Here's a situation that some women dream about: Alex wakes up in her bed one morning with a stranger... but he isn't a stranger. He's her first love from thirty years ago. How did he get into her bed? And why is he there? Has he come back into her life forever? Can she keep him? (And does she want to?) What is the secret he seems to be keeping from her?
When I began as an “Indie”, I had three titles published: Interview For Love (which was the first story I wrote), Jack, Me… and His Lodger (based on a delicious sexual fantasy I had some time back), and A Stranger In My Bed. Of those three, A Stranger In My Bed is the one I enjoyed writing the most. Why? Well, I could probably identify more closely with the heroine because she was almost as old as I am now, and I wanted to give her a sexual re-awakening. Most romances in the market-place today – especially erotic romances – have a twenty-something or maybe a thirty-something as the heroine. But Alex, the heroine here, is a widow in her fifties.
Some years ago, when the Internet wasn’t anywhere near as old as it is now, there was a popular website in UK called friendsreunited.co.uk – it still exists today, but it hasn’t been able to sustain itself amongst all the competition that has arisen since those early days. Anyway, once people in their 50s and 60s were able to touch base with schoolfriends who they hadn’t seen or heard from for over thirty years, some crazy things happened. On at least three occasions, middle-aged women were getting tired of their relationship with the middle-aged husband and, once they were able to get in touch with the boys with whom they had a school romance – back in the 1960s and 1970s – they packed their suitcase and went round to knock on their front door, hoping to rekindle the spark they had when they were less than half their current age.
If you were a middle-aged professional, opening your front door to a tearful lady who threw her arms round your neck and said she’d left her husband for you, how do you react? Especially if you hadn’t seen her for thirty years or more?
Perhaps that could be the start of another story in the future (if I can find enough readers who want more stories about 50 year-old heroines). But A Stranger In My Bed starts off as the result of a school reunion which could easily have been organised by someone after doing some research on a website like friendsreunited.co.uk And did we have school romances in the chemistry lab during lunchtimes? I certainly did when I was at school – and so did several others. We had organized some kind of rota. The headmistress wasn’t happy about it when she found out, and she had something to say about it to us girls. As far as I know, nothing was said to the boys. But life is never fair, is it?
Here's the first chapter. Please note that the paragraphs here are double-spaced; I'm fussy, and I don't like that format but it's out of my control in this blog. Grrr! When you read this in any ebook format, the text is formatted so that paragraphs are single-spaced, as I had originally designed
A Stranger In My Bed
by Rachel Cray
Copyright Rachel Cray, 2011
I awoke with a sore head. I had been out at a reunion party with several old friends the previous evening, but my memory was empty now. I cursed myself for having forgotten most of what should have been a very memorable occasion. My brain was thumping in my forehead, and my mouth was bone dry. At least I was in my own bed. I was still wearing my bra; this was odd, as I never slept in my bra, no matter what condition I was in when I retired to bed. Then I realised the bra was all I had on.
I felt something brush lightly against my thigh. I turned and saw the top of a head on a pillow next to me. It was a man’s head, slightly balding, and his hair was as grey as my own.
I shuddered. Instinctively, my hand rushed to my crotch to determine whether I’d had sex... and my fingers returned to my nose before I could think why I had done it. Then I relaxed. No, I couldn’t smell anything strange that might resemble semen. So I probably hadn’t been raped. But if I had been so drunk last night, I might have had consensual sex with this man, and he might have used a condom. Who was he? Should I wake him now?
A hundred questions flooded my mind. I’m naked; should I get dressed while he’s asleep? Did he see me naked last night? And did I see him naked, too? But more than anything else, I pondered, I needed to know what the hell he was doing in my bed.
I carefully lifted the quilt and looked across at his body. He still wore his shirt and his trunks.
My skirt and blouse were on the carpet beside my bed. I quickly sat round on the edge and put them back on, trying not to disturb my unknown sleeping partner. Then I rose and walked round to his side of the bed.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly pulled back the cover to reveal his sleeping face.
He was aged around 50, was clean shaven with a tanned skin. I could even describe him as handsome. But I didn’t recognise him.
I had to wake him up. There was nothing else I could do. I reached out and shook his shoulder gently. I had to shake him five or six times before his eyes opened.
