Jayne’s World Pt. 05

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Looking at how an older man and a younger woman handle the thirty-year difference as they begin an affair.

It’s probably better if you read the previous parts although that’s not essential as hopefully this works as a self-contained story. And, by the way there are at least four more parts to follow.



Over the next few days, which frustratingly became a few weeks and drifted into over a month I forgot nothing. Jayne was on my mind almost constantly. Everything we said, how she looked, what we did and all that she promised, albeit non-verbally! All day she was there both with and without her glasses which, if anything, made her look even sexier.

Of course, I wanted to see her again, in fact I wanted her but for what? Naturally, as a red-blooded male my thinking veered from fucking her to other activities. Less intense activities, touches, kisses and affectionate moments. Simply just to be with her and look at her. Was that love, God knows? I didn’t want to marry her or even be with her all the time, after all what would others say or think about a thirty-year age difference? What I most wanted, I think, was simply to hold her. For us both to be naked and in each other’s arms was the vision that mostly came to mind although the memory faded a little with time. Maybe we would make love as I was more thinking of full sex with her now rather than shagging, screwing or fucking, but then maybe we wouldn’t. That seemed almost secondary to holding each other. But then I would revert to being the red-blooded male and fantasise about fucking her rigid, silly old bugger that I was.

The call came when I was least expecting it. How long had passed? It was a few weeks, at the very least. Long enough for me to convince myself that I wouldn’t hear from Jayne again.

“I’m doing a survey,” a familiar voice told me. “Do you have a few minutes to help?”

I thought it was, but couldn’t be sure, that it was her.

“Of course,” I replied, settling back on my couch as I felt an instant reaction between my thighs. Even after the break in contact between us, she still had the same affect.

“I’m from a London agency,” you continued. “Privacy prevents me from saying exactly who. I have a few questions.”

Yes, that was Jayne. Her voice was unmistakeable.

“Fire away,” I answered, my nervous voice trembling a little.

“Could I ask where you are answering the questions from?”

“My home in Yorkshire.”

“A-ha. Are you alone?”


I’m sure I heard an almost imperceptible sigh of appreciation. What did that mean? “Good. First question. Have you had sex lately?”

I gave a soft grunt as my hardening erection hardened further. I moved the mobile phone from my right to left ear, so that I could stroke myself through my jeans while I answered. “No, not for some time.”


Did you say good? Was it? Why say that?

“Are you keeping yourself for one particular person?” you continued.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” I answered.

“But right now, talking to me, you have an image of someone you’d like to fuck?”

Damn, Jayne! I was so hard now, that I nearly had to yank down my zip to ease the ache.


“Is she from London?”

You know she is, I thought. But this was your game and I was going to play along with it. “Yes.”

“How old?”


“How old are you?”

For God’s sake, Jayne! Stop teasing. “Mid-fifties.”

“You can still get hard at that age?”

“Hard enough,” I grunted.

“Hard enough? Hard enough to fuck a twenty-three-year-old blonde?”

“Absolutely,” I said through gritted teeth. “If you were here right now, I’d fuck your brains out. On the couch, the floor, or anywhere.”

“Impressive,” you said, and I felt a little better. “For a grandad,” you added, deflating my bubble, though not my erection.

“Do you get hard when you talk to her?”

“Yes,” I replied, my hand softly running up and down my shaft.

“Do you masturbate when you talk to her?”

This is our first real conversation other than face to face, so I only had this experience to go by. And I was ready to masturbate and we both knew it.

“Are you hard now?” you continued, without waiting for my answer.

“Yes,” I conceded, though my voice was little more than a grunt.

“How hard?”

“Very hard,” I replied squeezing it through my jeans.

“Hard enough to fuck?”

“Oh yes well hard enough for that.”

“Good. Are you masturbating right now?”

Geez, you knew how to turn the screw. “Why ask!”

“Thinking about your young blonde?”


“Thinking about fucking her?”


Oh, God. I wasn’t going to last much longer. How long was it since I’d previously masturbated? Too long! All that pent up emotion was gathering in my balls, threatening to make this a ‘personal best’ for spilling my juice.

“You’re thinking about fucking her while you wank?” you continued, your words as effective as my heavily stroking hand.


“Do Yeşilköy escort bayan you know whether she’s wanked thinking about you finger fucking her in that doorway near the Savoy?”

