An Autobiography by Jenny : Chapter 1

INTRODUCTION

My name is Jennifer but I prefer to be known as Jenny
I was born In Truro, Cornwall England
I am fifty-four years old being born in June 1956
I am single and have never married
I am bi-sexual
In my mid teens I was runner-up in a local beauty-queen contest as a result of which I was engaged by a modeling agency for several years
To-date I still maintain my slender shape and figure (not having had any children!)
I am five feet two inches tall and have green-blue eyes and auburn hair
I am not a ‘writer’ but have endeavored to recount, as accurately as possible, those events that have made my life such a memorable one and one filled with so many wonderful experiences
Although my name is true, I have changed all other names for obvious reasons even though some individuals have expressed a desire to see in print their participation in my life
My story includes some events which may seem perversions to some readers, but I did these acts whilst in a state of heightened eroticism and at the time they raised me to untold heights. I hope you will bear with me

CHAPTER 1

MY PRESENT DAY LIFE AND MY ADORATION OF OLD MEN

The events of last night have once again prompted me to put pen to paper to tell the story of my wonderful sexual life. I say once again because there have been many an occasion, after a great sexual experience, that the desire to tell my story has come to the fore but for one reason or other another it never happened, until now.

As usual it started with a phone call from my friend Simon who lives three floors above me in the same block of apartments located just off the centre of Truro in Cornwall. “Hi Jenny, fancy a coffee?” This was an agreed signal that Simon used (in case I had visitors who might accidentally overhear our conversation). The coffee invite told me that he was in need of some ‘release’, sexual release that is and was I available to join him to receive that ‘release’. You see, I have this problem in that I need, on a regular basis, an intake of sperm to satisfy my craving. This craving started many years ago and as far I can recollect it was at the tender age of fourteen and has dominated my life ever since. The peculiar thing is that ever since my mid thirties I have craved the sperm of old men and when I say old I mean men of sixty years plus. I cannot explain why this should be but there is a psychological block to my enjoying younger men’s sperm. Although I have enjoyed sex with many, many men of all ages during my life and still do on the odd occasion, I am constantly drawn to older men. Also I should explain that I need to take it by mouth and most important the sperm has to be from a virile man, if there are no wriggling sperm, I’m not interested, another mental block of mine. And one further thing I need to mention, I am only drawn to old men who have that special taste to their sperm. So you can see that I have very particular needs and am a so very luckily that Simon fits them all perfectly. We have been very happy with this sexual partnership for nearly two years now. The taste of his cum is so sweet and delicious that I freely admit I’m now addicted to it.

“Hi Simon, I’d love some coffee, I’ll be up in a few minutes put the coffee on”. “Great” said Simon with an excited voice,” This time I have pleasant surprise for you”. “What is it?” but before I could pursue the inquiry he cut in “Jenny you’ll love it I can promise so leave it until you get here”. I was really curious now. “Ok Simon I’ll be up in a jiffy”.

My practice on these occasions is to have quick shower thoroughly wash my pussy, slip on a skirt or dress but no panties. Simon loves me to do myself up smartly with make-up and all the feminine trimmings and I love doing it for him. In the shower I was very excited about the surprise and my mind flashed back to the first time I really met him. What I mean is that although I have lived in my apartment for nigh on 25 years and had on many an occasion passed Mr. Gibson, as I knew him then, in the lobby, I had never spoken to him or really acknowledged him over many years. I knew snippets of information about him and knew he owned a chain of shoe shops around the town and in near by towns. He was always very smartly dressed with his brief case and was well respected. I do remember about eight years ago it being mentioned that his wife had suffered kidney failure and died and from that point onwards he seemed to look less well turned out than he used to be, but other than that I barely noticed him. Then about two years ago things changed dramatically which I want to tell you about before I continue with last nights events.

THE LAUNDRY ROOM

The night had been long and frustrating. It was one of those nights when lust consumes but cannot be abated no matter how you link your most sensual experience or fantasy with which to reach the merest of orgasms so that sleep will take over: It seems that I had had my finger on my clit from the moment I got into bed hoping for a quick cum to send me on my way to deep sleep. Before I knew it the dawn was upon me and I felt drained as if I had not slept at all but knew that that could not have been the case. I lay for a while cursing the fact that my wildest fantasies did not respond to my intense clit frigging and wondering why this happens so often just when I need it most. Human emotions are so complex.