He grunted. Then he greeted me with a pained growl. “Hi, Alex!”
“Who are you, and how do you know my name?” I asked.
“Don’t you remember? Last night?” His voice came a little more alive now.
“No. I don’t know you.”
“Alan Foot,” he said. “We were at school together. And I was at the reunion last night. It’s been a very long time.”
Alan Foot. Yes, we had been in the same class. We had fallen in love, in a juvenile fashion, a third of a century ago; he was easily the best-looking guy around, and I was considered so lucky to have him. I couldn’t remember having seen him since then. We had been separated on our separate ways to university: he to York, and I to Exeter. But hardly a week passed by since then that I hadn’t had a fanciful thought about him.
“Shall I give you a clue...?”
“I don’t need any clues now. I remember you. Alan Foot. Well, after all these years....”
“We didn’t have much of a chance to talk last night. I arrived later than planned, and by that time you’d already had quite a lot to drink.”
“How come you finished up in my bed?”
“If I told you, you might not believe me. I think you should ring Jane Gold. She’ll tell you everything. She invited me to the party, and she made some arrangements for a bed for me... because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Jane Gold was an old, trusted friend. She was with me at school, too, with Alan. I left him in the bedroom while I telephoned her.
“I thought it would be a lovely surprise for you,” she explained, as soon as I told her he was in my bed. “I got back in touch with him a couple of weeks ago, as soon as I heard he had returned to England. In view of all that you’ve been through lately, we kept it a big secret. But you’d had a skinful of drinks by the time he got to the party last night. He hadn’t had time to find anywhere to sleep and we got him quite drunk. Remembering how close you used to be, we had this brainwave to put the two of you to bed together. Sounds like you didn’t like the bombshell we planned?”
“I don’t like surprises, Jane. You should know that by now. We’re mature people, and I’m a respectable widow.”
“Oh, come on. Aren’t you pleased to see him? Just a little?”
I paused. “I just don’t know, Jane. I need to think.”
“Take it easy, Alex. Enjoy yourself. It’s Saturday, and you’ve got the whole weekend to unwind.”
I hung up and returned to the bedroom. Alan was sitting up in bed. I looked at him carefully now; although he had aged and his greying hair was dishevelled, I could see some resemblance with the young man I had known nearly half a lifetime ago.
“Right,” I began. “Before anything else, I need to know what happened in here last night – did we have sex?”
He smiled. “No. I’d never take advantage of a lady after a few drinks.”
“What did happen, then?”
“We were both intoxicated. I think someone might have slipped a few extras in my drink. Yours too, maybe. I didn’t have anywhere to stay, and Jane and the other guys decided you could put me up; she said you had a spare bedroom, and the guys were surprised to find you hadn’t when they carried me in here. I had no idea they were going to put us in bed together like this.”
I sat down on the stool by my dressing table, relieved that his story matched Jane’s to some extent. “OK, I said. “I’d better fix us some breakfast.”
“And we’ve got some catching up to do. Can I get a shower first?”
I directed him to the bathroom, where he escaped clutching an airline bag he had brought with him, and I laid two places at table for breakfast. Realising he appeared to have nowhere to go, I wondered how long it would have to take before I could throw him out of my house without appearing ungracious. I am a very private person, and do not welcome strangers to my home; as a middle-aged widow, I felt vulnerable.
“Thanks for that, Alex. I feel so much better now.”
I turned round. I had forgotten how tall he was. He had dressed and appeared well groomed, carrying an airline travel bag which he must have placed under the bed. In a new white T-shirt and dark trousers, he stood as a mature Greek god before me; his worn face gave him a distinguished air, suggesting that he had seen so much of the world and had absorbed all its wisdom. Now this gorgeous man was a guest in my home. I pulled a chair back for him to sit.
“You have a hangover?” I asked. “You want anything for it?”
“No, I’m O.K., thanks. But I don’t want to outstay my welcome. Just let me know when you want to be rid of me.”
“As you said, we have some talking to do.” I dropped a couple of Alka-Seltzer in a glass and started drinking.
He helped himself to a slice of toast. “You never wrote.”
“We were young. There were new experiences every day. Time was very tight. I expect it was the same for you, too.”
