The day of my retirement came, in the end, and I have to admit I found it quite traumatic.
For over forty years I’d had the same rhythm to my life: five days a week going to work, followed by the weekend; then the next five days at work, and so on and so on.
Now suddenly there was the weekend, and then nothing.
I’d read about the different ways retirement can affect people, but I hadn’t taken it too seriously. I suppose I was surprised it had arrived, even though it was so utterly predictable. Old age had crept up on me.
It was inevitable that I’d be sixty-five one day, but some part of me thought it would never happen to ME. Inside I still felt quite young. David Whitaker was not old, surely?
I’d been given a lovely retirement do at work, with lots of people saying how we must keep in touch, but I didn’t really think we would. My wife was the sociable one and I’d lost her a few years before. Our two children had emigrated: one to Canada and one to Australia, so I saw them once a year at best. I’m not an easy mixer and I tend to keep myself to myself.
My house was my kingdom, set in a large plot and screened from the road and neighbours by tress I’d planted years before. Generally I enjoy my own company and while I was working it had been enough. I’m on friendly terms with my neighbours but I don’t see much of them – living on a busy road we mostly go out in our cars and so it’s a case of a friendly wave as we pass.
For a few weeks I slipped into depression; I’d become a lonely old man with no sense of purpose, and nothing seemed worthwhile. I hit the bottom though, and then gradually came back up out of it, bit by bit.
I got a dog, in fact two dogs, so I had company and creatures who needed me and returned my affection. They made a lot of difference.
I spent more time with my computer and joined some forums, and got a lot of support and encouragement. It’s amazing the difference it makes just knowing that others have the same problems as you. There was some good advice too, and the best advice of all was to start a project.
I’ve always liked water, right from when I was a little boy, and I like DIY, so eventually the project I settled on was to build a swimming pool.
I went through my finances with my retirement lump sum, and I found I had enough, if I did most of the work myself, to build a pool in its own building, attached to the house.
Well doing the work was part of the idea, so I set to.
Searching online for ideas I saw lots of houses with small pools in small rooms, looking pretty unattractive and useless, and I was determined to make mine different. It was going to be a place to relax, enjoy, spend quality time in, and the pool was going to be long enough to swim proper lengths even if it had to be narrow.
There was going to be a lounging area with a hot tub and a TV. In fact I half expected to abandon my existing living room for the pool room.
So I did my own design with a glass front facing south over the garden, made up entirely of patio doors. I hired a digger and dug the pool and the wall foundations, bought the materials, and the filter, heat pumps, dehumidifier and everything. I learned to lay bricks, do the tiling, plumbing and electrics.
It took nine months, then I had a pool company come in to finish off and commission it.
Finally the great day had come: it was done and the water was warm enough to swim in. I almost wore myself out doing lengths, thrilled to be swimming in my own pool, then I brought the dogs’ beds through and settled down on the vinyl-covered mats to watch some TV.
Next evening the doorbell rang. I put on a robe and went to answer it; there were three children in the porch.
I only half recognised them, so I was glad that they introduced themselves as being the Mellors’ children from directly across the road. There were two girls and a boy, between perhaps twelve and seventeen years old.
I missed their names – I’m hopeless like that – but they were very nice children, very polite, who’d come to invite me to a party at their house, that their parents were holding for people on our rather busy road to get to know each other better. I said yes, of course. By now the need for company easily overrode my bashfulness.
So the next Saturday I went over and had a very nice time, I must say. Paul and Amanda were very friendly and it was good to meet everyone. After an hour or so the children came in and I was, fortunately, reintroduced to them: Vicky, the oldest, Laetitia, and John.
I was slightly surprised, though not disappointed, that Laetitia didn’t immediately go off somewhere after the introduction but stayed to talk to me. To my relief I found I was actually doing a lot more listening than talking, because she was a very friendly extrovert person and talked easily and at length in response to any question.
She was very engaging, very pretty, with shortish brown hair and brown eyes, a small turned-up nose and a wide mouth that was always smiling. She had charisma, a very expressive face with her features all on the move as she talked, and she waved her hands about a lot too. I found her magnetic.
She was quite short, and somehow the way she looked up at me made her even more appealing.
