Lock and Key

From the moment I first set eyes on Nicole, I thought we’d met before. It sounded like a corny chat up line but it wasn’t, I knew her, I knew I knew her, but for the life of us we couldn’t find a time and place that put us together. Maybe she was just one of those people who had a familiar face, or maybe we both got on the same train for a while or, maybe I was just mistaken, after all she seemed to have no recollection of me.

My friend Lucy had just introduced us and I was already besotted. She was a classy woman, late forties, all elegance and style. She oozed money and sexuality. She had milky green eyes that I found myself losing my train of thought in, she had jet black hair and legs that were made for the expensive stockings she was wearing. Her smile was sultry, her eyes looked happy. I took a punt and asked her if she fancied going somewhere else for a drink, she upped the ante and invited me back to her place.

The next few weeks were like a dream come true, I was being pampered by a gorgeous woman. We explored each other’s bodies and minds, and liked what we discovered. But something was troubling me; I felt there was a mystery about her, like something was locked away, and I couldn’t find the right key to open her up. She was like an aeroplane, although she glided serenely through life one felt she had a load of baggage. She had money, but didn’t seem to work, she never talked about what she did or what she had done and there was still this weird feeling that I knew her. I decided I should Google her. In the words of Julia Roberts, big mistake, big. 

The results shocked me to the core. I was expecting one or two results but there were thousands. What did J Geils sing? ‘My blood runs cold My memory has just been sold, My angel is the centrefold. Angel is a centrefold.’ Oh my god! There were hundreds, no thousands of photos of Nicole in various stages of undress; 20 years younger admittedly but unmistakably her. She was gorgeous, stunning fantastic, naked. I clicked and clicked, I suppose I was looking for more current photos or harder core, but they were all soft, shiny and 20 years old. She’d obviously been a soft porn queen and even now had fan clubs and fan pages. I opened page after page looking at the familiar curves, smiles and shapes. Then I clicked on a link and saw her in sheer white stockings. Bang, that was how I knew her. I suddenly remembered that outfit, those poses, that mound of hair, how much pleasure had she given me as a 22 year old?

I don’t know how long I sat there clicking on those images. I was in shock. I didn’t know what to think. Thousands of young men had, and by the looks of things still, got their kicks from my woman. I should be proud, shouldn’t I? After all she was with me now? But somehow I felt jealous, like I shared her with countless others, could I handle that? Could I handle the thought that so many men had been intimate with her, even if they had been alone at the time? Maybe I should end it all.

No, this was perverse, as I twenty year old I'd dreamt of ending up in bed with this very woman. I needed to pull myself together, my dream had come true, how many people could say that? I smiled to myself, I was a lucky man. I closed the links, and then realised the biggest problem facing me. I couldn’t hide it, could I? I had to tell her I’d found the key and unlocked her secrets. The tables were turned, how would she feel about me knowing that I’d been one of her fans?