Silver Linings
Nostalgia 9a
Oh dear! Having said that I would never forget Aelwen (Nostalgia 9), how could I have, temporarily, forgotten Sharon? I’ll put it down to my age, for without growing old there would be no memories or nostalgia.
Late one term I called in at one of the town’s many public houses one evening and saw a fabulous looking brunette sitting on her own in the furthest corner of the bar. Reading a magazine and sipping her drink occasionally, she was wearing a very trim navy blue mac, tightly belted with the collar turned up at the back in a very coquettish manner that immediately had my pulse racing.
‘Indoors?’ I thought, ’How odd!‘, but naturally the vision was one that held a great attraction for me. She looked to be too young to be at college so I assumed, correctly, that she was a “townie”, and of course underage drinking has always been a way of life in Wales. After all, I had started drinking beer at the age of fourteen with the other lads at school.
Being most intrigued with both her youthful looks, her figure and her gleaming rubber-backed mackintosh, I sat fairly close to her and we soon got chatting, our Welsh accents clashing, hers, harsh and clipped from North Wales, sounding almost like a different language compared to my sing-song tones from the South.
Sharon told me that she was (sh!) seventeen years old and was working as a typist, but had much greater ambitions. Dreaming of marriage to a college graduate who’s future fortunes would provide her with the lifestyle she craved, I surmised. Being rather unfair to her, I carried on our conversation, my motives undisclosed, but basically I was just looking for a little of the sexual activity that had been sadly lacking for a while.
We had a few drinks together, just a few beers for me and several double vodka and tonics for her which quickly drained my grant-aided pocket, but we did enjoy each other’s company, and I could scarcely believe my luck.
I eventually walked her the mile or so home, trying unsuccessfully to think less about her outer clothing than of her splendid hair, features and figure, 36C-24-38 being a reasonable guess, and I have to admit that the huge erection I was covertly trying to hide was definitely rainwear assisted! We sauntered hand in hand at first, and then getting more daring, mine slipped around her waist, my index finger hooked into a belt loop. I then used my little finger for the same task to enable my hand to rise higher, but she suddenly she broke away, and asked me to avert my eyes as she squatted at the side of the dark lane to have a pee!
Charming! (to be continued)
Nostalgia 9a
Oh dear! Having said that I would never forget Aelwen (Nostalgia 9), how could I have, temporarily, forgotten Sharon? I’ll put it down to my age, for without growing old there would be no memories or nostalgia.
Late one term I called in at one of the town’s many public houses one evening and saw a fabulous looking brunette sitting on her own in the furthest corner of the bar. Reading a magazine and sipping her drink occasionally, she was wearing a very trim navy blue mac, tightly belted with the collar turned up at the back in a very coquettish manner that immediately had my pulse racing.
‘Indoors?’ I thought, ’How odd!‘, but naturally the vision was one that held a great attraction for me. She looked to be too young to be at college so I assumed, correctly, that she was a “townie”, and of course underage drinking has always been a way of life in Wales. After all, I had started drinking beer at the age of fourteen with the other lads at school.
Being most intrigued with both her youthful looks, her figure and her gleaming rubber-backed mackintosh, I sat fairly close to her and we soon got chatting, our Welsh accents clashing, hers, harsh and clipped from North Wales, sounding almost like a different language compared to my sing-song tones from the South.
Sharon told me that she was (sh!) seventeen years old and was working as a typist, but had much greater ambitions. Dreaming of marriage to a college graduate who’s future fortunes would provide her with the lifestyle she craved, I surmised. Being rather unfair to her, I carried on our conversation, my motives undisclosed, but basically I was just looking for a little of the sexual activity that had been sadly lacking for a while.
We had a few drinks together, just a few beers for me and several double vodka and tonics for her which quickly drained my grant-aided pocket, but we did enjoy each other’s company, and I could scarcely believe my luck.
I eventually walked her the mile or so home, trying unsuccessfully to think less about her outer clothing than of her splendid hair, features and figure, 36C-24-38 being a reasonable guess, and I have to admit that the huge erection I was covertly trying to hide was definitely rainwear assisted! We sauntered hand in hand at first, and then getting more daring, mine slipped around her waist, my index finger hooked into a belt loop. I then used my little finger for the same task to enable my hand to rise higher, but she suddenly she broke away, and asked me to avert my eyes as she squatted at the side of the dark lane to have a pee!
Charming! (to be continued)