Also I have to admit that part of my smile back at her was because I couldn’t stop myself thinking of a short version of her splendidly old-fashioned name: Titty.
Because her tits were very prominent. Not large, especially, but jutting. She was wearing a thin pullover that shaped itself over them as though moulded, and they formed two highly visible cones high on her chest that I had to make an effort not to stare at.
It had been many years, decades even, since I’d been to bed with a woman but I’d never lost my interest in them. Laetitia was far, far too young for any serious interest, obviously, only sixteen perhaps, but she was very sexy; it was impossible to deny.
I was just trying to work out how aware she was of her breasts and the effect they were having on me, when Paul and Amanda came and joined us, as the party started to wind down. I’d been enjoying listening to Laetitia but I’d been starting to think it was time to go; however they seemed quite keen to keep chatting.
After some village gossip and chit-chat the conversation drifted round to the children, and how keen they were on sports and the various school teams they were all on, swimming among them. My antennae were just starting to twitch, since for one thing Laetitia didn’t seem to have the size or shoulders to be a competitive swimmer, when Paul brought up the subject of what I’d been doing.
“Gather you’ve been busy,” he said, “ all the deliveries and whatnot. And a pool builder’s sign I think we saw.” The pool company had taken the opportunity to advertise themselves with a sign on the verge at the end of my drive.
“Yes, I’ve been building a swimming pool,” I said, fighting off the urge to start boring them, like a lonely old fart, with all the details of the build, “in a pool room, you know. Just finished as a matter of fact.”
“Oh wow how amazing!” said Laetitia, “I bet it’s fantastic.” As hints go, I supposed there had been worse. Certainly many with less appeal.
“You must come over sometime,” I said, trying not to sound too keen, “and have a look; bring your things if you like.” I took in all of them with the invitation.
“We’d love to, thank you,” smiled Amanda, “one evening perhaps?”
After another minute of well-mannered negotiation I was going to see them all on the Thursday, Vicky and John too. Vicky in a swimming costume would be no hardship either, to be absolutely frank. Amanda looked in pretty good shape as well, come to think of it.
Later on I would admit to myself that I was playing along more than willingly, tempted beyond endurance by the prospect of those tits in a swimming costume. Possibly even - though it seemed too much to hope - in a bikini.
I was glad I’d put on a reasonable amount of muscle with my building activity, my body had been pretty slack while I was a sedentary desk worker. Now, even though I had less muscle than I’d have had when I was younger, I was not in bad shape.
I managed to get a sunbed delivered on the Tuesday, giving me two days to do something about my builder’s tan – brown face and arms, pale everywhere else. Tanned old skin is definitely better than pale, even if the wrinkles and liver spots are still there.
I swam a lot, obviously, and practiced my tumble turns. It was all a bit foolish how much I wanted to make a good impression. The Mellors had lived opposite me for about four years, after all, so common sense said they would come, be nice about my pool, and go back to their totally separate lives afterwards.
Anyway Thursday evening arrived and they all came over. After the pleasantries they got changed and we all jumped into the pool. I made a huge effort to concentrate on Paul to make sure I didn’t ogle the girls, which would have been all too easy since they were in excellent shape.
Fortunately they were in one-piece suits, and Laetitia’s suit flattened her tits somewhat, so when after a while she cornered me in the shallow end I was just about able to stop my eyes wandering down.
She smiled at me. Somehow I felt she would only be smiling that particular smile while she was facing away from her family.
“This is a lovely pool,” she said, “so luxurious, and so private; you must have all kinds of plans for it.”
Plans? I couldn’t think of a response: I just planned to swim in it. And I was distracted by her manner, and her closeness to me, which were both a bit intimate.
It was a little inappropriate: quite apart from her parents being a few yards away, swimming up and down; she could have been my granddaughter, our ages were so far apart. Great granddaughter just about. Ogling was one thing; this reality was another.
As so often my social skills failed me and I just smiled gormlessly at her, hoping she’d say something else, that I could respond to.
“It must be so great, being able to swim all the time,” she obliged me, “it must really improve your swimming.”
“Well yes, I think it will,” I smiled back, thinking she was quite a confident character.
