I almost blurted out something embarrassing; Laura was forty- six years old. She was three years older than my mother. That couldn’t be. I looked at her and she was already looking at me. I must have looked a little bewildered because she smiled and her eyes flashed. She was so beautiful, I thought. “Wow,” was all I could offer. Then finally I said, “You’re a really great looking couple.” “Thank you,” she said. “Here.” she started to reach for my face. “You’re going to get hair in your eye.” She brushed my hair away from my face. It fell back to where it had been as soon as she pulled her hand away. She laughed. I palpably felt something change between us. For a faint moment, I thought we were going to kiss. And then she turned away. Later that morning, while I was sitting on a chair taking a break, she was clearing off a shelf above her head with her back to me. I had been watching her intently, and now some of my late-night thoughts were coming back to me. I caught myself admiring her tightly wrapped, shapely bottom. I sighed. What a great looking ass, I thought in my own juvenile way. I started to focus on her crotch and felt a stirring deep inside of me; then I heard her voice. “Kevin, could you give me a hand here?” She was on her tiptoes, arms raised, trying to prevent a box from tipping and falling to the floor. I jumped up to assist. I stood behind her and reached for the box. I had to reach under her arm, and my whole body was pressed against hers. The box was heavy. “What is in here?” I asked, my lips close to her ear. “Medical Books.” “Here, let me…” and I tried to push up with my legs to get the box to tip back. It was then that I noticed my erection. I was in a pair a fleece gym shorts, no underwear, and I could feel the softness of her bottom and the stretch of the fabric of her tight slacks as I lifted and pressed against her. I had to try again, and again there was the friction and the pressing. She reached back and put a hand on my hip to steady us, and then I could have sworn she arched her back ever so slightly, as if to offer herself for another rub. “I think I’ve got it,” I said as I pushed the box back onto the shelf. We didn’t move for a second. I was still pressed against her. Her hand was still on my hip. I was certain she could feel my erection.
“Oh my,” she sighed, “that was close.” She turned, swiping her bottom across my turgid condition. I took one step back. “Whew,” she wiped her brow. “It’s getting hot out here. Maybe we should think about calling it a day.” I must have looked like a deer in headlights. She smiled, never taking her eyes from mine. She leaned closer to me, until I could feel her breath on my neck and chest. She pushed my hair away from my face again. There was a long silence that made me feel awkward. When she spoke she startled me. “Tell me something, Kevin, do you ever think about me?” Now she looked down. I was still sprung below – straight out I am sure. I was too embarrassed to look. “Yeah, sure.” “What do you think about?” That was a loaded question considering my recent thoughts. “I think…” I stammered. She put a hand on my chest and looked again in my eyes. “I think you’re beautiful,” I said finally, meaning it. “Really?” “Yes. I have always thought you were beautiful.” “Thank you. I think about you, too, you know?” she offered. “What do you think about?” “Same thing, mostly. How beautiful you are, and how lucky you are.” Again she pushed my hair away from my face. This time, she petted my head. “And I think about how much I am going to miss you.” Again I had the surging sensation that I wanted to kiss her. “Do you ever think about…” now she was grinning like she was about to laugh, “…about kissing me?” “I just was.” “You can, you know.” “What?” I was slow boy. “Kiss me.” She was more serious now. We stood motionless. Finally she leaned in to me and closed her eyes. Our lips met. Her abdomen pressed against my erection, pushing it to one side, and then, as we moved, it adjusted between us. She had to have been aware of it. The kiss was soft at first, then firmer, then her tongue parted my lips. She put her arms over my shoulders, around my neck. I put my hands on the sides of her waist. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered as she took a breath. “No?” I whispered back stupidly. “Oh my,” she sighed. She pulled me against her. She pressed her mouth against my neck and then under my ear, and I believe she was tasting me more than kissing me. Her body writhed against me. She was moving from flatfeet to tiptoes rhythmically, rubbing up against my erection, intentionally I was now sure. She took her arms from my neck and pushed my hands down over her behind. I cupped her giving flesh, and then pulled her into me as she continued to rub her body against mine. “Oh Kevin,” she took a breath and put her forehead to mine. “Forgive me.” “It’s okay.” I kneaded her supple flesh. I wanted her to rub against me again. I was pushing her up against a hip-level workbench. She pushed my hands away from her bottom. I was devastated. I thought she was going to push me away. Then she backed up and sat on to the edge of the workbench. She wrapped her legs around me and pulled me against her. My erection was pressed fully against the soft expanse between her legs. I was rubbing against her now. We kissed hard and long. I could hear the hiss of my fleece clad manhood against the fabric that sheathed her soft, blood-engorged flesh. She tasted of lipstick