Erotica for the over 80s

Erotica for the over 80s

Thursday, 26 March 2015

Chapter Seven - The Other Woman

It was Saturday. Which meant spam fritters and Columbo. Normally. 

This Saturday meant only one thing - dinner with Mr Grey. I’d hardly slept a wink, tossing and turning all night. Thank goodness I had Jean’s heartwarming words to comfort me . . .

“See you at the shop on Monday morning, Elsie. Hopefully, not in a bin bag.”

My inner goddess was doing the spin cycle. According to Betty I was in line for a night of wanton passion but if Jean was right, Mr Grey would be sticking my head in a box and posting it to the local police station.

Either way, I’d need a shampoo and set.

“Shall we try a few mauve highlights to really make your eyes pop?” asked Minnie, the mobile hairdresser, catching me in the mirror through her corrective lenses.

“Shall we not?” I replied, holding up a photo of Helen Mirren while dodging her scissors. 

“I'd like to look effortlessly elegant,” I said.

‘No problem!” she grinned, giving me a thumbs up.

No-one was quite sure how long Minnie had been coming to the retirement home, but the magazine she'd given me had Vera Lynne on the cover and an advertisement for War Bonds. 

Five hours and three sherries later, I set off unsteadily for Anastasia Terrace, looking slightly less like Helen Mirren than I’d hoped. And slightly more like Art Garfunkel.

Both Jean and Betty suggested I take precautions - for different reasons. So I put a spare cardigan and a packet of polos in my handbag, and left a photograph of myself on Llandudno pier for Jean to give to ITN in the event I didn’t make it back in one piece. 

As I approached number 50, I couldn’t help recalling those houses of horror with police tents in their back gardens, but I tried to banish the thought from my mind. 

Emboldened by the sherry, I pressed the doorbell firmly, then suddenly found myself panicking again. What if it wasn't Mr Grey who answered the door? I realised I still had no idea whether or not he lived alone. 

“You're here!” came a comforting voice. 

I looked up to see Mr Grey with a broad smile on his face and a dripping spatula in his hand. “I’m sorry," he continued, "But I'm afraid I still don’t know your name . .” 

“Oh, it’s Mrs Steel . . . Elsie,” I said, trying to hide my nerves. 

“Clifford,” he announced, shaking my hand. “Well, come on in, why don't I take something off for you?” he said, standing aside to let me through the door.  

Betty was right - he was a fast worker! My entire body tensed as he reached up my back and slowly pulled my raincoat from my shoulders.

“Sherry?” he said, holding a small glass near my face. 

I took it, smiling, even though I’d already had more than enough.

“So tell me about yourself, Elsie,” he said, patting the seat beside him on the sofa. 

“Oh, there’s nothing much to tell,” I muttered. “I’m just a widow who works in a charity shop.”

“So you're all alone too?" he said, placing his hand on mine. "Good . . ." 

I pulled my hand away sharply and took a swift swig from my glass.

“Can you hear bells?" he asked, staring intensely into my eyes. 

My eyebrows arched and I shook my head, dumbly.

"That'll be the lamb. Would you excuse me for a moment?"

I took another large gulp of sherry as he made his way to the kitchen and scanned the room quickly. There didn't seem to be any wedding photos, instead the room was adorned with a variety of unusual ornaments - chains, padlocks and an array of rubber and leather items. I stared hard into my now empty glass. 

“. . . Loneliness can be a killer," he said, stepping back into the room and resting a heavy-covered platter on the table. "I still feel lost without my Sadie."

I glanced up. So he was a widower . . .

“She was so beautiful,” he continued, tears beginning to well up in his grey eyes. “Wherever we went, men would stop just to look at her. In fact, I quite enjoyed watching them try her out.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that so I just nodded.

“At first she didn't always do as I wanted, but I soon learned to take control. And in the end we had lots of fun together. Many’s the time I’d strap her in the back of the Morris Traveller and go for a nice blow on the coast.”

"Do you mind if I ask what happened to her?" I said, with a nervous smile.

“Not at all!" he replied. "In fact she's here now!"

I frowned deeply as my eyes darted round the room. 

"Or part of her at least . ."

I stared in horror as I watched him slowly raise the steel dome from the platter . . .


  1. You are a shameless tease, Elsie. What happened next ?

  2. Why can't i find anything beyond March 2015? Have you stopped writing, or am i doing something wrong?

  3. for what its worth, sadie is probably a sail dinghy, somethign like that lol

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  6. Funny! I love parodies. I'm writing one myself...a little different though...I'm profiling fifty real men in the dating pool..everyone from a broke stalker with a dungeon in his mom's basement to a drunken millionaire...because there are fewer than 2,000 billionaires on the planet and most are old or married. A girl isn't going to meet one of those. lol.!blog/aysuj