The Ghost of Timor is the next story in the When Jerry Met Ali series. I will publish a new part here every 7-10 days. If you are new to WJMA the entire story is online at WhenJerrymetAli or can be purchased at Smashwords for USD2.99. I have included several hyperlinks in the text below to help remind readers of key events from WJMA. Enjoy.
Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winterThe Beatles
Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
Alison was streaked with perspiration. Sweat was bubbling up on her skin everywhere. It ran down her back forming a little puddle on her spine or cascaded down her flanks. She could feel it trickling down her breasts, momentarily cooling them before it flicked off her nipples to the floor as they swayed back and forth, back and forth.
“Some respite from the heat,” she thought. She hadn’t had a workout like this in years, at least, not in this position. Since her separation from her husband two years earlier she’d run, lifted, cycled and starved herself back into something approaching her twenties. But her body was reminding her now that she hadn’t done any of this type of exercise, not in a very long time. Marital sex was one thing; a good fuck was another altogether!
For his part Jeremy couldn’t believe that he was here again. When he’d sent Alison that letter months earlier, he hadn’t imagined that the result would be a naked Alison bent over a chair in front of him taking everything he could pound into her. Maybe he wished it. No, he had definitely wished it. But after 25 years he wasn’t expecting to ever see her again, let alone rekindle old flames. He’d been more just trying to get his own house in order. But he wasn’t complaining about this latest development.
After reuniting with Alison two hours earlier she’d left her room card and a small key on the table in front of him and an invitation. He had taken her hint and, after waiting a whole five minutes, followed her back to her room in the hotel above the coffee shop.
He opened the door and announced his presence just in case he accidentally startled her. “Alison?”
“Through here,” Alison’s called. Not that he needed directions. She had left him a trail of clothes from the door to where she was waiting for him; shoes, dress, bra, pants, Alison.
The sight that greeted him in that room was welcome and not entirely unexpected. Alison had left a big enough hint of what would be waiting for him if he followed her to her room just a few minutes earlier. He was already hard in anticipation by the time she’d left the coffee shop. Seeing her now, waiting for him as she had foreshadowed, almost ruined the moment. He wasn’t a young man anymore after all.
Alison was stark naked. Her arms resting on the back of a chair that she’d dragged from the desk to the middle of the room and positioned in front of a large mirror. She was starring at him with the biggest grin he had ever seen on anyone. His mind turned back to that touch football match 25 years earlier.
“More like ‘please grope me’ football,” he corrected himself. What a way to get someone’s attention.
“Why Lt Holland, is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” Alison quipped.
Seeing that Alison was in no position to cover herself or escape he returned service, “No, just my mobile phone. I thought that I might take a few photos for my blog. And that is ‘Captain’ Collins to you Private Benaud.”
The sweat from Jeremy’s exertions was stinging his eyes. Whenever he’d played sport he’d always encountered the same problem, sweat getting in his eyes and obscuring his vision. So much so that he’d been forced to carry a cloth in his pocket during exercise to clear his vision. “Old man” his team mates called him back then, back in his twenties. He was an old man now but, at this moment, he’d been transported back 25 years.
From where he stood behind her, Alison was still a catch. Not the limber 21-year-old of 1997 – age had come to them both – but for a 46-year-old with three children she was in remarkably good condition. She was a knockout from the front too. No longer the short blonde bob of her youth, her hair was longer now, falling down passed her shoulders. She was leaner too, her arms were more defined, bicep and triceps clearly visible as she held herself between the chair and his thrusts.
He hadn’t been slack either. The gym had given him strength that’d he hadn’t known in his twenties, and he’d discovered running later in life. He was not going to break any records these days but at this moment was very grateful for the path he’d chosen. And it was definitely better than sitting on his ass watching tv into an early grave.
He started to the feel the end coming about 20 minutes in, the change in his breathing signalling to Alison that their dance was coming to a head. She couldn’t do much more from her position but turn sideways and look in the mirror, but he could tell that she was happy with how it had gone…so far.
