"My mother." His voice softened. "She was a seamstress. Small jobs. Hemming trousers, fixing zips. One day I saw her hand-stitch a gown from scratch. No pattern. Just instinct. It was... magic."

I smiled. "So you inherited the eye?"

"Maybe. But not the patience," he said, laughing. "She always said I was too stubborn to sew straight."

"You know," I said, resting my chin in my hand, "if you ever get tired of anonymity, you'd make a brilliant public speaker. Your voice alone could sell fabric."

This was my second shot, the high witches of whoredom were dancing around my head like stubborn flies .

He raised an eyebrow. "Trying to get me out of hiding already?"

"Not at all," I said, grinning. "But your story deserves to be heard. Even if it's just on tape."

There was a warm silence after that. The kind that didn't feel awkward or empty-just... easy. I caught myself staring at the faint scruff on his jaw, the way his hands moved when he talked. Elegant. Precise.

Those hands certainly looked like they knew where they belonged, inside the warm depths of my vagina and if this man failed to catch this vibe, I dont know what I would do.

Stop it, I warned myself. He's Olivia's uncle. He's also your dream interview. Do not be that girl who falls for the ingredients and gets cooked...

But my imagination was already ahead of me. I pictured him fucking me while standing, thrashing me against the wall upclose, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Saying something soft, just for me. His lips-

I blinked hard, forcing my gaze away. "Sorry," I said quickly. "Got lost in thought."

He tilted his head, amused. "Anything interesting?"

"Oh, you know," I said with forced lightness, "just how I'm going to write the most professional blog post ever without sounding like a complete fangirl."

"You can be honest," he said. "That's what makes you good."

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could, my phone buzzed. A message from Olivia.

Olivia: Did you thank me yet? Or are you too busy trying to get your next scoop from my uncle?

I nearly choked on my tea and quickly flipped the screen over.

"Everything okay?" Charles asked.

"Fine. Just Olivia being... Olivia."

He chuckled knowingly. "She means well, even when she's meddling."

"She really does," I said. Then I added, more seriously, "She's always believed in me, even when I didn't. If not for her, I'd probably still be writing blog posts for five followers and a dog."

He looked at me intently. "And now?"

"Now?" I smiled. "Now I'm having tea with the one man I've dreamt of interviewing for years."

He seemed to weigh that for a second before saying, "It won't be the last time."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said slowly, "if you ever want more access-for future pieces, behind-the-scenes stories, even event coverage-I trust you."

The weight of his words settled on me like silk. "You're serious?"

"Completely."

I stood then, needing to move, needing to process. I wandered toward nothing in particular. I need to rub my thighs together my vagina was aching and begging for his dick.

He joined me, looking over my shoulder. "My parents. That's Olivia's mum there. We were close."

There was something tender in his voice, a softness that made him feel more human, less distant.

"You've got layers to yourself," I said.

"So do you," he replied.

The clock chimed softly in the distance. I realised how much time had passed.

"I should go," I said reluctantly, reaching for my bag. "I've taken enough of your evening."

"You haven't," he said, walking me to the door. "This was... refreshing."

We paused at the threshold. The air was warm, scented with the salt of the bay.

"Thank you, Charles," I said sincerely. "For trusting me. For opening up this much."

"Thank you," he said back, and there was something in his eyes again. Something I couldn't quite name.

I was disappointed. I wanted him eating my couchie, but there he was staring at me.

Just when I had lost all hope for an invite, he cleared his throat and said.

"You should come by my house some time, here is my address. We can have a proper interview then. Keep this a secret from Olivia!"

Definitely!

This part of the tea was forbidden, Olivia was certainly not going to sip this one.

For weeks, Charles and I stayed in touch and whenever I brought up the idea of coming, he would wave it off, citing one excuse or the other.

But I did not get offended.

I had no reasons to be. The truth is that he was a very busy man so I tried my best to make assumptions off my head.

Olivia kept asking for tea on the brief conversation with her uncle and I kept posting her, I told her the article was still in the works.

I guess she ate that up while I waited for her uncle to message me.

Then the day came for us to meet. I wasn't doing anything that day, my schedule was free and Olivia was out of town.

Charles sent his chauffeur to come pick me, it felt as though he intentional chose the day of olivia's absence to invite me and that got me feeling very wet in my rose bud.

I hoped that was the case.

Here's a rewritten version in simple British English, from the perspective of a straight woman:

When I arrived at his place.

He was very receptive.

Very welcoming.

It was clear my best friend's uncle noticed the feminine seductress in me because he kept stealing glances, I gave him a sight to behold with the slutty paltry piece of clothing I had on.

He treated me more like a daughter than a friend or friend of his niece, and that in a way was unnerving, the whole time I felt I was making an impression but the rigid distance he gave me got me feeling like I was unattractive.

But I stood in the business patience and watched as we grew closer, his behaviour started to feel a bit different-almost like how a matured man might treat his young girlfriend or a young woman he was trying to woo.

