Amazing Grace

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I should be ashamed about how I met her – really I should. I’m not a kerb-crawler, honest, I’m not! I was driving through one of the less salubrious areas of Leeds, on the way to visit someone I’d lost touch with, when I saw her. Just occasionally you see a woman who so fascinates you that you have to take a second look – and a third. Not beautiful, oh no, leave that area to the likes of Julia Roberts and Penelope Cruz, but this was a woman I needed to take a second look at – and walking along a pavement in a grotty suburb of Leeds, at seven o’clock in the evening.

She was walking slowly, so when I got around the block, and stopped on the opposite side of the road, I had time to look at her in my mirror, and then get an eyeful as she walked past, feeling like the very worst kind of voyeur. Suddenly knowing what compelled ‘stalkers,’ I drank in her vital statistics, so far as I could tell.

She was tall and slim, with something that had attracted me initially, dark brown hair that fell in a cascade to below her waist, quite startlingly long, but full and lustrous with it. She had a narrow face, not pretty, but amazingly sexy, as she turned to look briefly in my direction, lowering her long eyelashes, her lips slightly parted in what might have been a cruel sort of smile. She was, I was sure, aware of me.

I took in her body. She was not dressed in an overtly sexy manner, but wore an ankle-length cotton dress under a little jacket. Her feet were encased in black boots with very high, stiletto heels. These, her hair, her walk, her face, all came together to hit me where it hurt. I watched her, and it hardly registered when she spoke to me, raising her voice above the sound of a passing van.

‘Youse followen me, or whaa?’ The voice didn’t match the image I had formed. She had an accent I couldn’t begin to place, but knew was from north of Gretna Green.

I did the only decent thing, and got out of my car, crossed the road, and went up to her, abjectly apologising for giving her a fright. But there was little excuse I could offer for watching her, and she regarded me with much suspicion, of course. Just then, a Police Panda Car came to my rescue in unlikely fashion, drawing up behind my car. The occupant bellowed across to me that I couldn’t park there, and the girl laughed at my discomfiture as I scuttled across bursa escort the road to move my vehicle, as the Panda drove off.

Seeing her laughing, I called across to her to get in, and come for a drink, and was astonished when she agreed.

We stopped at the first pub I came across. I didn’t know it at all, but it had a half-decent saloon bar, and I bought her a vodka and tonic, while I settled for a tomato juice.

I had great difficulty in understanding her accent, which I found out hailed from Fife. Her name was Grace, she was nineteen, and she had come down from Scotland to find work, she said, but she wasn’t sure what kind of work she could do. When I asked her what she had done in Scotland, she replied, ‘Oh, this ‘n’ tha’ d’y na, a wee bit dancin’ in a wee club, tha’ sort o’ thing.’

It transpired she had only arrived that afternoon, and had decided to book in at a cheap hotel near to where I had picked her up – apparently her friend Morag had told her about one nearby, and a ‘wee club’ just around the corner, where she might get a job. She had left her suitcase in the left-luggage at City Station. All this took some finding out, what with her accent, and trying to disentangle her story, but a third vodka had her pouring out her heart, and the real reason she had come down from Scotland – the old familiar story of an abusive step-father, and a messy home-life.

Being a sucker for a pretty face – as I mentioned, she wasn’t even pretty, but she sure as hell was sexy – I suggested she might come and stay with me for a while. She looked doubtful at first, but I told her she could sleep on the sofa, and she nodded, tossing her lovely hair back in an elegant gesture.

We went round and picked up her suitcase, and made our way up to my apartment in a northern suburb of the city. When we got in, I showed her around, and she commented favourably – I’ve always been a relatively neat housekeeper, and filled the flat with nice things.

I had a little box-room where I told her to put her things, whilst I went and showered and changed, then got some food on the move. Whilst I was in the kitchen, Grace used the bathroom, and by nine o’clock we were sat on the sofa, me in a track suit, she in a towelling robe, eating a micro-waved lasagne and salad, with a bottle of cheap Chilean wine.

