase on the window sill. That I placed on her belly, stalk on her panties, flower just below her cleavage.
She was speechless and “Happy Christmas, darling,” was all I could say. It was a sublimely emotional moment and not a time to analyse what each other’s looks and gestures meant for the future but a time to bask in each other’s closeness. It was not a time for penetration but for adoration and I just knelt in front of her, my face in the vee between her thighs whilst she fondly ruffled my hair and tried not to cry.
After a long period of worship we were both hungry. I admitted my problem with cooking Christmas lunch. She headed for the kitchen with alacrity. She had been waiting for my confession. I realised it was important to her self confidence that I didn’t act like I knew all the answers and she was a just a stupid country girl. Once we had cleared up that issue we found we could work together successfully and have fun doing simple things together.
Satiated we slept for much of the afternoon, not needing to fuck but just glad to be in each other’s arms.
Later she decided that there was nothing worth watching on TV. Without hesitation, as if she had it in mind all along, she went into the bedroom and produced one more gift from her bag. It was “Pretty Woman” and she put it straight into the DVD player. I’ve seen it before and enjoyed it so that was fine by me.
I was content to relax, chat over it and have a drink. But I realised that she was watching intently and trying to draw my attention to parts of the film. It dawned on me that she was trying to give me a message but I wasn’t getting it.
When it had finished we went to bed. I stripped naked in anticipation. Mary lay beside me, in only her panties, propped up on her elbow, huge, gorgeous breast hanging down onto the sheet, bare, warm and squeezable. I reached for it and she dimmed the lights from the console above the bed; so far so good. But she just tucked my hand possessively under her breast not allowing it to roam over her expanses as it likes to do.
It was pillow talk that she wanted and the topic was Richard Gere alias Edward Lewis. “Are you like Edward?” she asked me with a nervous stutter in her voice. That told me this was a very important negotiation. I would have to be careful not to either lose her or make promises I might not want to keep in the cold light of day.
I parried. “Why do you think that? What did you like about him?”
“He didn’t see Julia Roberts as a whore. He treated her like a woman.” She explained.
“True, I said. “But what’s that got to do with us?”
“You don’t see me as fat and useless, like other guys. I love you like the girl loved Edward in the film. Don’t you see?”
I did but I wanted her to put her cards on the table first. “Go on. I’m listening,” I reassured her.
“Edward wouldn’t say he loved her. She kind of got the idea he just wanted a mistress……”
She left the ending hanging but I knew she meant that they had almost gone their separate ways.
I decided to tell her the truth. “The first time with you was sex and loneliness. For you too I think. I have never been with a big girl before and I still find it hard to believe how beautiful and sexy you are. I’m still learning about you and about myself as well. Each time we meet I find out more and my feelings deepen. You satisfy some need in me that is more than just sex. But it is not easy for me. I’m restless. It’s just the way I’m made. I don’t know what for ever means. I’m not even sure I know what eternal love is supposed to feel like let alone if I can give it. I want you. I need you! But I don’t want to promise something I can’t deliver. Can you understand that, babe?”
She lay silent for a minute pondering then said, “Has someone hurt you in the past?”
“Yesss,” I said and realised that now I had admitted that much I might have to tell all. But I didn’t want to. “Do you want the gory details?” I asked. “I don’t want you to get jealous. You must know that a guy my age has a past, right?”
“I’m an adult,” she said. “Gone on, tell me.”
“Love isn’t for me,” I began. “I realised that the hard way a long time ago. My marriage ended bitterly. She was all over me when the bank was doing well and I was getting fat bonuses. Then I could indulge her. I did bloody everything for her, looked after her two kids like they were mine, bought her clothes, jewellery, cosmetics, a car; you name it she got it. She had expensive tastes did Michelle. So did her family of wasters. But then she found another guy whilst I was having a bad patch. I caught them at the office Christmas Party.
Then there was that bitch I met on a business trip in Thailand. She was supposed to be a translator but Fon just used me. We got engaged and I fixed her fiancée visa to Britain. Then she dumped me as soon as my mother died. She found out that nursing care costs had used up nearly all my savings and inheritance and she was off like a scalded cat.
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