Blonde in london

I was delighted with the job offer in London. And the more I thought of it the better it seemed. I’d visited a number of times there as a young man and spent six months as an intern when I finished university. I knew the city well and had many great memories. I work as a software contractor and do stints for several months or years at a time. I don’t really need to work as my father left me fairly well off even though he didn’t let me know until I was thirty. I can do whatever I like within reason but have no taste for ostentatious life styles or need to associate with so called high status folk.
I needed to get away from the stagnation of six years in Palo Alto, a failed marriage and general discontent with my life. My marriage had been unraveling for a while but the final straw came when Cheryl had an affair with a Chileno guy who taught salsa dance. She rubbed it in while we were splitting and did everything she could to humiliate and insult me—even telling me how much better he was in bed. It really didn’t work and I kept my calm going through the divorce. She tried to take half my inheritance but I’d prepared too well and came out of it OK. I later found out the salsa guy dumped her after about six months when he found she’d get little money. Last I heard she she’d gained a lot of weight and was living hand to mouth with an ordinary job and a mountain of debt. Fortunately we didn’t have k**s so I had no reason to keep in contact with her. Clean split.

The move was a fresh start. I found a furnished flat in Earl the Earl’s Court neighborhood from one of those online rental agencies. I sold the Palo Alto house and got rid of loads of accumulated stuff. I was ready for London. I still wasn’t forty yet and had plenty of life.
I could easily take the tube downtown to my work place but I generally had the choice of working at home if it suited me. More and more I found I preferred working in the office or in a local coffee shop with all the people and activity. After six years of marriage I felt the need to be around others and I chatted up as many as I could. And of course I started looking for women. I’m not the tall athletic type of guy that women naturally and quickly fall for. I have to get to know them and slowly establish a rapport. Dating women you’re working with has its own host of potential problems as anybody can imagine. I had lunch with a few but it didn’t seem to be going anyplace with any. Some were too young, pretty and full of themselves; many were married or had established relationships. I quickly determined the lesbians. Some I just didn’t find attractive.
Within a few weeks I had established my work routine, including my commute. I left about the same time every morning and even went to same spot on the train to make my walk a little easier. I began to recognize some of the other regular passengers and people in the neighborhood. It was fun for me to look at the people and glean small things about them. Businessmen with suits, young women in their prime showing off, the punks with various piercings and tattoos demonstrating their “unconventional” look, parents engaged with their families. The complete range of humanity revolved around me.

Still trying to forget Cheryl I did pay a bit more attention to the women in my sphere beyond work. I enjoyed them all, especially when I saw them on a regular basis going about their lives. This is when I first started noticing Rachel. I didn’t know her name at the time as she was no different than any of the others I saw at work or anyplace else. I had no more reason to single her out, let alone try to meet her, than any other woman. I only mention it now for what came later.
She was blonde, or as some would say strawberry blonde with a light tinge. Her hair was shoulder length, slightly wavy and looked like it had occasionally been had highlighted. Her skin was pale and freckled. She was shorter and with a slight build. I wouldn’t call her buff or athletic but she was trim, graceful and possessed what I’d call a healthy feminine energy. Many men who prefer a fuller figure would consider her skinny. Not me. From first appearance and body language one would assume she was married and a mother, but I noticed she was not wearing a wedding band. Although well dressed and groomed, her clothes were not particularly showy or remarkable. She usually dressed in solid colors or an occasional conservative dark print dress. Going to work she usually wore black, or black and light combinations like a cream colored blouse or tights. I never saw any low cut tops or cleavage—at least in our limited contact.