“It’s so long,” she continued, “almost as long as the one at school, and you can just practice, turns and everything, without people getting in the way all the time.”
She had moved so close to me I was starting to feel the warmth of her thigh, even through the water. I couldn’t help picturing the thigh, which I’d seen before she got in: it was beautifully shaped and very slightly big in relation to her upper half. There was quite a lot of muscle on it, extending more front-to-back than side-to-side, if you see what I mean.
Her pelvis was a perfect match for it, curvy and feminine, narrowing deliciously into her waist, and the whole lot, thighs and pelvis, was smoothed over with just a very thin layer of fat. Not that she was ‘fat’ in the slightest, it was just like a smooth wrapping, a feminising comfort layer, that in the fullness of time would feel totally wonderful for some lucky man, I thought.
In her swimsuit it all made her shape incredibly arousing, with her tits, even a bit squashed as they were, just finishing it off.
She was looking steadily up at me. She was quite gorgeous, as though made especially for sex by some benevolent but slightly naughty god.
I suddenly knew that if her thigh touched me, by moving another half an inch, I’d have a hard-on. What a nightmare that would be, right in front of her parents! Suppose it wouldn’t go down before they all got out and I, as host, had to get out too?
“Well you must come over and practice, by all means Laetitia,” I blurted, trying to back away but finding I was jammed into the corner.
“Lettie,” she grinned naughtily at me, moving away just a little. I could have sworn she was laughing at my impending panic.
“Lettie,” I acknowledged.
“Thank you so much,” she said, “that would be lovely. Would Sunday afternoon be alright?”
I realised she’d just brazenly manipulated me with her sexy little body. I couldn’t decide if I ought to feel used or not, and if so whether I minded or actually quite liked it.
Anyway we all swam for a bit longer, then everyone started getting out. We got dressed and had a cup of tea, and I managed to ask enough about the children’s end-of-year exams to find out that Lettie either was sixteen or would be next term, with Vicki (with an I, definitely not with a Y Amanda said with a smile) two years ahead in school. Then Paul and Amanda stood up and started thanking me for having them over.
“I see you’ve been Lettied,” Amanda grinned at me, “don’t let her be a nuisance.” She ruffled Lettie’s hair affectionately. Evidently her parents were only too aware of her wilful side.
“Not at all, no,” I was trying to find the right thing to say, “you’re all welcome, any time.”
“Well just be firm with her, and the others if they come” Paul finished, shaking my hand. Between the lines it was understood that only the children, and perhaps only Lettie, would be coming back. Well Paul and Amanda were barely more than half my age, we were friendly neighbours not friends. The children would come for the pool and I could indulge them, if I wanted the company, or not.
I replayed the scene over and over again during the next two days. One angle that occurred to me, as I reviewed it, was whether Paul and Amanda had been actively offloading some of their energetic younger daughter onto me and my pool. I could imagine her being a bit of a handful sometimes.
I had no idea how right I was. She came half way through Sunday afternoon, on her own and with a rolled-up towel under her arm.
“Hello,” she smiled at me, “is this OK, really?” It was a politeness; there was no trace of doubt in her voice.
“Yes absolutely,” I couldn’t help beaming at her, this sexy young girl who’d come to swim with me. Somehow in the time since Sunday my qualms about her age had vanished.
Though this time in the pool there was a bit more of a distance between us; I supposed being on our own meant that there’d be no excuse for not touching, if we got that close again.
It was nice and friendly anyway, and she laughed happily as she raced me and practiced her tumble-turns.
When we got out we dried and then lay on the mats, with the TV on, about four or so feet between us. I found myself gazing at her gorgeous body rather than the TV.
Normally I’d have been much more discreet, but there was something about her that made me not bother trying to hide it. She was a very open person, and very confident. The situation was what she had contrived, after all.
I mean here she was, alone with a single old man, whom she didn’t know very well, in his house, half naked, and there was not a hint of anxiety about her. Her parents hadn’t worried either. Lettie wasn’t someone I could imagine as a victim at all.
As I stared at her she glanced over at me, smiled, and went back to looking at the TV. I took in her body all over again: nice shoulders, lean arms, slender neck, gorgeous face with that nose and mouth, full eyebrows.