and salt and it smelled of oil and wet earth and the heat of the garage. I placed my hands on her breasts. We rubbed against each other. She started to tug at the waistband of my shorts. I had never felt more desire before. I knew we were going to make love right there, on the dirty floor of the garage if we had to. “Wait,” she whispered, pushing away from me gently. “Not like this. Not here.” I grimaced in agony. She eased off of the workbench. She reached between us and pushed her hand against my aching member. “I am so sorry, Kevin, but not like this.” I closed my eyes. I couldn’t breathe. “Oh God, you’re so hard,” she panted, steering me away from her, “but I have to clean up – at least that much. Give me twenty minutes. Come up to the house.” “Okay,” I said through clenched teeth. “I wanted to make lunch for you. Let me do that for you, first, and then… then we’ll see what happens, okay?” “Yes,” I sighed. She ran her hands through my hair again. “It will be all right, Kevin; I promise.” Then she kissed me delicately and left the garage. I felt ridiculous about what happened next, but I couldn’t help myself. As soon as she was out of sight, I took my cock in my hands and begin to squeeze and manipulate it, trying to wring the pain and frustration from my body. I didn’t want to masturbate. I was fairly certain now that we were going to make love, that I was finally going to lose my virginity, and to a real women, not a girl. I didn’t want to mess that up, but she was right – I was SO HARD. I moved to a secluded corner of the garage and pulled my shorts down just enough to access my swollen manhood. ***** In my imagination, she says, “Not like this. Not here.” But then she says, “I will help you, though,” and grabbing my erection she moves behind me, pushing down my shorts, stroking my hot, bare penis with her tender hand. I have to place my hands against the shelves to steady myself. Faster and faster she pumps, with perfect rhythm, like she is reading my mind. I have to turn and lean back against the wall, and now she is beside me, stroking me, her mouth pressed against my ear. “Come on, Kevin, come for me,” she talks wetly into my ear. I am trying vainly not to swear. My whole body is convulsing. “That’s it, come on,” she says softly, pleadingly. “Oh jeez!” I spew forth a rope of cum, and then another, and yet more. And then she is gone. ***** I had almost collapsed on the floor in the corner of the garage. I had erupted, and when I regained my senses, I marveled at my effort. A small puddle of my ejaculate lay at least six feet from where I was standing, and then three or four long gooey strings were splattered on the oil-darkened garage floor. I was sweating from every pore of my body. I was dazed. I found a clean rag and cleaned myself up, and then I dabbed the floor. I threw the rag away and sat down on a folding chair. I tried to rest and recapture my breath. My T-shirt was dirty. I had soiled my shorts a bit. My hands were dirty, especially under my fingernails. She was right – not like this. I found a small powder room on the main floor of Laura’s house. The air-conditioned coolness was a greater relief than I had expected. I washed up as best I could. I had taken my shirt off to wipe down my chest when Laura knocked on the door. I opened it. “Here, try this,” she said, handing me a T- shirt. I was startled. She was wearing a Japanese silk robe, jade with gold embroidery – it complimented her eyes. The hem brushed just above her knees. Her legs were satiny smooth. I smelled lemon and vanilla and soap this time. “It was my husband’s, so it should fit you.” I held it open and finally turned my gaze from hers. It was a dark-blue, extra-large T- shirt with a gold “Cal” in script on the front. “Thanks. Mine was kind of dirty.” “I know.” She smiled. I put the shirt on. “Great,” I said. She appeared to be admiring me. She had me sit at the kitchen table. It was a country farmhouse antique, nicked and scraped, the white paint worn away in places. Bread was baking in the oven, and the soothing aroma filled the house. In front of me there was a glass of ice water, an empty white plate, and a small bowl containing amber-green olive oil. In the middle of the table was a bottle of red wine and two glasses. She was peering into refrigerator, a hand on her hip. “Are you adventurous?” she asked without looking at me. “Sure.” “Good.” One by one, she adorned my plate delicacies from white plastic containers: Roasted red peppers; thinly sliced and delicately marbled ham; black and green brine-cured olives; a salad of chopped tomatoes and capers in olive oil; and chunks of salami with a white, powdery crust. After that, she set out a wooden cutting board and placed small triangles and rounds of cheeses on it: Camembert, Gouda, Asiago, and fresh, wet mozzarella. Then she set out the hot bread, a round peasant loaf, and sat down. “Wow,” I complimented her. “This is unbelievable.” “In Italy, they would call this antipasti – the first course. I think it makes a lovely lunch.” “I’d say,” I said and laughed. “Aren’t you going to join me?” “I’ll have some wine and nibble. You eat. Enjoy.” And I did. And she watched me the whole time, sipping from her wine and occasionally picking an olive or a piece of salami from my plate and putting it on a crust of bread for herself. I finished all the food on my plate and half the cheese and bread. We finished the bottle of wine together. “That was great,” I offered when I was