One weekend afternoon I was working with my laptop in the coffee shop. I was a little surprised when I looked up she had entered with two elementary age girls. They were the perfect image of their mother, blonde with angelic, slightly freckled faces. A man was with them this time and they were all talking in German, including the girls. It appeared this guy was the father. He was about six feet and had an athletic build. In another situation I’d have said they were an attractive and happy couple but even though I don’t speak German I could sense a slight tension between the father and mother. Eventually the girls left with the man. I can’t know for certain, but it would seem like a parenting hand off. I saw it plenty of times with my divorced friends with k**s.
I began to keep my eyes open for this woman and pay more attention when I did see her. Against my better judgment I began to look for her and allow these thoughts to crowd out images and input from other women. There was no reason to consider her particularly attractive or that she would stand out in any number of thirtyish mothers or wives. She dressed well, true, but in a conservative and conventional fashion. Everybody knows it’s completely foolish to pick out somebody you don’t know and try to craft a relationship out of thin air and imagination. Pygmalion they call it. If any of my friends had told me of similar thoughts, and especially toward a woman who had k**s and they knew really nothing about I’d have advised them to back off and forget it. The best outcome would likely be disappointment--the worst? Let’s not go there.
Much better to cast a wide net, build friendships and earn respect. I continued to do this at work, went on the occasional date and was invited to the occasional party. I was definitely trying to take my own council and the wisest path. But there she was again in the morning, primly sitting on the train, reading a book or looking over some other sort of work document. Dressed as usual, her legs crossed at the ankles and her skirt properly extending well past the knees. My mind wandered as before and went down the same path. I’d drink in every detail while looking up from my book or off to the side. When I got up to exit the train at my stop I sensed from my peripheral vision that she glanced up directly at me, if ever so briefly.

On my way home from the underground stop there was a small dance and exercise studio. These studios are popular and everyplace, I think they call it Zumba. It’s mostly a woman’s thing with led and organized dance and exercise movement set to popular music. Most men will casually take a quick appreciative look while walking past. I was no different. Through the window fifteen or twenty were going through their motions. They were generally between teenage and their forties, in various stages of fitness and skill but all enjoying themselves and trying to improve. They wore typical exercise outfits, tight fitting pants and various sports tops, all with tennis shoes. I recognized the American funk tune, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-p0wFDmiJsE and chuckled.
And there she was again, this blonde woman Rachel I’d seen on so many occasions, her face flushed with movement while looking at her reflection in the mirror, her arms and legs moving to the synchronized steps. I couldn’t stop and stare, it wouldn’t be polite. However, I knew the class let out in about twenty minutes so did a bit of shopping, timing my exit so I could casually walk by again on the return. I couldn’t be so bold on a regular basis, or probably ever again but I allowed myself this time. Sure enough she was on the curb outside with all the other women, talkative in girly conversations about the class, music, families, work clothing or men. I could see her face and hear her voice in a much more relaxed atmosphere. She was smiling, red faced, talking among her friends, completely at ease. A completely different posture and presentation from when I saw her on the train going to work
Such outfits leave a man little to speculate with on a woman’s body. As I approached I could get a much better idea of her figure in the black workout leggings and top. Her stomach was not as flat as younger women who exercised and had not had c***dren, but it was perfectly reasonable for a working mother in her thirties. Her breasts were not large but certainly adequate. They showed a bit of sag that I again attributed to having had c***dren. Her nipples stood out and protruded through the skin tight lycra. But what I noticed the most was the most exquisitely formed bottom on the shapely and tapered legs.

Most mornings I saw her on the train; she was a creature of habit too. I entered the car on a busy morning and took a seat. As it turned out the largest number of places were filled by a particularly annoying crowd of loud and threatening homeless men, likely drunk or high even at this early commute hour. Just before the doors closed she crossed off the platform into the car. I didn’t see her face or her reaction but she immediately took a place beside me and placed her bag on her lap in a non verbal defensive and isolating posture. She briefly glanced at me and I nodded back without thinking to acknowledge the situation and give reassurance. She sat beside me for the twenty minute ride and stared straight ahead. My stop was before hers when it came time for me to alight she got up and exited at the same time, even though I knew this was not her destination. Once on the platform she looked up at me, smiled and said only, “I’ll catch the next train, thanks.” Those were the first words she ever said to me.
The next morning we happened to see each other on our walk into the station. She was wearing a long dress with the hem about the middle of her calves. Her work bag hung off her shoulder. She looked up, slightly laughed and completely unexpected to me, she made a formal curtsy. Her movements were so completely poised and fluid as her hands temporarily grasped the fabric of the skirt and let it fall as she rose. “Ah, Sir Galahad of the underground, always there to help a lady in distress! American, aren’t you?”
I smiled and started to laugh myself, automatically tilting my head in a slight bow. I mumbled something banal like “Nothing anybody wouldn’t do in such a situation.” But then stuttered, “How did you know I was American?”
“Ah, I could see it in your clothing, their make and choice. Not a bad thing, just a bit different than most would have here.”
“Oh, well then, I see.” I wanted to continue the conversation and started out with small talk. “You live around here? I’ve seen you a number of times in the neighborhood and on the train.” We exchanged names, this is when I found out hers was Rachel, mine Andy. About that time the train arrived. We hurried in and sat together.
She continued that yes, she lived here and she’d seen me too. She had two daughters and hadn’t been working that long. She had stayed at home with the c***dren until they were both in school. She was divorced but she didn’t say much about the father, only that he saw the c***dren regularly. I sensed this was not a subject I should ask about. In general I let her talk. In this sort of situation you eventually find out what you want to know. No matter what it led to I enjoyed talking to her hearing about her life and what she had to say. This went on for a few weeks and we almost always saw each other in the mornings. I became careful to arrive about the same time so I’d be able to sit with her and pass the few minutes together.