Then down again to her pert tits, so high and prominent, her small waist, all her upper body quite slight, really, then her pelvis a bit bigger, stronger, curvy and inviting. And her legs, with quite a lot of muscle on her thighs, such a shape, and nice big calves to go with them.
Her swimsuit stretched revealingly over her prominent mons, her cameltoe quite clearly defined. Wasn’t there normally a lining to help that?
I shifted a bit to get comfortable, realising as I did that I had half an erection. With wearing my usual brief-style trunks it was rather obvious. Lettie looked over as I moved, and her eyes were drawn to it. I held my breath – it was all terribly quick, not to say brazen.
She rolled over onto her side, towards me, presenting me with a very sexy profile. My cock expanded a little more. She looked at it, and spoke.
“Can we do a deal, Mr Whitaker?” she asked.
“Deal?” I was taken by surprise, “call me David, please.”
“David. The thing is,” she paused, “I’m a lesbian. I have girlfriends. Only girlfriends. But Mum and Dad don’t know, so I can’t take them home, not to do anything, and it’s the same with them.”
She speeded up, knowing that I’d be starting to feel I’d been taken advantage of.
“So, well I can see you like girls, my age, you know, and so I wondered if, well, if I brought girls here, whether that might be nice for both of us?”
My mind flip-flopped several times in the next millisecond, between disappointment that Lettie wouldn’t be interested in me, on the one hand, and on the other hand the prospect of teenage girls being brought round.
“So you don’t like men?” I found I needed to know a bit more about it. I hardly knew a thing about lesbianism.
“Well I don’t find men sexy, just girls,” Lettie explained with no embarrassment at all. “I don’t ‘not like’ men, it’s just that girls get me wet and men don’t.”
She smiled at me, looking for my reaction to that intimate detail. “So I don’t mind you looking at me or anything, I wouldn’t mind if we were nude or anything, but it doesn’t turn me on. To turn me on we’d need to have a sexy young girl here. And I’m guessing that would turn you on as well. So...”
I gawped at the gorgeous, confident little teen.
“Why don’t I show you?” she asked. “Have you got a computer?”
I got up and went for my laptop. When I got back I plugged it into the big TV through the long cable I’d installed, and set the laptop down between us.
With the display duplicated on the TV I passed Lettie the mouse.
“I’ll find some girls that I like, and let’s see if our taste is the same,” she said. I was starting to get over my disappointment already.
Lettie went straight to a site full of pictures of young girls in bikinis. Some videos too. The girls all looked rather underage, though not pre-pubescent. They looked mostly like young teens – developing but not fully developed.
“This one’s nice,” she said, starting a video of a girl standing on a beach, just in the sea. The girl had no idea she was being filmed and was playing laughingly with a little brother, while some pervert with a long lens and a good tripod had recorded her lovely young body for the world to drool over for evermore.
The girl had broad, straight shoulders, a small waist, and a pert, nicely muscled ass. Smooth, tanned skin. A delicious shape and completely lean. Her smile was really pretty too. She played and paddled, her delectable body in a little bikini tied with bows.
We watched the video, two or three minutes long. Lettie watched it intently till it finished. “Gorgeous, don’t you think?” she asked.
I nodded. The girl was, undoubtedly. She was very young though. Thirteen? Fourteen? Fifteen at the most.
I had to admit that Lettie’s unapologetic lust allowed me to enjoy the vision where before, on my own, I would have felt guilty and probably switched away.
Lettie played another one, quite similar, then ran through some photos. All the girls she chose had tits, hips and waists, but they all had that slender shape of girls who were not yet women. They were lean, lithe, and innocent.
Though no doubt ovulating, so in that strict physical sense they were ready for sex. In many countries they’d be legal, in fact.
I shifted on the mat, and as before realised the reason for my discomfort was my cock swelling in my trunks.
Lettie looked across and smiled. “You can let it out if you like, I won’t mind,” she said, “play with yourself even, it’s OK. We’re sharing aren’t we?”
I gave her the obvious riposte: “I will if you will,” I challenged, smiling back at her.
Lettie had opened another site, where young girls were in lesbian poses.