full. “I love to watch a man with a good appetite eat,” she said as she picked up my plate. She set it in the sink. “It makes me feel…” she turned from the sink to face me. Her robe was open to her navel, just covering her breasts. “Okay, it turns me on. There, I said it.” “Did you do this for your husband?” I shouldn’t have asked. “Yes.” “Do I remind you of your husband?” Why was I asking this? Did I care? I got up and walked towards her. “No,” she said matter-of-factly. She stepped towards me. I put my arms on her shoulders. She put her hands against my chest. “You remind me of a feeling.” “What kind of feeling?” “A very good feeling, one I haven’t felt for a long time.” She smiled. “What I am feeling right now is new to me,” I said, almost sounding caviler despite my electric nerves. We kissed. I ran my hands up and down over her back. She put her head against my shoulder. “What kind of feeling is it?” she asked. “I don’t know. I feel… like a man.” “That’s a good thing.” We kissed again, lovingly, passionately, carefully. “A very good thing,” she exhaled. I slipped my hand under her robe, ran my fingers along her naked hips, brushed her thighs with my palms, took a pliant cheek in hand. My penis filled with blood and rose. “Wait,” she whispered. What now, I thought. “There is something else I want to do for you.” She led me by the hand through the living room and down a hallway. We entered a large bathroom with dark, hardwood flooring. The windows were draped with creamy, gauzy curtains. In one corner there was a large pedestal sink and a mirrored medicine cabinet. “There is a new toothbrush in there, if you would like to brush your teeth,” she said pointing at the cabinet. “I am going to run you a bath.” She walked to the other corner where there was a massive, claw-footed enamel and cast iron tub with old-fashioned piping and brass faucets. She placed a stopper in the tub and turned on the water. I didn’t know what to do next. She stood in front of me. “Here, give me your clothes.” I took off my shirt. “Come on, shorts too. I’ll throw your clothes in the wash.” I took off my shorts and handed them to her. She looked down at my erection, then looked in my eyes and smiled. A pause. “Thank you,” she said finally. “For…?” For what? For having an erection? “For being here today.” She turned and left the room, my shorts and her dead husband’s T-shirt in hand. I stood motionless for a moment. I felt good – comfortable and calm. I looked down at my erection and smiled. I brushed my teeth and got into the steamy hot water. I was about to turn off the faucets when there was a tap at the door. “Can I come in?” she asked sweetly. “Of course.” It is your house, I thought. She came over to the tub with a bottle and poured a few capfuls of liquid into the churning water. “Bubble bath?” I asked “Skin-So-Soft. You will like it. Trust me.” She turned off the faucets and gently swirled her hand over the top of the water. She took a stool from against the wall and set it behind the tub. “Here, I’ll rub your shoulders and scrub your back,” she offered, settling in behind me. The treated water made my skin slippery smooth, something like oil, but clean, not greasy at all. Her hands felt marvelous on my shoulders and neck. She pushed me gently forward and rubbed my back with a washcloth. She took her time. Just when I was completely relaxed, she pulled me back and stroked my hair. “Here, lean back your head and I will give you a hot lather shave.” I did as I was told. I heard her run the water in the sink, the clank of equipment being removed from the cabinet. The shaving cream was warm when she spread it on my face. I closed my eyes. The straight razor was sharp and it glided effortlessly over the contours of my chin. “A guy could get used to this kind of treatment,” I uttered through the soapy lather, tasting it. “Shhh,” she whispered. “Just relax.” She wiped the razor on a towel after each pass, and then she cleaned my face with a piping hot washcloth. “There,” she exclaimed proudly running her fingers over my cheek. “Softer than a baby’s bottom.” She went to the front of the tub and pulled the stopper. “Am I through?” I started to whine. “Not yet.” She turned on the hot water, stood up, and without the slightest hesitation let her robe fall to the floor. She faced me and my eyes devoured her. A soft, downy triangle of strawberry blonde pubic hair, her graceful limbs, the perfect shape of her plump breasts, her long, elegant neck: in that hazy, curtain-filtered light she was a vision of feminine beauty, and gazing at her, I felt like a grateful and undeserving child. “Okay, make some room for me.” I lifted up my legs and spread them against the sides of the tub. She re-stopped the tub. She turned and stepped in, her smooth, well- rounded bottom a wonder before my eyes. She settled in front of me, her back against my chest, with no effort, and I sensed she had done this before. She rested the back of her head against my shoulder and closed her eyes. She turned off the hot water with her right big toe, her foot pointed like a ballerina. I had gone soft in all the hot water, but now I felt my organ growing again, nuzzling in against the small of her back. She took my hands and placed them on her tummy, and then, with her hands on top of mine, she guided me on a tour of her soft, wet flesh. I massaged her breast with one hand, her abdomen and hips and sides with the other. “This is nice,” she sighed luxuriantly. The air