God, your words were threatening to suck my seed from me just as effectively as if it was your soft mouth wrapped around my cock. That image filled my mind. Your soft blonde hair dancing on your shoulders and my stomach and thighs as your head bobbed up and down on my cock, your flicking tongue running up and down my hardness, then your pink lips sucking me deep inside your mouth.

“She may be wanking now,” you continued, “Thinking about you stroking yourself.”

“Jayne,” I grunted, feeling my creamy manjuice beginning to gather for its upwards journey.

“Legs apart,” you continued, and from the way your voice had become harsher, more of a growl, I actually believed you were wanking along with me. “Thumb on her clit, two fingers inside, wanting to cum.”

Sweat formed on my brow, my imagination went into overdrive, just like you wanted. I saw you in my mind, wantonly spreaded legs, eyes closed, masturbating. Oh, fuck. My balls were tightening.

“She’s thinking about you cumming,” you continued, leaving me wondering how and at what point we’d changed from the pretence of a survey to outright telephone sex. “You are going to cum, aren’t you, James?”

“Yes,” I grunted, only seconds away from that most exquisite of moments.

“Good. I’ll be in Covent Garden at five on Saturday afternoon. Don’t be late. Now, baby. Imagine Jayne’s mouth on that old cock, sucking hard. Imagine it James, and give me that cum!”

I ‘saw’ you between my legs, your pink nipples gently brushing my knees, your soft lips teasing the very tip of my shaft before plunging down. It was too much. My hand movements were a blur.

“Cum, grandad,” you almost shouted. “Cum with me!”

Oh God, that was it! I came like a beast, roaring into the phone at the same time as my Jayne-tribute launched itself high into the air.

I made no attempt to stop the fountain, after all, this was your mouth, your throat, I was firing into, but the line had gone dead, you had gone.


I had only meant to have a bit of a joke.

I had been thinking about contacting you for some time. Well really almost from when we parted the first time. But then things happen, things come up, there are things to do, places to go, stuff to get on with and men to fuck us. Adchicks are so in demand by our account directors, media planners, creative dickheads et al we sometimes have no time to phone grandads to arrange experiences! And as with most things interest slips a little though absence does make the heart grow fonder.

At last, though, I found the time. And fuck me look what happened. We wanked together, can you believe it, I can’t? And it was bloody good. As I cut the call I thought if he fucks me half as well as we wank together then I will be a very happy adchick indeed.

I left it a bit, long enough for my knickers to dry out and called you back.

“Er James, Covent Garden is big you know, any particular place or shall I just wander round until I find you, or someone?”

Perhaps I should pretend to be a hooker? Maybe not pretend, but be one. Get myself pulled by a punter and then let him fuck me somewhere for money. Shit what a turn on, being fucked by a stranger, someone I will never see again and doing it for money. Talk about Christine Deneuve in Belle de Jour, fuck Bogey you watch her, one of the most beautiful female film stars of all time. Check her in that and Hunger with Susan Sarandon, yet another horny female star. Not that I am into vampires, but the seduction scene blows me away. I watch it all the time, SS has the most exquisite tits!

“You decide,” you languidly reply.

“Are you coming down on Saturday?”

“Yes, by train.”

“Why Covent Garden?”

“Why not?”

“Why not indeed?”

“Are you staying the night?”



“Not sure.”

“My mum’s away.”

“Does that mean the little girl can stay out late then?”

“Oooooo, sarcy, I thought that was my part.”

“Even us oldies have our moments.”

“Yes so, I just witnessed, you did cum didn’t you? You weren’t acting, were you?”

“No Jayne, I wasn’t acting at all, were you?”

I looked down at the tee shirt I had pulled up round my neck, my tits that I had yanked out from the bra, which I had kept on, my sludgy coloured, elastic waisted combat pants pushed down to my knees and the black lacy, fashionable shorts that were half way down my thighs.

“No James, it was for real for me too and yes it means that and other things too.”

“What does?”

“My mum being in Spain trying for reconciliation with my dad, or a fuck with the guy who runs the local health club.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that I will be in a big, five bedroomed, three reception, massive fitted kitchen, snooker room, large conservatory, secluded grounds and a Escort Yeşilyurt heated pool all by myself.”

“Lucky girl.”