Then she was stripping off her costume, as I watched in disbelief. She pulled each strap off each shoulder, slid them down off her arms, exposing her fabulous breasts, then lifted her pelvis off the mat, and in a moment had pushed the swimsuit down her legs and pulled her feet through.
Her body was so arousing it should have been a state secret, not casually revealed to an old man who happened to have a swimming pool.
She looked at me for my reaction, with a confident smile, then back at the screen. She was quite happy to be nude; I realised she’d set up my challenging little riposte.
I pulled off my trunks anyway and lay there, hardly breathing, with the young lesbians on the screen and the gorgeous Lettie naked right there next to me. God.
Sixteen, probably. At the most. She had a lovely little brunette bush at the top of her gorgeous thighs, trimmed neatly to fit inside her swimsuit.
Her body looked even more sensational naked. Her tits were incredible, sticking up like perfect cones even on her back, topped with large, dark-pink areolas and big nipples at least half an inch long. Seeing her fine, slightly brown skin flow uninterrupted from her torso into her pelvis and thighs made me groan slightly, it was so sexual.
She started playing a video of two girls in a shower, washing each other and then kissing, fondling, and finally eating each other in a sixty-nine. While it was playing Lettie started playing with herself, opening her legs and sliding a finger in and out of her pussy, while caressing a tit with the other hand.
She kept playing videos, one after another, for perhaps half an hour, slowly finger-fucking herself and rubbing her wet thumb over her clit. She was gasping quietly.
I nursed my erection carefully, close to an orgasm all the time. It was an other-worldly experience, one that I’d never imagined might happen to me, in a million years.
Lettie looked over.
“So do you accept?” she was an ace negotiator I realised, “the deal?”
“Yes,” I could only gasp by this time.
“OK we’re going to seal it, alright?”
I just nodded.
She went to another site, one that she had to login to. She picked a video and there was a young naked teenage girl in stocks - helpless, defenceless, with her head and wrists locked into the three holes and her pert young ass presented to a bigger, but still sexy woman wearing a strapon. The woman looked late twenties, perhaps. She was lean, not hefty but with a lot of muscle definition.
The poor young girl. She was going to be used, I could see. I could only hope she was an actress.
Normally I’d have switched away from such a video, been indignant even. But somehow Lettie’s sexuality, her lack of concern, and my extreme arousal, made it compelling.
The girl was slender, with long dark hair falling down and half hiding her face, though from what I could see she looked pretty. Her pert tits were barely drooping, and her flat tummy curved up, not down.
She didn’t look a lot different from the innocent, carefree girl in the video on the beach, except that obviously she was by no means carefree.
The older woman had been fingering and licking her, evidently, and we saw her with what looked like fingers in her pussy and – outrageously – her tongue in her anus!
She stood up, positioned the big, black strapon at the young girl’s pussy, and started to fuck it into her, working it in over half a dozen strokes. We heard the young girl groaning and gasping, and saw the strapon reappear on each backward stroke with juices glistening on it, a longer length covered each time. Finally the entire length disappeared, and then reappeared fully coated.
The older woman started a steady fucking, and we heard the captive teen being driven inexorably towards a forced orgasm. Over the next few minutes the gasping got louder and louder, then a rhythmic groan was added, getting faster as her dominatrix, or rapist perhaps it was hard to say, grasped her by the hips and started driving the big fake cock rapidly in and out.
I glanced over at Lettie, briefly taking in her squeezing one of her flushed tits - looking more wonderful than ever - her strong young pelvis moving around as she thrust three fingers in and out, and her gasping in time with the girl in the stocks.
I looked back at the screen. Finally the sexy dom reached underneath, for the girl’s clitoris, and the girl gave a long cry and went rigid as the orgasm gripped her.
I came, hard, my sperm splattering right up my chest for the first time since my forties. Next to me the gorgeous Lettie was arched off the mat, her hand working furiously as she climaxed in synchrony.
I could hardly believe it, but it was true. It had happened.
As my senses gradually returned after my greatest orgasm in years, possibly ever, I gaped, amazed, at my new young...well, partner, really.
She looked over; gorgeous, flushed and excited from her cum. Not amazed though.
“I think we should start with Janie,” she said.
(To read later chapters if I do any, or my other stories, use the yellow MrSoftee profile link at the top of the page)