Edna and I had run out of time. Having found in each other a kindred spirit, determined to reconfigure sex as a natural pleasure that could and should be enjoyed without shame, embarrassment or selfconsciousness, we had had a few days of unimaginably liberating animal couplings with the important human addition of conscious affection. I was, as men would say to each other, shagging this woman, who happened to be one of my mother’s friends and therefore twenty years older than me, and it was a totally beautiful experience.My dick ached around the base, was sore around the head and inside, and throbbed along its entire length. My head swam with recollections of the unspeakable things we had done – unspeakable to anyone else, that is. Talking about it was very much part of the enjoyment for us.I knew all of this was true for Edna too, because she smiled when she spoke, for instance, about me licking her arse, which I had done several times. We had done, I should say, because when the recipient is not just going along with it but positively loving it and keen to do it again, it is a joint action. Edna talked about it as freely as if she were discussing me massaging her tense neck muscles.Golden showers, too: we had not just done it to each other, we had loved doing it and having it done. I had pissed down this respectable retired schoolteacher’s body, both front and back, and she had urinated in my mouth. And it wasn’t a sordid little secret; a secret, yes, because you can’t broadcast that kind of thing in polite society, but we didn’t regard it as in any way sordid. We were both what would be commonly described as kinky, but when you’re both into Bostancı Escort it, kinky just becomes sexy.It was the kind of situation that can lead the people involved to think they are falling in love because we were sharing more than a bed. We were wrapped around each other in a soft bath of warm, muskily fragrant sensual hedonism, and we trusted one another, respected one another, admired one another, looked forward to our meetings, sent messages that were partly explicit and partly in a sort of shorthand that verged on code.But we had run out of time. My stay with my mother in the old family home on the Norfolk coast was over and I had to return to my real life in London. The trouble was, Edna and I weren’t finished. We had a list we were working our way through, and there were several important items still to be tackled. We had blithely agreed that anything left over could wait until some undefined point in the future when she would come and visit me, but now that the time had come to begin the hiatus, we couldn’t do it.We met on Saturday night in the dark on the beach, a cloak-and-dagger tryst in which we clung together like star-crossed lovers, kissing deeply and passionately but with an utterly romantic finish. Even as my finger was as deep as it would go in her hot, eager, mature, loving cunt and her grateful hand was in my underpants, wrapped around my granite-hard cock, our lips were giving each other wispy, loving little touches and our eyes searched their counterparts for reassurance.“What are we going to do, Philip?” she whispered. I had already worked this out.“We’re going to check into Bostancı Escort Bayan a hotel,” I said. “Somewhere on the way to London. Doesn’t matter where. Just a nice hotel where we can be anonymous. A family place rather than a business hotel, if we can find one. And we’re going to spend Sunday together as if we belong together.”“Which we do, in a way,” Edna interrupted.“Exactly,” I said. “We’re going to be you and me, the devoted couple who still can’t keep our hands off each other. Just for tomorrow. I’ve already told work I’ve got a project here that will be good for them as well as me and I won’t be back till Monday afternoon.”“I think I know the place you’re dreaming of,” she said, squeezing my right hand with her left. “Shall I book it? I’ll have a good look online to make sure it’s what we want.” I loved this wifely offer to take care of it.“Who shall we be?” Edna continued.“Mr and Mrs Mellors,” I said. We had talked a lot about books and shared a love of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.“Don’t they want to see ID these days?” Edna asked.“If they do, we’ll be Mr and Mrs me, if you like,” I suggested.“I would like that,” she said happily. “But between ourselves, we can be Oliver and Constance.” She paused for a second, then spoke again.“Let’s walk along the promenade. I know you’ve got to spend your last evening with your Mum, but let’s have five minutes in one of the shelters.”~~~I left the coast at nine o’clock on Sunday morning and drove up to Norwich, where I got on the A11 to London. Not much more than an hour later I was in Chelmsford, sitting in the railway station, waiting for Edna, who bounced Escort Bostancı off the train in the bubbliest of moods, a smart leather overnight bag in her hand. We hugged and kissed as if it had been fifteen months rather than fifteen hours since we had last met.“Mellors,” she said. “Take me to the hotel I told you about. Immediately.”She kept her hand on my leg all the way and when we finally checked into the old brick building covered in some sort of violet flowering creeper, we could barely walk for standing too close together. Up the creaking staircase we went, feeling as though we looked like honeymooners, although the receptionist probably had a different theory about Mr and Mrs Mellors.The list, or what little was left on it, would have to wait because we had some genuine lovemaking to do first. We put a few clothes in wardrobes and undressed as though we had done this a thousand times. Then we climbed into the tightly-made king-size hotel bed and wrapped ourselves around each other, kissing frantically. We didn’t have time or even the need for foreplay; we were completely revved up and just needed to get my cock planted inside Edna’s hole. When that happened – as if by remote control – we lay motionless, just taking in the feeling of a man inside a woman, looking deep into each other’s eyes.“Are we allowed to be in love?” Edna asked softly.“I don’t think it’s in our hands,” I replied, pushing my knob firmly up her tunnel. “You know, I sometimes think I have a different idea of what love is. From other people’s idea.”“Carry on,” she said, stroking my back. “Tell me.”“Well,” I began hesitantly, trying to compose something I had never thought through or attempted to put into words, and hoping it would come out well. “The feeling I have for you, it feels like how love should be, but it’s kind of too… pure. Real love has to be battered and bruised and then healed and… you know. I have a terrible feeling what we have is infatuation.”