She was educated, but not in any kind of a focused career path. She had studied dance, theater, art and language finally taking her degree is German. Part of her job was dealing her firm’s German counterparts and customers. As a young woman she had spent several years in Berlin where she met her husband. She’d talk wistfully about her earlier years as anybody might.
She had a wicked sense of humor and we began to play off each other with language, descriptions and a bit of teasing. I enjoyed her various facial expressions when telling small stories or making observations. Sometime her lips would be pursed, sometimes pouty and sometimes she’s have the most wholesome smile and laugh imaginable. I saw her expressive movements more and more with her hands and complete body language, always laden with voice and facial gestures. It might have been the dance and theater background, but it also might have just been my own attraction and hormones.
I had a presentation at work and the company wanted us to dress well for the clients. I went out and bought what I thought was an adequate coat and slacks. I wasn’t used to such formalities where I’d worked before. I wore my new suit to work that day and as usual met Rachel on the platform. Upon seeing me she looked bit surprised. I could see a bit of disapproval in her face but it quickly passed. She said only, “Have a date today?” No, I explained, only the presentation and that I had just purchased the suit. She nodded and our conversation continued as usual. Just before my stop she looked up and said, “I need to fix this for you.” She grasped the knot of my tie and collar, straightened and adjusted several perceived imperfections in my appearance. This was as close as I had ever been to her and the old myth of a****l magnetism came to reality. I felt the warm touch of her fingers against my neck and I caught a spectrum of scents emanating from her body. There was the grooming product from her hair, the subtle scent of her soap and even a clean fragrance from her clothing. Beneath it all was the natural aroma of her body. The same ancient smells men have responded to since the beginning of time. Even though she had obviously recently bathed the smell of her sex was clear to me and stood out above all the others. My stop was right there, we parted and I went away about my day. The presentation went well enough, but I was completely distracted by that brief experience on the train. The bouquet of sensation was with me the entire day and I couldn’t get her out of my head. Of course I didn’t want to either.

We didn’t see each other for a few days, but the next Saturday I was at the coffee shop working with the thought of doing exercise later. I felt a tap on my shoulder and there was Rachel. This time dressed in slacks with a simple blouse and without make up; a woman going about her weekend business. She sat next to me and asked how the presentation went. Well enough, I replied and we continued to talk about work and the make small talk. She asked if I’d be having any more such business meetings and replied yes, there’d be several over the coming weeks. She looked at me directly in the eye and said emphatically, “Andy, you have to get rid of that suit!” Before I could come up with a response she added, “Do you have the afternoon off? Come with me and I’ll fix you up.” I wasn’t going to pass this up and my plans for work and exercise were immediately shelved.
I answered, “Only if I can take you to lunch.”

Exploring a city such as London with a native like Rachel is a joy in itself. She took me to various consignment shops and out of the way retailers I’d not have encountered in twenty years. She looked at things for herself and bought a lot for her daughters, but mostly she took me on as a project and selected a number of items. It was all very practical and most could be worn in various combinations. At the end she stood me in the mirror with her finished product. “There, Just like Daniel Craig,” she said proudly. “Well, maybe not Daniel Craig but certainly not an American tech nerd.” We headed back to her place laden with bags.
She’d earlier told me she’d have to get her daughters soon so I thought I’d be leaving directly. She did make tea. I politely sipped mine and got ready to leave. At the door I thanked her for the afternoon and said I’d see her Monday. Our eyes caught and I grasped her hand with both of mine in a polite and friendly acknowledgment. She finished the handshake and placed her arm around my shoulder in what could also be considered nothing more than a well-bred and friendly gesture of affection. My right arm went solidly under her arm in the beginning of a passionate embrace. I looked at her to see if there was any hesitation or sign, verbal or non verbal, for me not to go forward. There wasn’t. We fell into each other’s arms while our mouths met. This morning neither of us had thought this would happen.