“So what happened after Exeter?”
“I went into teaching. Got married at 25, and we had three children. Husband died a couple of years ago. I haven’t worked for a while. Still grieving, I suppose.”
“I really am so sorry to hear that, Alex. I stayed in the world of academia, and worked my way up. I didn’t stay in one place too long. I got a chair in philosophy at Melbourne some time ago, and took early retirement last year. I thought it was time to come back to my roots in England and see what’s left.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Professor Foot,” I smiled. “You have a family?”
“A son and daughter somewhere. I haven’t seen them in years. I divorced my wife ten years ago. She’s still kicking around with her second husband in Australia somewhere. They’re doing very well for themselves, apparently.”
“Anyone else in your life?”
“I wish I could say Yes, but there’s nobody. How about you?”
“No. I can’t imagine life with anyone else now.”
“Alex, you must not cut yourself off. Don’t finish your life like a hermit. There’s a huge world out there.”
“So you’re lecturing me in philosophy now?”
“Funny how things turn out. I’m surprised you became a teacher. I didn’t think you liked school very much, and couldn’t wait to leave. Now it sounds like you couldn’t wait to get back.”
I smiled. “Do you remember some of the crazy things we used to get up to? When we thought old Mr. Jones was teaching in the classroom underneath us, and we wanted to rile him, one of the girls lowered her bra on a piece of string so he could see it out of his window.”
“But Mr. Jones wasn’t teaching in that classroom. There had been a switch in the timetable, and the nasty Mrs Adams was taking geography there instead. That caused a lot of trouble.”
We both laughed.
“I seem to remember it was Mrs Adams who caught the two of us together in one of the science labs, when we thought everyone had left.”
“We had both turned eighteen by then.” I remarked. “So we were both consenting adults.”
“But we were in a pretty compromising position!”
“What would have happened if she hadn’t caught us?”
“That’s the one big regret in my life,” he said gravely. “We never actually did get to make love, you and I.”
“We got pretty close.” I recalled that day; I had held his dick, exposed through his fly, and felt it grow in my hand; he had had his hand up my skirt and had put a finger in my pussy. Fate had decreed that that was the last time we were alone together where we had a chance to have any intimacy together. It was towards the end of our last week at school; we went our separate ways on overseas trips with our respective families before starting our university education. A few days after that scene in the science block, we bid our farewells and never saw each other again.
He looked up at me now, and we exchanged smiles.
“I’d better get washed and dressed,” I said. “Then I’ll eat my breakfast.”
I went to the bedroom, found myself some fresh clothes to wear and took them to the bathroom. As I undressed, a vision returned in my mind of that far-off day in the school science lab, with his finger up inside me; my imagination stirred now as, unconsciously, I put a finger into my vagina while I waited for the water to run in the sink. It felt strange, but good. Very good. I hadn’t had any thoughts of sex since I lost my husband. The sink filled, I withdrew my finger and began washing.
I remembered the Friday evening when I had first hooked him. We were both 16 then; I had sneaked out a couple of my father’s beers and drank them for Dutch courage, and then took the initiative of telephoning Alan at home.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got a crush on you,” I had blurted.
He had suggested we meet the following afternoon; we went for a walk in the park and spent much of the time sitting on a remote bench in each other’s arms. There was very little said on that first date; there seemed to be no reason to speak.
We were together for nearly two years. And, at the time, I had considered there was a good chance that we were going to be with each other forever.
* * *
“If I were not here this morning, what would you be doing right now?” he asked as I returned to the table to start my breakfast.
I looked at my watch. It was 10 a.m. “Probably still in bed, nursing my hangover.”
“Is it still bad?”
“No, it’s gone off now. Maybe it’s the shock of seeing you in my bed.”
“Sorry, but it really wasn’t my fault.”
I laughed. “I know. But now you’re here... do you fancy a walk in the park?” I could hardly believe I had said that. What was wrong with me today?
“That would be very nice. And we can talk some more.”
After dealing with the breakfast dishes, we went out. The park where we walked on our first date could have been two hundred miles from where we were today but, in my silly mind, I fancied this might be a new first date with my old flame. This was certainly the first time I had stepped out with a man at my side for a very long while.
