Orphans Of The Storm - Sex Stories

Orphans Of The Storm

... 'Whatever happened to jeans and a tee shirt.' I ask myself. Twenty years ago I'd have been all over her, but now I can't even get my hug right. My hands move around uncontrollably, scared of what I might touch, so I reluctantly back away. "You have me at a loss I'm afraid, do you know my mother?" "Oh yes, we've become great friends in the last year or two." Her dark eyes shine brightly, but there's a sadness behind them that's impossible to ignore. My mother was always collecting young people - I put this one at twenty five tops. However, unlike most of my mother's young friends this was a woman, which to the best of my knowledge rarely happened. Normally they were guys, mostly drifters, bearded and always handsome. I imagine the implications were obvious to the gossip-mongers in town. "Where's my manners," I say, pointing to the sofa. "Would you like a beer?" "A beer would be lovely, thanks," she waves a hand in front of her face like a fan, to show how hot she feels. "Wow, San Miguel, that's perfect, your mum's favourite." Her gorgeous smile catches me off guard, and my eyes follow her as she backs onto the sofa and pops the top of her beer like an expert. There's something about this girl that enthrals me, but I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's the hair and the black eyes or could it be the Spanish accent? It's like my mum is sitting here with me, keeping me company. "I'm sorry about your loss," she adds, her eyes locked onto the label of the bottle as if it holds ...

... some special significance. "She was a special lady your mum, are you here to arrange the funeral?" A picture comes into my head of a young woman, dressed in a black cloak and holding a single white lily. She stands over a grave. She calls my name and hugs me. The cloak falls open and she's naked underneath except for a pair of black dancing shoes. "Well, I've already arranged it as it happens, the wonders of the internet and all that. It's in three days time at the local crematorium. I was hoping to put an ad in the local paper for anyone who'd like to come along." "Oh, that's clever of you, there'll be lots of people who'll want to attend, everybody liked your mum. Can I help you with anything?" Like many young people I'd encountered in my life, they believed the internet was for the sole use of the under 30's. They always seem shocked when someone older could unravel its mystery. However, she is so charming that I instantly forgive her the implication. "Um, thank you. Maybe?" I reply. I had got used to doing everything for myself since my wife had left me eight years ago. I had become so independent that I nearly always rejected offers of help, in case people thought me weak or vulnerable. I'd heard the whispers: 'Poor Mr Bishop, all alone, nobody to look after him'. The women seemed to be worse, often asking: 'Are you okay, do you need some company after work?' I'd been tempted on many occasions to go to end of term drink, but I'd seen too many careers damaged by liaisons ...