My hands caressed her shoulders and torso and gradually moved to stroking her absolutely perfect and pert bottom. She led me up the stairs and into her bedroom. We lay there embracing while her leg wrapped over mine. She began thrusting her waist and hips onto me and I could see her face flush and feel the warmth and moisture between her legs. My hand went over her stomach and I pulled her blouse open. I began to caress her stomach and feel the hardness of her hip bones to either side. This was a true woman and mother. I could slightly feel the remains of a C section scar under my fingers but I didn’t care about that. My goal was only to give her pleasure. I increased the pressure of my hand rubbing her stomach while staying above the pubic bone. She responded positively with panting and slight moaning. After a few minutes I quickly reached down and unfastened the clasp of her slacks and place my hand inside. I could feel the lace of her underwear on the tips of my fingers. I began to slightly brush my fingers over the fabric right above her most sensitive spot. I could feel the little button respond, it was already completely swollen and erect and the area below was wet. My fingers slid under the lace of her panties and I was directly massaging her clit, occasionally reaching finger below to bring up some of the ample natural lubricant and to see what movement would elicit the most pleasurable response from her. Unlike a lot of women this was not a difficult or time consuming task. Her sex was rhythmically contracting while her panting and whimpering increased. She came in a couple of minutes. I made one final sweep with my finger to capture as much of the delicious wetness I could and licked my fingers. The smell and taste was a small reward, but the biggest thrill I felt was having given her such a quick and clear orgasm.
I still knew she had to get the c***dren soon and I’d have been perfectly happy to leave. But Rachel took charge. She placed me on my back and hunkered down between my legs. She undid my pants and produced a bottle of lubricant from the night stand. She hunched over me with that beautiful head of hair on my chest while she used the skilled fingers of both hands over the head and shaft of my member. The fingers of one hand made a ring while the tips of the others massaged the sensitive areas close to the tip. I think I came in less time than her.
I lay there in satisfaction and exhaustion and might have drifted off to sleep. I heard the shower running and a few minutes later she was there wrapped in a towel wearing a shower cap. She nudged me and giggled, “Hey you, get going, no time to rest!” It might have been reality set in or possibly the presence of the shower cap erased any lingering elements of passion. I got up, gave her a quick hug, took my bags and left.
I walked back to my place savoring the recent experience. I tried to catch up on work but it was hard to concentrate and I smelled my fingers with the thought of bringing back the memory

I hoped to see her the next morning on the train but we didn’t meet, and Tuesday was the same. I hoped and expected to continue where we’d left off Sunday. I was looking forward to an afternoon delight at my flat in the next few days. Finally Wednesday came around and she sat next to me. She didn’t acknowledge our recent intimacy but she went on talking as before. I felt there was something she wanted to say. When my stop was approaching she looked up at me and said, “Andy, we have to talk, can you meet me at the coffee shop at five?” Whenever a woman says she needs to talk it usually something you don’t want to hear and I half expected her to tell me we couldn’t continue to see each other, she was seeing somebody else, it wasn’t right or something.
We met at the coffee shop. Rachel sat down opposite me and made a few comments. I could see she was having a hard time with what she wanted to say. Finally she pursed her lips, looked straight at me and said, “Andy, you need to take me on a date!” This statement from her was so unexpected and yet so typically the sort of surprising comment she would make. I nearly fell off my chair but recovered when I came to understand it could easily be dealt with. I simply nodded, then took charge. Of course that would be fun, any preferences? With greater composure yet I smiled and laughed a bit. It really would be fun. The next time she was off and didn’t have her c***dren was more than a week away on a Saturday. I knew my lust would have to wait until then, but I then thought about honoring her. Women don’t want to think they’re the object of some quick passion. They like the courtship ritual. And even though I knew I’d have to wait I looked forward to seeing her shine and that the evening would not be rushed.
We talked about it the next morning on the train and decided on the show. At least what I would wear was decided as I had my new suit. I asked Rachel what she’d wear and just told me it would be a surprise. Rather than buy the least expensive last minute tickets at the kiosk on Leicester Square I went out of the way to find better seats in the orchestra and make reservations at a nice restaurant.
When I went to her place Saturday to pick her up I couldn’t believe my eyes. She must have spent half the day putting herself together. Her hair had been recently done with slight highlight streaks. She wore a black evening gown with a lapis lazuli necklace. The neckline and back were lower, but not plunging. The dress itself was not short or tight but it perfectly complimented her figure I’d already come to admire. She had on tights and dark, heeled shoes with silver trim. I sensed a full slip underneath to add sheer lines to the ensemble.
Naturally we took a taxi into town. Once on the sidewalk she walked beside me and placed her arm through mine. This was unexpected to me but not unwelcome. I soon began to enjoy the closeness and presence of her body close to mine. She was happy both with herself and in my presence. When she saw the seats I’d purchased she was impressed and thanked me. I was the one honored with her presence.

