These two people are almost real to me now and writing the tale was quite a labour of love. So please enjoy their mutual discovery.
"Panties Red, Panties White"
The panties on his back lawn weren't wind blown this time, they had half a dozen clothes pegs clipped to them.
What choice did he have? He took them, dew-wet and delightful, round to her door.
From that moment it seemed that the control of his day passed to her.
She answered the door almost before his finger left the bell push. She looked beautiful he thought. Her hair, as much grey as copper, was almost to her shoulders. Her smile was radiant. She appeared dressed and ready to leave for somewhere.
"Thought I'd go out for the day," she said, as if reading his thoughts, "please say you'll spend it with me."
"Well I ..." he began, taken by surprise.
"Come as you are." She chuckled. "Let it be my treat, I rang for a taxi the moment you left your house. It should be here in a minute or two."
Twenty minutes later they were on a station platform, just like that. She was quite something he thought. Tall, almost as tall as he. She was too big by the standards of the day. The wide shoulders of a girl who'd swum a lot; the kind of figure he'd loved on film stars of a generation ago. She was a picture in the warm autumn sunshine. A white cotton blouse with short sleeves that left her freckled arms bare. Her blue skirt flared from hips to her knees. A broad leather belt, buckled and studded. She wore hose, he'd noticed in the taxi, he liked that. White shoes with just little heels. She carried a too-big handbag over her shoulder. Arthur was very proud to be the man stood next to her.
Veronica had shamelessly planned this. His appearance yesterday, panties in hand, had made her realise how attractive her neighbour was. She was lonely, mentally and physically and Arthur's (what a wickedlyold-fashioned name it was) presence in her kitchen had started throwing switches in her mind. The phrase "a day at the seaside" had popped into her thoughts and that was exactly what she'd decided on. A day at the seaside with Arthur, perfect.
Her liking for him had spiralled upwards from the moment they'd met. She sensed a gentleman, a gentleman. She'd buried one of the other sort last year. A tearless, almost happy day for her. Arthur was perhaps an inch taller than she. Bespectacled. Not much overweight, certainly no paunch. He carried his yearswell. More hair on top lip and chin than on his head, not all of it grey. She loved beards and hated hair-pieces. He was soft spoken and when he laughed, his eyes joined in.
She'd not slept well that night. At three in the morning the panties had fluttered into his garden and she'd thought a lot about what to do on the morrow.
The train arrived. She grabbed his hand and said, in little girl fashion, "Off to the seaside."
Her mood was infectious, he helped her in and then climbed aboard. The train seemed almost empty. She led the way through one coach after another, to the back of the train. They had the whole coach to themselves. She sat in the seat facing the front of the train and he took the seat facing her. The seats were singles on their side of the aisle with paired seats on the other side. She kicked off her shoes and rested her feet on his seat cushion between his thigh and the coach side. He felt her wiggle her toes, it was oddly intimate, he liked having her touch him. The train jolted and they were off. "This," she said, "is a very civilised way to travel." She smiled at him. A full lipped, dimpling smile that made him want to kiss her mouth.
Fifteen minutes later they were stopped in the countryside. A crackly announcement over the PA toldof problems with signalling and a short delay. The delay didn't seem to matter. A girl appeared pushing a snack trolley and they bought cheese and onion crisps and two tall, very cold, cans of lager. "I never drink before midday except when out with strange men," she told him in a serious tone.
The time slipped by, the cans emptied and they talked. Music and books, movies and food and they found that they had much in common. So much in fact that it all seemed a little uncanny. They spoke a little about their unhappy and empty marriages but seemed, by common consent, to be happy to skip the grey side of their lives.
The train jolted and began to accelerate.
He suggested a second beer and she happily agreed. He set off for the restaurant car. She leaned to watch him walk away down the aisle. She thought him perfect and wondered if this might work out. She was lonely, her bed was too big, the nights too long. He had a nice ass too and moved with grace. Just the one can had given life a pleasant buzz. This day could go on forever she decided.
When he appeared again at the far end of the coach her heart seemed to speed up and she realised with a shock how happy the sight of him made her. He grinned at her as he approached, a boyish grin that suited him. He popped one can and handed it to her. She declined the paper cup. She realised that she was just a little bit drunk. He opened his beer. They touched cans and he said, "To us and the day."
"Us and the day," she echoed, taking too long with the 'ess' of 'us' and giggling.
They sipped in silence for a while, watching the countryside race past. He sighed and sat forward with his elbows on his knees and looked up into her eyes. "I'm happy for the first time in a long time. This was a wonderful idea."
She felt her throat constrict. Her stomach seemed to flutter. That glow, so long missed, seemed to light between her legs. She knew then that she wanted him, wanted him very badly. A little bit of control snapped, it felt like shackles coming off. She wanted to laugh. Or did she want to cry? She wanted him to kiss her, touch her. He was so nice! A voice somewhere in her head said this man needed a nudge.
Then she heard a voice, hers, say aloud, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," and she giggled and handed him her can, then dropped her hands to her skirt.
