At twelve thirty I put the still warm scones on a tray and headed for Tom's garden. There he was, finishing up for the day, slowly and deliberately hoeing the raised bed beneath the window. I hailed him and he waved cheerily.

"I made some scones," I said, slightly embarrassed, "wondered if you'd like one with your extra strong tea?"

"Love to," he grinned. "Haven't had a decent scone for years. The rubbish they sell in supermarkets just isn't the same thing at all."

"Hmm," I joked, "you haven't tasted these yet."

We went inside and Tom prepared his paint stripper tea, while I settled back in the sofa. My scones had turned out well, fluffy and well textured, with lots of flavour, and Tom helped himself to two. We joked and laughed for a while, finding that we sparked each other off very well: you often find that you take to some people very quickly, and conversation flows as easily as if you had known them for ever, while with other people, whom you may well like just as much, talk is much more stilted and laboured. With Tom, I felt entirely relaxed. In the back of my mind, though, I knew my mission: I knew that it had to be today. I had to seduce him this morning.

With a silent gulp, I leaned across on the sofa, pulling my left leg up onto the cushion and resting it beneath my right leg. I was now sitting directly facing Tom, and lightly, as casually as I could muster, dropped my hand on to his thigh. Tom looked at it but didn't say anything, and I continued to talk, as though nothing had happened. Gradually, I began to stroke his thigh, drawing circles with my fingertip. At first I stayed at his knee, but slowly began to expand the radius of my circles, leading my fingers further up his thigh. Still, as I spoke, I made no allusion to what I was doing, and nor did Tom, although it was noticable that he wasn't speaking as much as before.

Finally, my hand had reached his upper thigh, and I rested my palm against him, thumb wedged just below his crotch. I could feel the warmth from his thigh radiating through his corduroy trousers. I looked at him and smiled. Nervously, he smiled back.

"I don't know what your game is, young girl."

I said nothing, but continued to stare into his watery, blue eyes. I eased my hand upwards and gently cupped his crotch. Through his trousers I could feel he was stiff, and I began to stroke up and down his length.

"That's nice," I said.

Tom groaned and leaned back in the sofa. "What are you up to?," he asked. "What's your game?"

"Tom, can I see it?" I replied, as I began to tug on his zip. I unbuckled his belt and eased open the button. Peeling his trousers to the side, I felt his cock through his underpants. It felt surprisingly long, and very hot.

"Can I?" I repeated, locking my eyes onto his.

"Yes."

I smiled at him and turned my attention away from his face. Sliding my hand inside his pants, I gripped his cock and pulled it free from its restraint. I pulled the pants downwards as far as I could, and his cock was released, waving before me. It was harder than I had expected, long and slender; only the head wasn't fully erect, remaining a bit soft and displaying an almost vulnerable air. I began to stroke him. His skin was a bit dry, with a paper-like quality, but wasn't as rough as I had anticipated. I built up a regular rhythm as I began to wank his cock and felt it twitch beneath me. I looked up at him.

"Oh love," he said, "that feels so good. It's been a long time since I've had anything like this."

I smiled once more. "Tom," I enquired," would you let me kiss it?"

He seemed taken aback, but nodded, silently, licking his lips with nervousness. My own heart was pounding with trepidation, aware of the magnitude of what I was doing. This man was in his seventies. I slipped off the sofa onto the carpet, and eased myself between his legs. I tugged gently at his trousers and slid them further down his legs, affording me better access to his cock. I draped my arms over his thighs and leaned forward. This was the moment.

I could smell him. It wasn't unpleasant, but slightly stale and sweaty, no doubt because of his exertions in the garden that morning. I rested my face just before him, looking at his seventy-year old cock. Now, Harriet, now.

I slid my lips over his tip, drawing it into my mouth. It immediately twitched. As tenderly as I could, I began to suck, gripping his cock with my lips and running my tongue over his puffy head. With a jolt of pleasure, I felt it becoming harder, and I continued to suck on him, sliding my lips further down his shaft, drawing more of him into my mouth. I reached as far as I could go, which still wasn't as far as the base of his cock, and then began to draw back out again. Gripping my lips against him I began to wank him with my mouth, the insides of my cheeks rubbing hard against him. Up and down, back and forward, I took his cock into my mouth and concentrated on giving him the best blowjob I could manage. Sucking my cheeks in as hard as I could, I built up the pressure on him, continuing as I did so to slide his cock in and out of my willing mouth.

I reached up with my left hand and began to tickle his balls, feeling them contract violently under my touch. Scratching with my nail, I scored round them, reaching back to his perineum.

"Oh God, Harriet," he said. "Hold on girl, or you'll make me come too quick."

Slipping his cock out of my mouth I grinned and looked up at his gnarled, creased face. "Wouldn't want that, would we?" I replied.

He looked at me, incomprehension written on his face. "I've no idea why you're doing this, lass, but since you are I'd like to make the most of it. It's been fifteen years since I saw a woman naked, and nigh on forty since I saw one as young and beautiful as you. Would you?"

I stood up.