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.'

smile broadened. 'Follow

fit of the trousers around her bum and the length of her legs. She walked a few

said and she smiled at me again and turned away. I watched her disappear around a corner and then went and picked up tube of white grout and headed for

Abigail. She was gorgeous. A perfect example of a sexy older lady, at least as far as 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 way home from work the following day, but there was no sign of her. I was unreasonably disappointed but that

it wasn't. I went into the store the next evening, which was a Friday, then again on Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon. Nothing. I was tempted 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 went straight home after work. On Tuesday, a week after I'd seen her, I told myself that maybe

notice me, although the place was very quiet that lunchtime and there was no one else in the aisle. It now struck me forcibly that I had no plan for talking to her. This probably sounds silly but I don't think I ever really thought I'd see her again, so I hadn't thought about what I'd say to her

'Excuse me.'

'How can

tile grout was the other day,'

'Oh, did I?'

just wondered if you'd like to have a coffee with me, sometime.' I tailed off, my face flushing with embarrassment. Abigail's smile

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 features are regular, with blue eyes and a firm chin. I'm no Paul Newman but I look ok

suppose. In

me critically for a few seconds. 'Ok,' she said. 'Why not. But I don't

heavenly choir 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

look and a sort of half smile then she turned back to her screws and