After breakfast, being Saturday, I did my usual chores at a lazy pace and relaxed around the flat wondering whether a trip to the shops would perk me up, but seeing the rain pissing down outside soon put that idea to rest. Oh well I suppose getting the pile of laundry going would take my mind off things and besides it had to be done for the following week’s wear. Then disaster, the washing machine went up in smoke after only a few moments of being switched on. “Oh fuck!” I screamed. What am I going to do now? Trying to think out loud I asked myself where there was a Laundromat in town, but couldn’t think where there was one. I scoured the telephone book but could find none near to where I live. ”God, I need to get some washing done before Monday else I’m going to look like a scruff at work” I said to myself out loud. It was then I remembered that there was a laundry in the basement, built into the apartment block for the sole use of the residents many moons ago, I think in the days when not everyone had their own machines. Picking the phone up I called down to the lobby and asked about the laundry in the basement and was it still in use. “Well yes it is still there and is still available”, came back the answer. “Thank god for that”, I said “Is the door locked or what?” I asked.”Oh yes it’s always kept locked but you can get the key from the lobby here”. “Great I’ll be down in a few minutes, thanks”. I was so relieved. Gathering all the clothes that needed washing in to a black bin-bag and grabbing some washing powder and a book to read, I was straight down in the matter of moments to the lobby.

It was only when I arrived in the lobby that I realized that all I was wearing was my casual house dress with nothing on underneath, no bra and no panties and a pair of slip-ons on my feet. Half gathering the open top of my dress to partially conceal my breasts, I said to the lobby clerk “Sorry about this” half indicating to my state of dress. “That’s ok miss, its Saturday after all, a day to relax” as he pulled his eyes away from my hand holding my top as if he was hoping for a glimpse of flesh. I was almost tempted to give him a teeny bit of titillation but then thought better of it. His body language indicated a degree of disappointment. “You should find everything straight forward miss, the machines are all fairly new so you'll find the controls straight forward. You’ve had problems, miss?”. “Yeah mine has just blown up”. “Sorry about that miss, it’s just as well we keep the basement machines well maintained for times like these although they're very rarely used.” “You’re a god-send “, I said as I was given the key. “No probs miss, give us a shout if you need help”.

The laundry was indeed equipped with modern machines, three washing machines and two large tumble driers. There was something about the room which told me it was rarely used although it was very clean. It was an L shaped room with the washing machines on the right as you entered and the tumble driers on the opposite side. Around the corner at the far end of the room there were some empty shelves with a table, all very spick and span. Along the back wall was a settee and a couple of stools, obviously placed there for who wanted to sit out the washing cycle, which suited me well because I’d brought my latest novel to kill the time. Having got a machine loaded and set off I settled down on the settee to enjoy my book.

I was about twenty minutes into the wash cycle and was so deeply engrossed in a very sensual section of my book that I hadn't realized that my left hand had strayed between my legs and was gently caressing my pussy through the thin fabric of my dress causing a damp patch to appear. Suddenly I heard a squeak from the direction of the door and pulled my hand away from my now very damp pussy. Thinking it would be the lobby clerk popping in to check if I was ok, I quickly sat up from the slouched position I had slumped into and quickly put my knees together from their slightly parted state.

Well who should come through the door, not the porter but Mr. Gibson from three floors above me. This was a surprise. I could never have imagined that this well to do man would ever be reduced to using the apartments’ washing facilities. With the slightest of glances in my direction and certainly with the merest of acknowledgment he dropped his blue plastic bag in front of one of the empty machines while he studied the machines instructions. From my position on the settee I could study this man whom I had known of for many years but did not know in person. He was about five feet two inches tall and I would guess about fifteen stones in weight with a rather large beer belly which caused his dark blue T shirt top to hang well out from his dark blue trainer bottoms. I remembered the days passed when he was much trimmer than now and in those days I don't think he would have ever been seen wearing casuals. How time changes a person. As he bent over reading the instructions, I could see his double chin and his almost white hair which seemed unkempt, hanging over the back of his collar. Sad to see such a man letting himself go.

Having worked out how to operate the machine and loaded it, with what seemed to be predominantly white shirts, he set it going and just stood there gazing into the large round window as if mesmerized. I went back to my book, to the sensuality of the story. From time to time I glanced towards him as I turned over a page and noticed that he quickly diverted his eyes when I looked at him. I continued my book which was getting me more and more worked-up and once again I felt the urge to fondle my pussy. It was then that I remembered the stain on my dress and wondered if Mr. Gibson had seen it too. Just the thought caused another release of cunt juice, which was getting a bit embarrassing as I could feel the wetness on the seat beneath me. I continued reading. Forgetting his presence I again got caught up with the story. It was only when I came to turn another page and glanced at him again that I saw his eyes were fixed between my legs and I realized that my knees had parted in my excitement. It occurred to me he must have been able to see my naked pussy. Quickly I diverted my eyes back to the book before he could see that I had spotted him looking up my crotch. "Wow, this is crazy", I thought to myself. "He's looking at my pussy. This old guy is looking at my pussy!" All sorts of things raced through my mind. I wondered if he could become my next old man lover. This old man with his reputation and his position in the town! I just sat there stunned and not moving my legs one way or other. Sneaking another glance towards him without him being made aware of it, I could see he seemed transfixed between my legs. "God this could be exciting. I wonder...." Ever, ever so slowing, without hardly any discernment on his part, I allowed my knees to move further and further apart as I hid behind my book pretending to be totally absorbed. I knew my cunt must now be fully exposed to him and I could feel the juices trickling down my inner lips.