Whether it was bursa escort bayan the wine, or just that I’m an old softie, or because I can’t resist a nice young lady, I don’t know, but I suddenly said, ‘Look, Grace, you have the bedroom, I’ll sleep on the sofa – you must be tired.’

‘Ach, I couldnae,’ she said, but I insisted and propelled her into the bedroom, grabbing a spare duvet for myself.

My sofa is big and comfortable, but I was a long time getting to sleep, and couldn’t honestly say whether I had slept or not when I felt rather than heard another presence in the lounge. The faint orange glow of the street-light through the curtains framed Grace’s slender body, clad in a long but transparent nightdress, through which her body was silhouetted perfectly. She stood stock-still, looking at me, and I wondered for just an instant if she was intent on robbery or worse – after all, I didn’t know her at all; what had I done? But she had no knife or gun in her hands, and slowly lowered herself to sit on the sofa beside my apparently sleeping form. I tried not to change my breathing and give the game away. Then I felt her cool hand on my cheek, and efforts to control my breathing failed miserably. When her hair fell down over my face I was lost, and I reached up and pulled her down into my arms, feeling her warm lips yield instantly, so that I slipped my tongue into her eager mouth, and she responded with interest.

‘Let’s go to bed, shall we?’ I suggested, and led her back to the bed she had just vacated.

When I felt for her breasts she protested, saying (at least, I thought she said, her accent was still defeating me) that she was ashamed of them. But I thought they were gorgeous – hard nubs of nipples on top of sharp little mounds which poked aggressively through the nylon of her nightdress. I tweaked her nipples and she groaned with pleasure.

‘They are really beautiful, Grace,’ I said, ‘you must promise never to have implants. She stared at me in the semi-darkness as if I were mad. Mad I was, for her body, and pulled up the hem of her nightdress, up her long, straight, slim legs, until I reached the fleshy upper thighs. When I started to stroke them, she moaned as if she was already being penetrated, and opened her legs slowly to let me gain access.

I reached over and put on the bedside light. escort bursa ‘I want to look at you,’ I said.

‘Are youse noo a bit strange?’ she said (or something like that).

But just the same, she put a hand between her legs, and smoothed it very deliberately over her hairless pussy, down into her slit, and parted her labia with two fingers, showing me her glistening pink cunt.

The sight drove me wild, and I had an erection like a stallion. I fell on her and had my tongue in her in seconds, lapping her sweet honey-pot for all I was worth. But she was wriggling a squirming around to a new position on the bed, and I knew what she wanted. It was exactly what I wanted too! We dropped into a ’69’ position as if we had been doing it with each other for years, and I jiggled her hard little clitoris with a finger as my tongue penetrated deep within her.

She stiffened and screamed and came in a great heaving wave, as I shot my load of hot spunk straight down her throat.

We lay together, and I stroked her beautiful hair, played with her firm little tits, and marvelled at the whole of her lean young body. In what seemed like no time at all, I was hard again, and this time, I entered her gently, letting her guide me with her hands, as first she rode me, then we turned over and I fucked her slowly and deeply, my hands on her arse, a finger up her tiny, virgin arsehole, giving her a hint of future pleasures.

When I felt her getting ready to cum, I fingered her clit, and rammed her hard, until I could hold off no longer, then I thrust one final time and came.

Next day, I went off to work, as usual, and left Grace washing her ‘smalls.’ She said she was going to go and find a job, if possible. I spent all day remembering the night’s entertainment, and wondering if my life had changed for good. My God, she was something, I thought.

I could hardly wait to get home that evening, and see Grace.

I parked the car, and went upstairs two-at-a-time. Something wrong. The door was locked. Perhaps she had gone shopping. I opened the door and the first thing I saw was the key I’d given Grace, lying there on the doormat, just where it had been thrown through the letterbox. I went in – not a sign of her, nothing! The place was clean, more so than usual perhaps, but nothing seemed to be missing, and nothing of Grace remained.

I sat and cried.

I’ve done what I can to look for her – which isn’t a lot – I frankly don’t really know where to start looking. It’s all behind me now, I suppose – just one of life’s little jokes.

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