“James stop being a fuckhead.”


“Daft expression I know, but at the moment it sums you up.”


“Never mind.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“In easy-to-understand words, James, why not come to my house,” I said, giggling as I added. “Or even cum in my house?”


What was the feeling running through me at that precise moment?

Unbridled lust? That would explain the almost permanent erection throughout most of the train journey so far.

Almost shitting myself with fear in case I couldn’t perform in the presence of such a sexy, young woman went some way to explaining the trembling in my chest. Excitement at the thought of what lay in store? That would explain why the hairs were standing up on the back of my neck. Apprehension at the ‘cumming’ together of the old versus young generation. That would explain the nervousness affecting my mind and my body.

Was this a granddad thing I wondered, trying to come to terms with the mixture of emotions playing inside my head?

Stop it!

Where was the cockiness I’d felt at the start of the journey, I wondered? Well, actually, ‘cockiness’ was the least of my problems right then. If I didn’t put thoughts of Jayne out of my mind, I’d have to take my ‘cockiness’ out and stroke it into submission.

Mind you, the middle-aged couple, sitting across from me might object. Their conversation seemed to be primarily focussed on Arsenal’s chances of ever winning the Premiership again so, the thought of someone wanking in the train seat across from them might not go down too well.

Middle-aged couple? Hell, what did I mean? I was actually as old as either of them, probably older! That was one of the craziest things about growing older, I thought. You still saw life out of young eyes. But then they weren’t going to a fucking big house, to fuck a fucking horny young chick, were they?

In an attempt to somehow resist the temptation of sliding my hand underneath the table and onto my hardness, I closed those ‘young’ eyes.

It wasn’t a good move.

In the darkness behind my eyelids, a young figure emerged. It was you, somehow underneath the table separating me from the couple discussing football. Behind my eyelids, you were unfastening my black jeans, somehow opening them in the confined space and reaching inside. My tented boxers were being fumbled with, your hands searching for the opening so you could drag out my cock.

I groaned.

“Are you okay?” a voice came. My eyes flickered open, to see that the couple were sending me a concerned look. “You groaned. Are you okay?” the man asked again.

“Fine,” I grunted, my body jerking slightly as the woman in my mind dragged my cock free and jammed her mouth down on it. Oh, God, Jayne.

“Migraine,” I mumbled, closing my eyes again.

“Poor thing!” This time it was the woman’s voice, sympathising with my condition, but I wasn’t listening. You were easing me out from between those pink lips and were running your tongue around the head of my cock.

“I have some tablets,” the female voice continued.

I didn’t answer. How could I when you’d just tilted your head to the side and were licking up one side of my hardness and then down the other?

“I said, I have some tablets,” the woman repeated.

“Thank you,” my voice said while my mind said fuck off.

They gave me a sympathetic look as I smiled at them. Except it wasn’t a smile. It was a gritting of my teeth as you took me deep inside again, my cock twitching in my jeans in the same way as it did in your imaginary mouth. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to explode in my fucking trousers. Without being touched!

How the hell would I explain that?

“I’m getting off in a minute,” I told the couple, instantly realising the unintentional double entendre. “Not long now.”

The woman sucking my cock smiled up at me with that Jayne-gaze. I know what you’re doing, the mischievous blue eyes said. You think by talking to them you’ll get rid of this image. Not a chance, your twinkling upward gaze told me.

“Travelling far afterwards?” the man asked.

“No,” I croaked as you deep throated me. “No,” I said again as your cheeks bulged. “No,” I repeated, parrot fashion, as I touched the back of your throat.

Oh, God!

“Good,” the woman’s soft voice murmured. “You get to bed as soon as you get there. I know what it’s like, when you’re feeling like that. You need some relief.”

I need some fucking relief all right, I thought, as your blonde hair began to bounce in line with the bobbing of your head. You were going for broke now, and my cock was reacting. Control, I screamed at myself. Where was my control?

I knew the answer, of course. I had none! A woman has all the control when she uses her mouth like you were doing.

Oh, fuck, this was too much!

Oh, fuck, Jayne, please stop!

Oh fuck, Zeytinburnu escort I was on the edge!

Oh fuck, I was going to cum in my fucking jeans!

My eyes scrunched, attempting to stave off the inevitable.