He came in the usual way, Alison giving her approval earlier that there was nothing to worry about – trust going both ways. But he had one more surprise in store for her that day. Instead of collapsing over her and resting, Jeremy used his new posture to reach between Alison’s thighs and find her clitoris. She was already flush with excitement, so the sudden attention of his hand didn’t cause her to flinch as it might have if she had been ‘cold’. Finding the right spot, Jeremy began to stimulate her; causing an instant reaction. He didn’t ask her for permission and she hadn’t wanted him too.
Pinned beneath him and unable to move Alison was effectively his toy. From there he could do anything to her that he wanted to. But again, instead of thinking of himself he now only sought her pleasure. She could have protested but she didn’t want to. After all, no one else had tried to get her off in almost a decade.
As her pleasure built, Alison could feel Jeremy’s cum sliding out of her and slowly trickling down her leg. She didn’t care; this wasn’t a job interview, and she was pretty sure that she had already passed the physical. The wrongness of her situation just made this moment all the more right.
“Where have you been all my life!” She asked herself rhetorically. She knew full well that answer to that one. And although there were no do overs in this lifetime, she found herself beginning to question the reasons for some of her decisions that she had made in the last century. Her rising feeling of pleasure snapped her out her introspection and brought her back to reality.
“Reflect later,” her body told her, “right now we’re a little busy.”
When Alison came it wasn’t in the usual way. A decade of self-service when her husband had been out on the town at night with his mates had been just a matter of survival. Something to relieve an itch or help her get to sleep at night. This was something different altogether. This was pleasure. This was a fuck!
And when it happened, she thought that she was about to faint. The pleasure was intense, akin to when she was 15 – the first time she had ever cum. A sensation so pleasurable and foreign that she hadn’t understood what was happening to her. A confusion of guilt and ecstasy had overwhelmed her pubescent mind then and now she was feeling it again.
“I guess it’s not like riding a bike after all.”
Alison felt her legs beginning to give way. She cursed Jeremy for having so much stamina despite him being on the wrong side of 50 and her punishing post-marriage fitness regime. Then she cursed herself again for her ingrained competitiveness. But it wasn’t fatigue that was causing this loss of function; it was fornication. This was involuntary and no amount of willpower was going to keep her upright. She was cuming; she was cuming hard and she was cuming now and she could not do anything to stop it.
With a low guttural moan Alison finally let go and gave over to ecstasy. She crumpled to the floor still clinging to chair which had been supporting her. Jeremy followed her down, his fingers refusing her pleas to stop. When he finally decided that she had had enough he ran his hands up her steaming torso, over her breasts and along the length of her outstretched arms and back down. Each hand repeating this journey repeatedly as she panted in front of him.
“She was like a statue come to life,” he pondered. A statue that could only be fully appreciated though touch. He ran his nails down her back causing small parallel red welts to rise on her pale skin and Alison to shiver. He let her pant a few moments longer then turned her face toward him and kissed her.
Recovered, Jeremy stood up and left Alison against the chair. He walked over to the bar and picked up the Tanqueray 10 and Nolly Prat that he spotted earlier when he was ploughing into Alison from behind.
“You came prepared,” he said.
“I couldn’t find our blind fold,” she said cheekily.
Jeremy mixed two martinis and carried them over to the lounge, closer to Alison, sat down and begin to drink.
“Can I get you anything?” he said sardonically.
“The key might be nice.”
“All in good time.” Jeremy sipped his drink and looked her over, smiling.
“Well, if you aren’t going to uncuff me then you could at least tell me what you have been doing for the last 25 years.”
3 thoughts on “The Ghost of Timor – Part 1”
“A statue that could only be fully appreciated though touch.” I freaking love that line 🔥
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Thank you for saying so. I wasn’t sure if that one would land. Glad it did.
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Definitely. It gave me this great imagery of her body becoming more animated because of his touch. Super hot, super memorable
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