Unspoken Pleasure by Erotica

Abigail's Secret Pt 1

Abigail' Secret

This story concerns a burgeoning love affair between Abigail, a lady in her early fifties, and Tom, who is twenty-five years younger. The age gap is significant, but Abigail also has a secret.

The eponymous lady is based upon a member of staff that helped me out in a DIY superstore recently. My thanks to her.

I hope you enjoy this story and I look forward to receiving comments.

It all started after I decided that the downstairs shower was just too revolting to use anymore. The whole room needed updating, but I couldn't afford to do that so I decided on a quick makeover for the shower: strip the mouldy silicon sealant out and scrape away the grout that had turned orange with fungal growth. I'd got most of the stuff I needed but when I came to re-grout the tiles I found the tube of grout I'd got had dried up, so I popped into the local DIY superstore after work one Tuesday and that's when I met Abigail.

I wasn't in a hurry or anything when I entered the vast store with its endless aisles of steel racking and I spent a bit of time in the shower section looking at what I might buy when I refurbished the room. I found the tiles section easily enough, and a display with tile cutters and grouting tools and almost everything else you could think of - except grout and tile adhesive. I couldn't see them anywhere. I marched up and down aisles but drew a blank. Reaching the end of one aisle, I came across a member of staff. She had her back to me and was humming to herself as she entered data from a display onto a tablet. She wore the staff uniform of black polo shirt, with company logo on the back, and black trousers. 'Excuse me,' I said approaching her.

She turned to me and gave me a smile. 'How can I help you, sir?' she said in a clear and even voice, with just a trace of local accent.

My stomach turned over as I looked at her. I should say here that I'm a sucker for a mature lady and this one was close to my ideal. She was tall, around five nine, I guessed, with chestnut hair cut in a short bob. She had an attractively tanned face with full lips, hazel eyes and slightly hooked nose. When she smiled she showed strong, even teeth. Not film-star white but not yellow. She appeared to be in her fifties with marked crow's feet at the corners of her eyes and faint lines on her cheeks and above her upper lip. She wore a name badge that said "Abigail".

I swallowed, realising that I was in danger of gawping at her. 'I'm looking for tile grout,' I said. 'I can't seem to find it.'

broadened. 'Follow

the trousers around her bum and the length of her legs. She walked a few aisles along then stopped and pointed. 'Down at the end,

at me again and turned away. I watched

my sixty-second exposure to her had indicated. That night I thought about her while I masturbated; what she would look like naked; what she would look like bouncing up and down on my erection; what she might smell like and taste like; what her most intimate places might look like and if she made much noise when she came. The following day at work I thought about her some more, and again in the evening. I masturbated twice that second night and woke in the morning with another boner which had to be relieved before I went to work. On an impulse, I went into the superstore on my

to phone the superstore and ask for Abigail, but somehow I didn't think that would work. On Monday I told myself to stop being so daft and I

no plan for talking to her. This probably sounds silly but I don't think I ever really thought I'd see her again,

'Excuse me.'

smiled. 'How can I

showed me where the tile grout

'Oh, did I?'

coffee with me, sometime.' I tailed off, my face flushing with embarrassment. Abigail's smile faded

her my best "I'm not a nutter" smile. My smile is reckoned to be pretty powerful by the girls I've dated. I should add here that although I am very attracted to older ladies, I've never actually slept with a lady more than five years older than me; this was radically new territory. And whilst on the subject of my smile it may be worth sketching out what Abigail saw standing in front of her that Tuesday lunchtime: I'm about the same height as her, five nine, with a slim, athletic body. My hair is black and a bit curly and my

suppose. In the

'Ok,' she said. 'Why not. But I don't finish

seemed to rise up and a huge sense of wellbeing enveloped me. 'That's great! I'll see you at six.' I turned to go then turned back. 'I'm Tom, by

gave me a final quizzical look and a sort of half smile then she