After the show and dinner we found another taxi to return home. At this point I began to play out my moves after we were alone. I thought of how I’d slowly undress her or possibly just hike up her dress and pull down her tights. It was fun thinking about it but I knew it would evolve organically and I’d still want to read her and respond to maximize her pleasure. I’d done a good job of it so far. But as might have been expected Rachel had her own plan for how the “date” should proceed for her pleasure, and mine.
When we were inside the door of her place we immediately began to embrace and kiss. I could take my time now. My fingers went to the clasp and zipper of her dress but she smiled and pushed me away. “No need to rush.” She said. We climbed the stairs to her room on the upper floor. I thought about pushing her on the bed and immediately going down between her legs to explore with my tongue and lips what was so beautifully covered with the dress, tights and shoes. She pushed me away again. “Just wait,” With that she disappeared into the bathroom. I could hear her movement from inside.
A few minutes later she emerged dressed in a black lace charmeuse with matching panties. She walked back and forth a bit like a runway model, doing a few turns and smiling at me seductively. She knew the effect it would have on me, but it was only beginning. I commented before on Rachel’s dance and theatre background and it really came out now. She reached to the dresser and turned on a small MP3 player. The music from her Zumba workout routine began and she did the little dance. Although the moves were the same as in the class Rachel’s interpretation was completely different. Instead of the mirror she looked completely at me. She sensuously moved her arms and body in the most erotic form I’d ever seen. When the Zumba music was over another piece came on. This one was not Zumba music at all but had a slower tempo and a repetitive guitar riff and background vocals. My sense of humor immediately thought of it as some sort of strip music that might come out of a Wallace and Grommit movie from a scratchy speaker. But Rachel’s movements made it anything but comedic. She grasped a hand fan from next to the player and moved her body luxuriously to the music. She’d occasionally pull down the top of the scanty clothing and show off those perfect breasts and erect nipples, only to quickly recover them. I took in the legs and hips undulating to the beat. This was Rachel again bringing me something completely unexpected.
As the music came to an end she came to my side and began to undress me, beginning with the tie and collar. The irony was not lost on me. Only a few minutes earlier I’d thought I’d be the one setting the agenda, undressing her and being in charge. But here I was taking in the touching, nibbling and breathing from her. She took her time removing my clothing piece by piece, all the time licking and even giving slight bites around my body.

When she had succeeded in undressing me completely she reached into the lower drawer of her dresser and came out with a large Hitachi vibrator wand. I noticed other toys in that drawer too, but didn’t pay much attention at the time. Every woman I’ve ever known has had a toy or two, but none of them want to talk about it much and few want to use them with their men. It’s usually more of a private thing with them. Not Rachel, she was quite comfortable combining activities.
She lay back in the bed still dressed in her lingerie and placed the powerfully vibrating machine directly on her clit. She seemed to begin a continuous orgasm but I didn’t know her well enough to tell or to know what she wanted. No problem, she looked at me and told me to put my fingers inside her. I gladly complied and her pleasure increased. All the while the lace panties were there both to hinder movement, but also to facilitate our pleasure. I finally entered her vagina with the crotch of the panties pulled aside. She began to orgasm and contract heavily and uncontrollably at that point. My earlier thoughts of a long sensuous fuck with a clear orgasm were completely off the mark. Her contracting pussy with the heavy mechanical vibrations of the Hitachi brought me to an uncontrolled climax. I managed to extract and came on her stomach and underwear.
With that ended our first real date. We would have many more. At the time I was delighted with just this one. I didn’t know it at the time but this mousy little English single mother would turn out to give me a series of the most varied and best experiences of my life.