We had the interview and it was very brief but I knew why I was there and was never going to let this opportunity slip by.

So I told him there was an emergency renovation ongoing and that I wished Olivia was around, that I probably would have stayed at her place.

He randomly mentioned Olivia won't be back till Sunday evening and I was welcome to spend the weekend if I wanted.

Ofcourse I wanted, so I obliged.

That very evening, He took me out for a long drive, to the shopping mall to shop for a few clothes and toiletries I would use through out my stay the weekend, I sneaked in a few pieces of clothings only a daughter of delilah would wear, and he paid.

As if that was not enough, if I was cold, he'd put his arm around me. We often sat close together on the sofa-nearly cuddling, though not quite. It felt really comforting.

He was such a strong, manly man-very masculine, the type you'd never think would be anything other than straight but wont be offended if a few gay dudes hit on him

Honestly, I didn't know what to think.

I guessed it was just my imagination, maybe my own confused thoughts making me believe something was there when really, it wasn't.

Trust me when I say this with so much glee, He had one of those strong, chiseled chins, it was something I've always been a bit weak for and he also had the most unusual brown eyes. Not that I could actually see them properly, with the brim of his hair carefully laid down so low over his face, his virgin looking lips got my thighs sipping love juice.

I yawned. "Where is your kitchen?" I asked.

He picked up quickly that I was hungry so he showed me the way to his kitchen and also the way to his fridge, it looked like a store house of different assorted meals.

He brought out one of the flask and I offered to help him handle it. He obliged.

"Did you cook these meals yourself?" I asked, "or you....?"

"I have a chef who usually comes on monday to prepare an array of meals for the week."

I quickly got on the stool in his kitchen, looking for nothing in particular. I never knew I was unconsciously manifesting my next move.

"Interesting.." I said, turning my bubble butt his way so he has a better view of my pussy lips.

"What are you doing up there? I thought we could sit and have a bite to eat first. I'm starving, and moreover I feel like a very bad host obliging you to help make dinner" he said as he leaned up and plucked me off the stool.

I let myself be as he helped me down he brought me against him, it was so close, very close to himself to the point my nipples rubbed against his macho rock hard chest through the cotton night wear he got me that evening.

I moaned softly at the electric sensation of his nipples kissing his chest through my nightie.

My breasts were tangible, so tangible enough that I didn't bother wearing any piece of clothing or brassier underneath, but this meant he could almost see my hungry brown nipples through my nightie.

My nipples were hard from all the naughty things I had been thinking as we had been up in each other's faces all day and I knew he had felt them brush against his chest. I was very sure of that.

Damn, I imagined the rhythm of his strokes when he would be deep inside me, combined with his masculine appeal and by gracious goodness lord, i was dripping wet and slippery down there.

I stood next to him, and for a moment we just stared at each other like he was reading the forbidden pages of my mind.

To add to the drama, I reached and lifted my wavy dark hair off my neck and fanned my nape giving him a lush premium view of the roundness of my breast.

He openly watched as my breasts jiggled while I fake fanned myself.

"Is your Air conditioner on?" I asked.

"Yes it is but at a low volume, I can go turn it up if you want?" He asked, his small eyes actually looked and washed all over me. It felt as though my fanning was having no affect.

"Okay please, turn it up" I said, salaciously and very weakly, like a dying cat.

This was more me manifesting a raunchy fantasy I had been daydreaming about; to have a proper man fuck me to the deepest depth of eternal damnation on a luxurious kitchen island.

Charles was that man.

It was this fantasy that had got me through those long lonely nights writing tasteles blog posts and wishing I had gone to beg Richard so we could go back to the era of fucking my brains out. Was I on glue or was something going to happen.

I watched him walk off to the sitting, his nicely muscle ass squeezing the tempting black shorts he had on. How can a man in his fourties be this hot?

After we had dinner, we went back to the sitting room and he switched on his Netflix while I prayed to the gods of those ferocious twitter netflix and chill, to give me this one night of bliss.

We were barely a few minutes into the movie, when I stylishly snuggled up his open arms, he smelt like heaven. Jeez!

He poured me a glass of wine, while I was still snuggled up his tree trunk thighs, I could the print of his semi erect dick but acted like I had seen nothing.

This whole time my vagina throbbed endlessly.

A particular scene came on screen, a passionate one, and it was though we were working in motion together, when I looked up and next minute, our lips were tightly pressed against each other.

I moaned into his mouth like a dirty little slut and pulled away, apologizing for my mistake. He did not respond.

We ate the small chops on the table, saying little next to nothing, but enjoying the silence. It wasn't awkward, maybe cause we were total strangers get to know each other through a mutual figure (olivia); it was more of a lazy arousal, as we both knew what the other was thinking.

He knew what I was think, and at this point I was certain that he knew that I knew what was going through his mind and I was just waiting for him to be the man.

To take charge and batter this pussy beyond redemption.