Searching for an Old Lover

When I was 30, I met a 47 year-old woman in ‘normal’ surroundings and fancied her to the point of sexual frustration. She was a bit flirty, though she was wearing a wedding ring. She had shoulder-length dark hair, pretty face, and the figure of a much younger woman. I do not want to tell you where we met. It would give too much away, but her name was Megan.

When I met her, there were other people around, but I managed find out where she lived. She didn’t tell anyone her address, but she mentioned that her house was next door to a certain place that many of us knew. We also discovered, in the course of polite conversation, that her husband worked for a well-known organisation and that she was a ‘housewife’ with no paid job. Soon after meeting, I went to the library and looked up electoral register records for that year and previous years. They had lived there for six years and the people in the house before them were May and Charles Weston. I stored this information. Moreover, I planned one day to be her lover.

She sprang to mind now and then and, in moments of sexual frustration, became a fantasy for masturbation. Two years later, when I was 32 and she was 49, I happened to be driving past her house on a week day. I stopped, looked in my Filofax for the name of the previous occupants, and rang on her door bell. She answered and looked simply gorgeous. ‘Is Charlie in,’ I asked.

‘Sorry. You have the wrong address,’ she said.

‘No, I’m sure. I’ve been here lots, but not for six or seven years. Charlie and May Weston.’

‘They’ve moved.’

‘Any idea where?’ I asked, while mentally undressing her from her scarlet skirt and pink blouse.

‘No idea.’

I asked her if she could give me any clues, such as the estate agent’s name or the name of the conveyancing solicitor. I told her it was important and urgent. Now let me add that I have a good spoken voice and dress well. I asked her if she could have a look while I waited. She asked me who I was, and obviously didn’t remember meeting me two years earlier. I told her that they were family old friends. To my delight and surprise, she invited me in. She took me in the lounge, offered me a cup of coffee, which I accepted and then left the room to search through her papers.

A couple of minutes later, she came back with the information. I had deliberately not drunk any of the coffee. I wanted to make it last. I now decided to take the bull by the horns. ‘Margaret, I owe you an apology. You will want to throw me out when I tell you, but I have no interest in the Westons. I wanted to see you. I’m married, but I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since I met you a couple of years ago. I fancy you. I had to see you again.’

In the space of a few seconds, she became flushed with a rash around her neck. I knew that I was on to a winner. I can’t remember what she said, but it was non-committal. I walked over to her, sat on the arm of the arm chair, stroked the back of her neck. She leaned into me. We kissed. I touched her and after a further minute, touched her breasts. Within fifteen minutes, her knickers and pantyhose were off and I was deep inside her on the lounge carpet. We were both part clothed.

We were occasional lovers over perhaps six years, not meeting often but the sex was FABULOUS. I discovered that her husband was 11 years older than her and was a hopeless lover. He always insisted she got on top and jumped up and down – almost a sort of, ‘I can’t be bothered. Help yourself.’ He would do it at no time other than around 11 am on Sunday morning when he was still in bed.

Over the past few months, I have become very turned on at the thought of making love to her again. I may have second thoughts if and when I meet her – she will be 77 this year, but if she has aged as well as in the years I knew her, she will look like a woman in her fifties. I want her badly.

I have subscribed to a web site that contains all electoral registers in the UK and found where she now lives. I’m sure it’s her because not only does she have an unusual surname, but her husband is shown as being still alive. He must be 91. Now, how do I contact her? Her phone number is ex-directory, but I have her address.

I’d love my readers to give me some ideas. Suggestions to philanderer@live.co.uk