Watching the hem of her skirt creep up was a sweet delight. She did it slowly, casting the occasional glance down the aisleway. The edge of the material moved upwards slowly. Her hose gave her legs an almost metallic glint in the bright sunshine that streamed in through the window. It seemed inevitable that someone would come, would oblige her to lower the skirt again. It reached mid thigh and to his delight darker fabric appeared. 'Let her be wearing stockings!' he prayed. Arthur was a stocking man. He shifted uncomfortably as his cock began to swell. Higher went the hem. She glanced down the aisle again, then at him. She smiled and walked her fingers down to the the hem and moved the skirt up again. Yes! A garter tip appeared on her left thigh, then on her right. A strip of skin, so white after the dark of the stocking top. Then a strip on the other thigh. The pain from his trapped cock was bothering him but he could hardly reach into his pants and ease things.
As more and more of her thighs showed he wondered if her legs went on for ever. She froze for a moment and he was terrified that the show was over. Somebody had moved into the coach or she was teasing him. Up went the skirt a little more, then a deeper shadow betweenher thighs, then a glint of white. She must have seen his expression change and realised he could see her panties.
"Recognise them?" she asked, her voice sounding deeper,"These are the ones you brought me yesterday."
He swallowed, his mouth was dry. The skirt moved again. More and more of the triangle of her panties appeared. The swell of her mound showed now and in the bright light a few errant, dark copper curls glistened. She let her knees fall slowly open, thigh skin peeling deliciously apart. He could feel his heart bumping in his throat as thighs, panties and skirt framed a small square of sweet, dark shadow. A cave that begged for exploration. Its roof was the narrowing, disappearing undercurve of her panties.
He squirmed in his seat. He saw her eyes flick to his groin. He knew she knew of his discomfort. Discomfort! God! How he needed to straighten and ease his poor cock.
She pulled her skirt down again. He almost protested. She smiled softly at him. "Your turn. Now you show me yours."
She propped an elbow on the armrest. "It's OK. I can see all the way down the aisle, lots of warning." She crossed her legs, calf on knee, the lifted foot moving slightly with the motion of the train. He let his eyes slide down the back of a nyloned thigh. It widened to the swell of her buttock and the merest white hint of those panties again. Did this woman have any idea what this was doing to him? Oh yes, she knew, one look into those eyes told him she did.
"Well?" she said. Just an edge of firmness to the word.
He stood slowly, very aware of the press and hurt of his erection against the front of his pants. He was very aware too of how that erection must show. He knew this would have been beyond him without the effect of the beer. She split her eye-time between the aisle and his crotch. Her tongue slid out and slowly licked her upper lip. It glistened and the gesture was oddly suggestive. He found himself unbuckling his belt.
To his great surprise he suddenly wanted to do it. This woman had bewitched him! He was about to drop his pants on a train, in front of a woman he'd not spoken to before yesterday. He undid the hook, caught the tag of the zip and slid it slowly down. He held his pants open and lowered them slightly.
She fought back a cry of delight. She needed a cock so badly and here was one just a couple of feet away. In full working order too, leaking splendidly and wetting the dark blue cotton with a beautiful round, dark patch. She felt a desperate urge to reach out and ease it free, to let it lie up his belly. She almost had to sit on her hands.
He groaned and reached inside the waistband and did the job for her. Oh but he was big. And it was so proud, a wonderful thick ridge pointing upwards and almost burrowing out from under that waistband. She knew her breathing had speeded up. She wanted to touch him, to feel that beautiful ridge with fingers, with lips. She'd not known a need like this for so long. It was almost a pain.
A small, fresh patch of wetness had begun to form at the new place where his cockhead rested. The door at the end of the coach slid open. She saw it, he heard it. He sat down suddenly, bouncing on the cushion. He frantically zipped up and they found themselves both laughing.
The ticket inspector looked down at them and said "Tickets Please." She produced them from her bag and he checked them. "We're making good time now, shouldn't be more than a half hour late."
They drank the last of their now warm and flat beer. She looked at him, "This stuff always makes me silly."
"I'm very glad it did, you looked very beautiful." he said softly.
"You looked rather splendid yourself." She told him. He blushed and she realised she could easily come to love this man.
She knew that she'd started something with her little display and wondered if she should follow her train of thought any further. Then she wondered if she could resist. Her head felt light and there seemed to be a giggle in her throat all the time.
Then she was on her feet. She leaned towards him and reached her hands up under the back of her skirt and wiggled and peeled her panties down off her ass, down her thighs. God! The sensation as they peeled away from her pussy, down between her upper thighs! She slid them down her legs and stepped out of them, first one foot then the other. She felt the chill of the air between her legs and realised just how wet she was.
She dropped them in his lap and said, "There, my panties, now give me yours."
She knew he'd blush, and he did. He picked up the panties and she watched him handle them. He stared at them. She wondered if he saw how wet they were, if he realised that it was because he was with her. He balled them up and slipped them in his pocket. "OK, but I'm not taking off my trousers out here."