We exchanged snippets of our personal histories: my husband Bill had been a civil engineer and had had cancer; his wife was also an academic, a biologist; we discussed places where we had lived, places we had visited, children, our hobbies, and the common things that people might discuss when meeting for the first time.
“How long have you lived in your present home?” he asked as we strolled round the park.
“Around eighteen months. After Bill died, each of the children invited me to live with them, but I didn’t want to get in their way. But I had to move out of the old house. There were too many ghosts there.”
“I know what you mean. Houses have souls. Whenever we had to move home and went house-hunting, I could walk into a place and know immediately whether it was going to be a happy place. Something bounced off the walls.”
“And where are you going to live now?” I asked. “Where are these roots that you want to return to?”
“I supposed it would be the town where I grew up. Where we met. But I took a look round there last week, when I first got back, and didn’t like it at all. So much has changed.”
“Nothing stays the same. You shouldn’t expect it to.”
“Not even people?” He stopped and looked at me, searching my face. “Have you changed, Alex?”
“I... I don’t know. I still have the same genes, obviously, but it’s not for me to give an objective opinion, is it? Of course, I have wrinkles, my hair is going grey, but I still have all my teeth. And I don’t think my personality has changed too much over the years.”
“I don’t think you’ve changed very much at all.”
“It’s amazing what you ladies can do with make-up to keep your looks,” he laughed, and we started walking again.
“I thought we were talking about personalities evolving over time.”
“I was just teasing.”
“Then you’re still the Alan I knew. You were always teasing me. But it could get you into trouble one day.”
We had a chuckle, and sat on a nearby seat.
“It’s nice to watch the world go by,” I remarked. Being a Saturday, there were several people – couples, families and individuals – enjoying the park.
“Time passes so quickly. Where has it all gone?”
“You can’t get it to come back.”
“I came back.” He turned and looked at me closely.
I returned his look. Our faces converged, and our lips touched gently, and parted. I closed my eyes, and felt his lips clasp mine more firmly the second time. Our hands met and held each other tight.
“Your lips are as lovely as ever. I’ve missed them for so long,” he whispered.
“Shall we go back?” I looked at him straight in the eyes. He knew what I craved to happen next.
We returned slowly, hand in hand, to my home. I felt years younger. I wanted to skip like a young girl, but restrained myself. I had wanted this to happen over thirty years ago. I could wait a few minutes longer.
I shut the front door and, taking his hand, led him into my living room. He closed the door behind him and I pushed myself into his arms.
“Wait,” he whispered. “Let’s start from where we left off. Remember?” He unzipped his fly and pulled out his dick. Then he put his hand up my skirt.
I needed no prompting. I clasped it in my hand and felt it growing again; at the same time, my crotch trembled as his finger began to explore my moist, excited hole.
Our lips met again and our tongues clashed violently, pushing into each other’s mouth and locking ourselves into a duel which had remained unfinished since the days of our youth. His free hand pushed against my breast, stimulating my nipple.
When his cock was fully erect, he pulled away and swept me off my feet, carrying me to my bed. We quickly undressed, unable to bear the long foreplay of removing each other’s clothes one at a time; when we had finished, we stood facing each other for a moment, and he knelt and put his tongue gently on my wet sex; I already hungered for him, but this touch intensified it further.
Excited, I moved away and jumped on the bed, opening my legs wide, ready to receive him. It slid inside me, pushing its full length immediately. We quickly began to work together in a thrusting and pulling rhythm. Our lips clashed together again, writhing in a crazed rage; I felt one of his fingers massaging my clit and, in return, I moved a hand down to caress his balls.
In these moments of reignited passion, I reflected on everything that I had missed in the long interim. There was so much I wanted to grasp back that I thought had been lost forever. And I wanted it now. My clit had grown hard, as had my nipples; my entire being was quivering, ready for this climax.
I moved my head so that our cheeks touched. “I’m nearly there,” I whispered.
Then it came crashing through me in a blinding flood; overwhelmed by its power, I cried out in an uncontrollable joy. I held him tight as it passed through my core, and released my grip as the flood subsided.
He continued moving in and out, more gently now, his penis still stiff and his balls full of the seed he would squirt up into me.
