Nan had guilt-tripped me into taking her to bingo. "Just one night," she'd said. "Me hip's playing up and Maureen's on holiday." Now I was sat in the social club surrounded by blue rinses and the smell of stale smoke, dabbing numbers with a fluorescent marker like my life depended on it.
Then I noticed her.
She wasn't your typical bingo nan. Mid-fifties maybe, but with the energy of someone half her age. Flame-red hair that came from a bottle and didn't apologize for it. Leopard-print top stretched tight across generous curves. Gold hoops, gold chains, gold rings on every finger. And when she caught me looking, she winked.
"Eyes on your card, love," nan muttered. "You're missing numbers."
I dabbed blindly at my sheet, still watching the redhead across the room. She was watching back, a slow smile spreading across her face.
"Two fat ladies—eighty-eight!"
Nan swore under her breath. The redhead laughed, marked her card, and raised her glass of gin in my direction.
The interval came and nan headed straight for the loos, leaving me at the bar nursing a flat pint. The redhead appeared beside me like she'd materialized from smoke.
"You're not the usual crowd," she said, voice husky from decades of cigarettes. "What's a fit young thing like you doing in a place like this?"
"Nan needed a lift. What's your excuse?"
She laughed—a big, throaty sound. "I like the thrill. And the cheap gin." She stuck out a hand, nails painted the same red as her hair. "Cheryl."
"Kyle."
"Well, Kyle. Fancy keeping me company? Me usual seat partner's got shingles."
I looked toward the toilets. Nan was stuck in a queue that wasn't moving. "Yeah, alright then."
Cheryl's table was in the back corner, darker than the rest of the hall. She patted the seat next to her, close enough that our thighs touched when I sat down.
"So," she said, leaning in so I could smell her perfume—something expensive mixed with gin. "What do you do when you're not babysitting pensioners at bingo?"
"Builder. You?"
"Retired. Divorced. Bored." Her hand landed on my thigh, casual as anything. "Looking for entertainment."
My brain caught up a few seconds late. "Entertainment?"
Her hand crept higher. "Unless I'm reading this wrong? You've been staring at my tits since you walked in."
"They're hard to miss."
She laughed, squeezed my thigh. "Cheeky. I like that." She leaned closer, lips brushing my ear. "Disabled toilet. Two minutes. If you're interested."
She was up and walking before I could respond, hips swaying in a way that hypnotized. I looked at my bingo card. Looked at nan, still in the queue. Made a decision.
The disabled toilet was bigger than my bathroom at home—and considerably more exciting with Cheryl pressed against the wall, her tongue in my mouth and her hands everywhere.
"Been looking at you all night," she breathed between kisses. "Young lad like you, all fit and firm. I'm gonna enjoy this."
"Aren't you worried about—"
"What? Getting caught?" She laughed, working at my belt. "At my age, love, you stop worrying and start living." My jeans hit the floor. "Oh my. Nan's gonna be wondering where you've got to."
She dropped to her knees before I could process what was happening. Her mouth was hot and eager, her hand working what didn't fit, and she looked up at me the whole time with eyes that promised this was just the appetizer.
"Fuck—Cheryl—"
She hummed around me, and I had to grab the handrail to stay upright. This woman had clearly spent decades perfecting her technique.
"Your turn," she said eventually, standing up and hiking her skirt around her waist. Black stockings, held up by actual suspenders. No knickers. "Make it good, darling. Show some respect for your elders."
I lifted her onto the sink—thank god for disabled toilet accessibility—and dropped to my knees. She gasped when my tongue found her, fingers tangling in my hair.
"That's it—right there—fuck, you young ones know your way around—"
She tasted like expensive soap and something earthier. I worked her with my tongue while my fingers joined in, finding her G-spot and pressing while I sucked her clit.
"Christ—gonna—already—"
She came fast, muffling her scream against her own hand. Before she'd even finished shaking, she was pulling me up.
"Inside. Now. Fuck being gentle."
I slid into her and she groaned, head falling back against the mirror. At her age, she knew exactly what she wanted, and she wasn't shy about demanding it.
"Harder—yes—like that—don't you dare hold back—"
The sink rattled against the wall with every thrust. Someone knocked on the door—"You alright in there?"—and Cheryl shouted back "Dodgy tummy, be out in a minute!" without missing a beat.
"Keep going," she hissed at me. "Don't you fucking stop."
I didn't. Her second orgasm hit harder than the first, her nails raking down my back hard enough to draw blood. The pain pushed me over the edge.
"Inside me—do it—"
I came harder than I had in years, buried deep in this magnificent woman while someone waited impatiently outside to use the loo.
We cleaned up quickly, efficiently. Cheryl fixed her lipstick in the mirror like nothing had happened.
"Same time next week?" she asked, slipping a card into my pocket. "Me number's on there. In case you want a private game."
"What about—"
"I don't do complicated, love. I do fun." She patted my cheek, left a lipstick mark. "You're fun."
She left first. I waited two minutes, then followed, finding nan back at the table looking annoyed.
"Where've you been? I won a tenner while you were off somewhere."
"Queue for the bar," I said. "Murder, it was."
Nan grunted, went back to her card. Across the room, Cheryl caught my eye and mouthed "Thursday?" I nodded slightly.
"Seven and six—seventy-six!"
I dabbed my card with a smile.
Bingo wasn't so bad after all.