The hand tugging my arm temporarily interrupted the moment. It was touch and go. Then another tug, harder this time. Then another. My eyes shot open to see the woman across from me holding out two tablets and a white train cup, half filled with water.

“I can see from your face how much you’re struggling,” she said. “Poor thing. Take these, please. They’ll help. I swear by them, they don’t come any stronger.

I gave a weak smile, now she was into unintentional double entendres!

I realised I was panting heavily as the feeling in my cock gently subsided, taking one pace and then a second back from the brink. That’s it, I gratefully thought, swallowing the unnecessary tablets as my erection returned to more acceptable proportions.

Under the table, your amused eyes stared up at me. Got away with it that time, they were saying. But don’t worry, I’ve only just started.

A station announcement over the tannoy interrupted the thought. The beating in my heart that had begun to gently subside, immediately started up again. I had arrived at where I was going to meet you again

Geez, that fucking erection was back again!!


You had told me that your train was arriving at Kings Cross at 11.20 and that you would get a cab. I had explained that my mum’s house was some fifteen miles or so outside London and that it would not only cost fifty quid or so, but would take ages. I had said for you to call me when you were an hour so out from Kings Cross.

“Hi it’s me James,” you had said by way of introduction when you called my mobile at 10.20, on the dot.

“Hello James, it’s me Jayne,” I retorted. “Where are you?”

“Opposite a middle-aged couple,” you said very quietly.

“How middle aged?”

“Fuck I don’t know,” you whispered.”

“Why are you whispering? Can they hear you?”


“Well move then silly so you can talk freely.”

“Oh, right yes, good idea.”

“OK now, the old couple out of earshot?”

“Yes, I’m between coaches.”

“Splendid. You do realize James that my station is not on the main line from the north to London.”

“Er, yes, I guess so.”

“Well then, where I live in Essex is miles from Kings Cross, you have to come into London then go out again.”


“Never mind. I’ll meet you off your train, we’ll have lunch somewhere then get the tube, the Central Line out to Essex, ok?”

“Yes, see you soon then.”

“Yes, hopefully at eleven twenty at Kings Cross.”

It was a daft thing to do really. All things being equal, I would have been better off, just letting it go, not bothering to contact you. No good could really come from it, could it? But then you never know and my instinct told me to go for it. To check it out, to see where we might go, to run with the buzz. Hence, the phone call, hence, you travelling down and hence, me on the tube to Kings Cross.

Usually with men, I am fairly decisive. I seem to know what I want when I meet one and usually, I get that. I am generally able to work out why I like the guy and can then have a relationship making best use of that. It might be friendship, intrigue, his intelligent mind (rarely), the dates he takes me on, his romantic nature, adventure or him being great in bed (also rarely). The common theme is that I usually know why I am seeing him. With you, though, I had no clear idea as to why I felt that I wanted to see you again. Sure, I liked you, but near pensioners are a whole new field to me! Nevertheless, during the few weeks after that quite extraordinary day in Covent Garden I gradually found myself thinking of you and that then developed into this screwy plan. I mean how fucking crazy was it to invite you to come and stay with me in mum’s house? And not just come there, have sex and piss off, but to stay a few days, like a bloody holiday.

I dressed in a rush, no don’t tell lies, I dressed young, very young and trendy. I guess I was making a statement, but of what, I had no idea? Who knows?

A blue and white hooped, long sleeved, but low-cut tee shirt, very French, like an onion seller with, of course no bra or, beret come to that. Dark blue, quite thick tights. The tee came down to just beneath my waist and just that and the blue tights looked good in the mirror. Maybe I should go like this I thought, turning, looking over my shoulder and gazing at my bum in the almost sheer tights. Perhaps not? I slipped into the raggedy, denim hot pants I had earmarked for the meet and greet and did the zip and brass button up. I put the denim waistcoat on and slid my feet into the silver, high heeled, strappy, tart’s pumps. Did I look daft, tarty or what? I didn’t know and frankly my dear I didn’t give a damn as I waited by the gate at platform twelve. But I was pretty sure I looked cool and more importantly young and trendy they were the most important things.


I was out of my seat even before the train pulled into the station. Partly due to my eagerness to catch up with you, but also to escape the couple sitting opposite. For a moment, I thought they were going to offer to accompany the ‘invalid’ until I reached my destination.

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