“Can you take your hand away now, please?” he asked. “I’m going to come.”
I moved my hand away from his testicles, and immediately felt him pulsating in the wall of my vagina, delivering his semen into the care of my body.
“Thank you, my dear,” he whispered. “That was truly wonderful.”
“And so was mine,” I answered.
I felt his dick soften inside me, and gradually it withdrew. I hoped it would harden soon so we could do this again. It was in that moment that I realised that I craved him, his body, his mind, and I wanted all of him in my life.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you for coming back to me.”
“I’m just glad you had a bed available. I didn’t fancy sleeping on a hard bench in the bus station.”
“And you’d have been woken up earlier for breakfast by the police.”
We had not moved from the bed; we held each other and kissed again, rubbing our genitals lazily against each other’s thigh. I wanted to make love again, but there was no hurry. For the time being, it was good enough for me just to be in his company.
“Can I ask a question? How many girlfriends did you have before you got married?”
“Three or four, including you. You were the one that got away.”
“You mean you had sex with the others?”
“Yes. Now how about you?”
“I had half a dozen at university. I was a real whore. Then I met Bill, and he turned me into a lady.”
“Life was like that in the seventies. I lived through it too, remember.”
“Bill was very conventional. Do you know, we never had oral sex? He thought it was disgusting. Now when you put your tongue in my pussy earlier, just for that brief moment before you came inside me, it was one of the most erotic things anyone has ever done to me.”
“I’d be very happy to do it to you again, Alex. Any time.”
“Alan, can I ask you something else?”
“I’d like to suck your cock. I haven’t done fellatio on anyone for such a long time.”
“My dear lady, the pleasure would be all mine. But there’s one rule I have.”
“I won’t come in your mouth. It’s just a ‘thing’ I have. I’m happy to jerk off over your breasts, or your face, but not in your mouth.”
He lay back on the bed, and I moved to put my head at his crotch and put his penis to my lips. I felt his hand reach down to cup my breast and begin to caress my nipple, which grew hard quickly. A new excitement approached, a welcome return of forgotten aspects of my womanhood. My hand went down to massage my clit.
His dick was limp and fragile as I first took it in; my tongue caressed it slowly, bending it this way and that against the roof of my mouth and the inside of my cheeks. It grew thicker and longer, and soon I could no longer accommodate all of it comfortably. I then concentrated my attention on the velvet tip, protruding from its foreskin; my clit had expanded by now and my crotch was soaked.
“I’m ready,” he announced, and he pulled away, his hand taking control of his shaft. He knelt on the bed, ready to ejaculate.
“On my boobs,” I said, holding my breasts up to him.
He groaned in pleasure as it sprang out of him, and dripped on to me. It was warm and creamy, and I wanted to rub it all over my breasts. His face was contorted with the ecstasy of his climax, and I moved to kiss him to comfort him in his moment of delicious pain.
My orgasm waited impatiently; holding myself against him, I rubbed my clit against his thigh and, very quickly, the veil descended and I was overwhelmed with a wave of joy that engulfed me once more. Sex never used to be like this, I thought.
Exhausted, we lay back on the bed, naked, allowing the spring air to cool the sweat on our bodies. I needed another shower, but wanted to wait while I enjoyed the smell of the animal lust we secreted.
After 20 minutes he broke our long, satisfied silence. “I used to squirt a lot harder than that when I came. I must be getting old.”
I squeezed his hand. “Nonsense. If you feel he needs a little more training, I’d be very happy to help.”
“I need a shower.”
“There’s room enough in there for two,” I remarked. “Mind if I join you?”
He stood up, with his back to me; he still had the same tight arse that used to form the base of my fantasies. “Come on, then,” he said, holding out his hand for me.
I followed, and we stepped in together. He turned on the tap, and the warm spray cascaded over our skin, as we soaped each other’s backs and butts, washing away the body fluids of our lovemaking; as we dried each other, I felt renewed with energy to make a fresh start to our relationship, cut short when you were so much younger. Although I had only been with him for just four hours, and he had fallen into my world again so unexpectedly, I hoped Alan might feel we could try and make a fresh beginning together.
That's it until next time.
email: rc (at) rachelcray (dot) com