He went into the toilet that was in the vestibule at their end of the coach.
He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. What a wonderful woman she was, what a wonderful day. He slipped her panties out of his pocket. They were very wet at the crotch. He pressed them to his nose and mouth enjoying the scent of her, a heady mix of perfume and her essence. They were still warm from her body. He realised she'd worn these panties outside her garters, she must have done it so they would come off easily. Was he shocked or flattered? Both, but he was too aroused, too happy to care. She'd done it for him.
She was teasing him he knew but teasing herself as well. Taking them both down a road that he wanted desperately to follow. He wondered what her breasts were like. He'd glimpsed inside her blouse when she'd bent to take off her panties. A crowded bra, a deep, beckoning cleavage ... she was lovely!
He put her panties back in his pocket and unfastened his pants.
She waited impatiently for him. She pulled her skirt up round her waist and revelled in the sun's warmth on her legs. She glanced down the aisle and spread her thighs, opening herself to the sun. God, she wanted this man. She could feel her heart's pulse in every part of her body. She ached for him. She was almost frightened by the intensity.She heard the door lock rattle and covered herself. He came out of the toilet and handed her his briefs. She felt a crazy desire to jam them up between her legs. She took his hand and looked up at him. "I'm sorry."
"The way I'm behaving. I'm afraid I'll frighten you off," she told him, suddenly aware that tears were close.
He squeezed her hand and smiled down at her, "You couldn't get rid of me now if you tried. I've never had so much fun, never met anyone like you." He paused, "I'm only afraid this might be a dream."
Veronica's next move didn't really surprise either of them. She simply pulled her skirt up. He just stood and stared.
"It's rude to stare," she said quietly.
"It's rude to hike your skirt up on a train," he said in a rather shaky voice.
"I don't care." she said and opened her legs wide, hooking one over the arm of the seat, dangling her foot in the aisle. She looked wickedly exquisite. A strip of hair stretched up almost to her navel. He found the thought of her shaving herself oddly sad and realised how much he'd like to do it for her. The hair she'd left was long and curled and shone like polished copper in the sun. Her vagina was open, a sweet puzzle in a dozen shades of pink. It glistened with her wetness. His erection fought for its freedom in his pants. She silently begged him to drop to his knees and do something about the chaos that was surging inside her.
Instead he sank onto his seat and breathed out thewords, "God but you're beautiful!"
'Beautifully horny,' she thought. She moved her leg and lowered her foot to the floor. She dropped hers kirt back over her thighs and realised she was trembling. She'd needed him so very badly at that moment and was a little angry at her weakness. She took a deep breath and said softly, "Now, show me yours."
To her surprise he stood and slid his zipper down. She'd expected him to protest. He opened his pants and his cock was suddenly out for her to see. It was beautiful, every bit as big as it had seemed in his briefs. She heard herself say, "May I touch it?"
He stepped closer and she reached out and ran the tip of her finger down the underside, all the way from the tip to his balls. He gasped at the moment of her first touch. He shuddered, "Do be careful."
"He's not fragile is he?" she laughed.
"No, but I'm afraid I might, might ..., well might come if you touch me too much!"
She sighed, "How can I not touch him? He's so beautiful."
A bead of precum had appeared from the little slit and it glistened beautifully in the bright light. She touched her finger tip to it and drew it away. A gossamer thread connected finger to cock, a tiny bead half way along it, like a jewel. She thought her heart would burst. The strand stretched, thinner and thinner and then broke. She felt the tiniest chill at her wrist as it touched her. She put her finger to her lips, her tongue flicked out, quick and pink. She was tasting him! He groaned. His cock drooled.
She sat upright and leaned forward. She took the tip of his cock between her lips, a tiny, sucking kiss. She prayed he wouldn't come, she prayed he would.
He was in an agony of wanting. He looked down. Her eyes, open wide, peered up at him, the whites large. Her lips forming that beautiful kiss. The veins stood out on his cock, its skin so tight. His balls squirmed in their sac, he was a heartbeat from coming. She took her mouth away. His body went rigid. Another thread hung between his cock and her still pursed lips.
He breathed out the words, "I want you!" His knees failed him and he sat down heavily, his cock jutting from his open fly.
She stared at it and said, "I want you too."
She thought of getting up and straddling him, dropping herself onto him. Knew she had to. Her vagina was a silent, needing scream.
She didn't get the chance. The train started slowing, the PA announced that they were arriving at Blackpool and asked that they take their personal belongings with them.
The mood broke, they said nothing for a moment. She glanced down and giggled, "We'd better take him with us."
*** *** *** *** *** **
Blackpool is a famous seaside town, north west of Manchester, where their journey starts from. My lady wonders if 'mature' people would behave thus on a train. Well, a railway carriage or coach is nearly 65 feet long, nearly twice the length of our house. At the end of a train in an empty coach he/she'd have plenty of time from the end door opening to make themselves "proper" before anyone would reach them. .... And these are two pretty horny folk I'd say.