Dorothea 1: Stratford |

The door lock clicked as I swiped the sensor with my key card before pushing the door open. I glanced around at the furnishings, realising this could be a hotel room almost anywhere. I was dogtired after travelling for twentyfour hours through eight time zones, three airports, and a rental car driving on the wrong side. The local time was 4 pm, but my body time was 8 am.

I had to leave home—a house once full of love, now an emotional desert. He was lost to me, my presence a distraction from his new love that was marked by the shrines to Buddha lurking in every corner. Who needs the comfort of a good woman when endless meditation feeds the soul?

So what does a wellrounded sixtyeightyearold lady do when she has been shelved romantically and ually? My answer was to travel and broaden my mind to match my body.

Carefully, I unpacked my suitcase, stowing clothes and essentials in drawers and closets designed for two, before stripping and heading to the bathroom for a shower.

By five o’clock, I had left the hotel’s lobby, heading to the footbridge the receptionist had advised me was the best route into the town.

As I walked along, a family of swans slid out of sight below in the brown water. On the other bank, the way ran alongside a basin with barges moored along the quay. Wandering further, I crossed a road, remembering to look right, before starting along a pedestrianised street with the buildings close alongside the old carriageway. I trudged on until I stood outside the house I had seen so many times in photographs—The Baird’s birthplace.

On my phone, the Street View app showed the area crammed with tourists, but at the end of the day, I stood almost alone, awed by the sense of time and place. Too late to enter now, I turned around to head back, stopping briefly at a Subway shop to buy food I could eat in my room.

=.=

The following morning, I woke to my alarm after twelve hours of solid sleep, not even a wee to disturb my slumbers.

After breakfast, having discovered the meaning of a ‘Full English’, I retraced the path into town over the Avon, becoming a real tourist, visiting everything Stratford could offer.

By late afternoon, I was ready to return to the hotel. Needing more guidance about other historic places, I popped into a bookshop to browse the shelves. There, I made one very consequential purchase—the Handbook of the National Trust, a charity owning many great, old houses.

Later, showered and dressed in my best top and skirt, I went to the restaurant for dinner. Sat at a table set for one, I looked around at my fellow guests. Nearly all were mature couples, and the only young people were the staff. I saw one other single lady, slim and very smartly dressed, who looked in her late forties.

After dessert, the waitress asked if I wanted my coffee in the adjoining lounge. I thought this might be a chance to talk with people, so I moved rooms and sat on a large sofa opposite a couple already drinking theirs. A low table occupied the space between us.

“Hi, I’m Dorothea.”

My introduction seemed to stun them. I thought I had blundered, being a typical loudmouthed yank, but then the ice broke, and the man smiled at me.

“Hello, Dorothea. I’m Stan, and this is my wife, Ginny.”

So, I told them about my trip, what a fantastic place Stratford was, and my hope to visit the great houses in the National Trust Handbook.

“Well, you must visit Packwood House; we were there yesterday. It isn’t very grand. Although it is hundreds of years old.”

“Thank you, Stan; I’ll put it on my list.”

While we were chatting, the single lady I had noticed in the restaurant came out and sat at the other end of my sofa. She joined in the conversation, which gave Stan and Ginny a chance to leave. They wished me well, then got up to return to their room.

My remaining companion seemed fascinated by my travels, asking many intelligent questions. Gradually, I relaxed and started to talk about my domestic worries. She was constantly attentive, her eyes locked on my face. As I burbled, I felt her fold my hands in hers, fingers gently stroking my knuckles. Perhaps I was naive, too innocent of the world to sense what was happening, even when she spoke the fateful words.

“Come with me, Dorothea.”

She pulled me up, and then, hand in hand, we walked through the hotel’s corridor until we reached her room.

Inside was a mirror image of mine, and as we stood beside the bed, she touched my cheek with the back of her hand, gently stroking up and down.

“Poor, poor, Dorothea. So lonely, unloved, abandoned. You deserve so much more.”

I looked into her eyes, mesmerised by her soft voice and entranced by her caring words.

When she leaned forward and touched my lips with hers, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to me.

When her tongue ran along my lips and then pressed against the opening into my mouth, I was ready.

When her tongue pushed inside and flicked against mine, I was lost.

Fantasising ual adventures was, and still is, an important pastime for me. Lying in my bed, my mind a whirl of arousal, fingers rubbing my hard clit, imagining a lover taking me to the edge. The fantasy varied—men, women, sometimes both together—but I had never met a woman who came anywhere near my expectations.

Standing in a foreign hotel room with a female stranger exploring my mouth with her tongue had never crossed my mind as a likely outcome of any scenario I imagined. But here I was, kissing madly, overflowing with ual desire.

Her hands were roving over my back, then they moved down and squeezed my buttocks through my skirt. I felt my top being lifted before she stepped back, breaking our kiss, to raise it over my head. Her hands then wrapped around my chest to fiddle with my bra strap for a moment before the clips parted, and my heavy breasts dropped free as she pulled the shoulder straps down my arms, leaving me naked from the waist up.

“Oh, Dorothea, they are so beautiful.”

I looked down to see my puckered areola centred by two stiff, dark brown nipples; it was obvious I was highly aroused. Hands blocked my view as she started to massage my boobs, her fingers gently rolling my sensitive flesh and pinching my hard nipples.

“Kiss me, Dorothea.”

I leaned forward and felt the soft warmth of her lips on mine. I licked across her bottom lip and then pushed my tongue inside, seeking her sensitive tip.

As I stroked her arms and shoulders, I felt her hands drop to my waist and slide around to my back, where she fumbled with the fastening and then opened the zip. My skirt slipped down my legs, landing in a crumpled heap around my feet. Then I felt my panty waistband being pulled before it followed the same path as my skirt. I was completely naked, other than my calflength holdup stockings.