conditioner came on, rustling the curtains, cooling our skin. I rested my head against hers and breathed in the scent of her hair – butter and wheat and the remnants of a fragrant herbal shampoo. Under the water now, my hand brushed across her pubic mound, my fingers sifted through the fine, soft hair floating there. She sighed and pushed up against me. Her legs spread ever so slightly, inviting my fingers to explore the soft folds of skin between her legs. I gently massaged her clitoris, and I could feel it harden between my fingers. “That feels good,” she purred. Her head was beside mine now, and she turned her face towards mine, beckoning me to kiss her. As we kissed, she began to writhe, her smooth wet skin against mine, my now throbbing penis caught between us. She became bolder. She threw one leg over the edge of the tub, giving me full access to her intimate area. I, in turn, took her cue and began to rub more vigorously, with the whole of my hand, my palm pressed against her clit, my fingers rifling her labia and massaging the entrance to her sanctum. She pulled her lips from mine. “Oh, I like that. Oh Kevin.” She shuddered. Her breathing was shallower. I quickened my motion. I think she came. She brought her leg back into the tub and squeezed my hand between her thighs. She turned to her side, like she was cuddling against me. “Oh, that was…” She didn’t finish her thought. She rolled on top of me, her moist, tender breasts pressed against my chest. She raised herself up on a knee and rode her hand over my stiff and now silky smooth shaft. She kissed me as she squeezed and stroked me. “You feel so good,” she whispered into my mouth. “So strong, so wonderful.” She let go of me and stepped out of the tub. She took a giant white terrycloth towel from a wicker stand. I started to get up and she motioned for me to wait. She stood on a brightly colored Mexican throw rug next to the tub, and she began to work the towel over her damp body. I watched as she slowly and tenderly dried herself. I took the liberty of tugging at myself as I watched her. I felt relaxed and anxious at the same time. She tossed the towel into a hamper near the sink. She took another towel and stood beside the tub and held it open. “Here, I will dry you.” I got out of the tub. She positioned me on the throw rug, and just as slowly and tenderly, she dried my wet body, paying particular attention, I noted, to my stimulated genitalia. She tossed the towel aside and stood naked before me. She pulled the band that was holding her hair back and shook her head, and the curls cascaded around her face, brushing her shoulders. There she was, Mrs. Hollander, Laura, my neighbor, a friend of my mother – beautiful and mysterious. And then I detected a profound melancholy in her eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done this,” she said softly. “Why,” I said, stepping towards her. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” She looked at the floor. I knew I had to say something. I was scared she would send me away. “Please don’t say that,” I said touching her cheek. “It’s not right.” “We’ve come too far.” Yes too far to turn back now I wanted to say, but didn’t. I put my arms around her. “Look, there is nowhere in the whole world I would rather be than right here with you.” She rested her head on my shoulder. My erection pressed into her lower abdomen, but it meant nothing to me at the moment. I had to convince her to finish what we had started. “You’re so young.” She looked at me, put her hands on my chest. I put my forehead against hers. “That’s not fair. I could love you.” “I suppose you could, if only for a moment,” she said touching my lower lip with the tip of her finger. “What?” She tilted her head. “Do you think it is possible for two people to love one another for just one moment, for one brief period of time?” “For one afternoon…?” She smiled broadly. “Yes, one brief, impossible afternoon.” “Yes, I believe it’s possible.” I so much wanted to believe it was possible. “Good. So do I.” She laughed. “Okay then…” She seemed to have resolved the issue. The sadness was gone from her eyes. “You have to promise me you will never…” “Tell anyone, ever. I promise.” I was not expecting what happened next. She kissed my lips playfully, and then my neck, and then my chest, and then she lowered herself until she was kneeling in front of me, whereupon she took my straining manhood in her mouth, lovingly, slowly, caressing it with her lips and tongue. “Oh my,” I sighed. Thank you God is what I wanted to say. I petted her head. I closed my eyes. To this day, I don’t know what she did or how she did it, but what I felt in her mouth over the next few minutes was the most exquisite sensation my genitals have ever experienced. With my eyes closed, I could imagine my penis lodged inside a wonderfully magic place. Just when I thought she couldn’t possibly take anymore of me, she did. No teeth, no uncomfortable bending, just perfect, warm, moist passion surrounding me, kneading my fleshy organ. She would hold me there, her forehead pressed against my abdomen, and then… I don’t know if she was swallowing or ever so gently opening and closing her mouth, but it was like she could reach a place deep within me, summoning some erotic core to open in the warm center of my being. It wasn’t that I wanted to come. It was more spiritual than that. I wanted to grab her head and pull her into me, and I was in such a state I feared I might do just that.