She lifted her hands and cupped my face as we kissed frantically.

“Oh, Dorothea, we will make such beautiful love together.”

I felt a surge of pleasure in my pussy and could almost feel the wetness there.

“Yes, dear. Yes, I want you to love me.”

This seemed to encourage her to take the inevitable step. A hand brushed my bush, then pushed between my thighs. I shifted my feet apart a little and felt a finger explore my swollen lips before it found the opening and slipped inside. The ease with which her finger slid onto my clit left no doubt in my mind as to my level of arousal. It felt amazing and made me shiver in anticipation of the pleasure to come.

I whispered to her “More.”

“Come to bed, Dorothea.”

We parted, she pulled the duvet aside, and I slid onto the cool, crisp, white sheet. Lying on my back, I looked up at her, seeing a smile directed back to me, and then she started to strip her clothes. I marvelled at her body—no flab, just tight, pale flesh. Her small breasts were firm, marked by two pale pink nipples, and her mound and pussy were bare of any hair.

She knelt on the bed foot, gently laid her hands on my knees, and pulled them apart. She slowly lowered her body between my legs, her eyes locked on mine. I lifted my head from the pillow, craning to hold her gaze as I felt her tongue start to probe my lips.

How I craved that touch. I whimpered because it sent shivers inside my body, and I lifted my hips, moving my excited lips closer to her mouth.

Her tongue rasped over my clit, every touch increased my sensitivity, and I felt my hips begin to flex in response, demanding more and wanting my release.

I moaned gently.

“Please, baby. I want to cum.”

I felt her tongue press harder onto my precious little button, and suddenly, I tipped over the edge into a storm of pure pleasure. I felt my body jerking uncontrollably, rolling in ecstasy, my hands on her head forcing her down into my wet pussy. Whimpers turned into groans, then shouts, before I collapsed into silence, the only sound being my heaving, panting breathing.

Lifting my head again, I peered down my body through the valley between my breasts to see her eyes focused on my face, a broad smile showing her happiness at having taken me over the cliff. I sensed she had not finished with me a second before her tongue flicked across my very sensitive clit, making me whimper with pleasure.

“Oh, that is so beautiful.”

Her lick became the first of many, and I laid back again, feeling my second orgasm building much quicker that time.

“Oh, my God! No, please, no, I can’t take it!”

Of course, I could take it because my body craved the release, the rolling, thrusting orgasm, the fire of pleasure burning through my head. Then, afterwards, I peered down at her smiling eyes and felt her tongue start on me for the third time, then a fourth, and a fifth.

Finally, I was spent, and she understood, crawling up my body until her face was directly above mine. Locks of her hair brushed my cheeks as she lowered her lips onto mine and slipped her tongue into my waiting mouth.

I tasted and smelled my on her—a juxtaposition of spice and zest that assailed and overwhelmed my senses.

While she lay on my body, my hands were free to explore, stroking her arms, sliding across her back, and firmly grasping and squeezing her buttocks. She responded by rotating her hips and grinding her mound against me while moaning softly into my mouth.

Our kissing was sensual, tender, and loving. When her tongue was in my mouth, I gently nipped it between my teeth, feeling the soft tissue give under my pressure. When I pushed my tongue out, she sucked it as if it were my clit, slurping in pleasure as she tried to extract every millimetre out of me.

Above, the little sounds of arousal grew more intense as her need increased. I pushed an arm down between our bodies, twisting my wrist so my fingers could bend up as I felt my way across her mound, searching for her wetness. When my fingers found her hardness, her body reacted, thrusting her vulva onto my hand, increasing the pressure on her clit.

“Oh, Dorothea, so nice, so loving. Please, do it! Please me.”

Under the weight of her body, my sole freedom was to rub two fingers over her clit, trying to hit the spot she wanted. I quickly realised I didn’t need to do much as she was pushing down hard and flexing her hips. My job was to create the pressure she needed, to give her the feel of another woman in her most sensitive place. I realised I was just a masturbatory toy being used for her pleasure. It was a revelation, and I revelled in my role, enjoying the wetness on my fingers that ran down onto my palm whilst my protruding tongue was being sucked out of my mouth.

Heavy breathing and little gasps heralded her orgasm. Her body jerked, and my fingers lost contact, left floundering around her wet pussy. Her head dropped to one side, deafening me as she screamed into my ear in pure ecstasy.

Panting from the exertion, she rolled off me, lying on her side, one arm draped across my chest.

“Oh, thank you, dearest Dorothea. That was incredible; you are a very special lady.”

I rolled onto my side, laid one arm on her shoulder, and gently stroked her hair. Our lips touched, and our tongues met in the most tender kiss imaginable. We lay there for what seemed an eternity, kissing and stroking one another. Eventually, she pulled the duvet over our entwined bodies, reached up, and switched the room lights off. I fell asleep at once, snug and secure.

=.=

Sometime later, I half woke, sensing predawn light filtering around the closed curtains. Cautiously, I stood and searched for the clothes discarded during our lovemaking. Quietly, dressed only in my top, skirt, and holdups, I opened the door, slipped out into the corridor, and then padded to my room, seeing no one en route. Relieved to have made the trip free of any encounter, I had a short shower before snuggling under my duvet and dropping into a deep slumber.

=.=

The new day started with the raucous music of my alarm jerking me out of my dreams and into the real world. Half an hour later, I entered the breakfast room, half expecting to see my lover there, but there was no sign of her at any time. After the meal, I wandered through the corridors to her room, and as I approached, I saw the door was open and knocked loudly, hoping she would not mind my presence. Then I realised the room was empty, and my lover had gone. I felt so sad standing there, my mind full of memories of her touch, smell, and soft voice. My first same lover—I never asked her name.