Pt I
I was one of those young guys who always dropped pencils in class, dreamed about hiding in the girls locker room at the pool, and thought about sex 25 hours a day. Did I do anything about it? Never! I had no line, no guts, and was incredibly shy. Even in the Air Force, I ran from sure things, twice. Once in a girl’s apartment in Minnesota, my arriving to take her roller skating while she was still showering was followed by her coming into the living room in a fur coat, plopping herself down on the opposite end of the couch, and demurely opening the coat for my approval. I clearly remember thinking, while I was running down the stairs from her apartment, that she was beautiful and I was very dumb. A couple of years later I went to fix a phone for a young officers wife at a base in Louisiana. While I was checking the lightening protector at the bottom of the basement stairs, she sat on the top step. Legs open. Robe mostly open. A crystal clear, absolute, bona fide invitation. By then, at least, I was no longer a virgin. But did I accept the offering. No! True to form, cussing myself out all the way, I left the house and went back to the telephone central office and my private misery.
Even after 16 years of marriage, when widowed, I couldn’t initiate a sexual situation with a woman. By offering my house for parties, Parents Without Partners at least afforded me the opportunity to meet people in a situation where everyone came to me. That, at least, got me to know some women. Some of them even wanted to date me (bless this new morality) and broached the subject when it became clear that I seemed incapable of asking them. One of them, after a couple of dates, asked me if I wanted to make love to her. I did and I did.
Once started, I am a good lover. I’m caring, slow, very attentive, and work very hard to satisfy (and get a lot of satisfaction in return.) And where I can comfortably talk to ten or a hundred people, about any topic, I can’t talk intelligently to one woman in whom I am sexually interested. Besides the world of business, where I am a fairly senior company manager who never appears shy or tongue tied, I was also a very popular discussion leader in PWP; especially if the evenings topic contained sexual overtones. And, of course, in a singles club full of people who are struggling with dramatic personal/social changes, via divorce or the death of a mate, every topic is fraught with overtones of some type. People found me to be open, frank, informative (I believe), and always packed the discussions in which I was scheduled to be the moderator. But, one on one . . .?
Anyway, that was when I was about 36. I was married again for ten years and then my wife and I decided to separate while we were still friends. The first time there was an opportunity for me to recover youthful losses there was Herpes (not only a good excuse to keep it in my shorts, but a very scary disease.) Then in my 46th year a second chance; except for AIDS. But, I’m not cut out for celibacy, so some degree of risk must be taken.
In my avocation as a part time Handyman, mostly for older people, I have built up a nice clientele by referral. People know that I charge reasonably, do good work, and can be trusted with the keys to the house. Now, although I have not met too many women around my age (50) who have fit into my mental profile of delectable, I also am old enough to know that very young women are nice to look at but better lovers require some aging. Here it comes.
Pt II
The work I had been doing for a sixty-three year old lady in Anaheim was the type where progress is slow because of the difficulty in recreating crown and chair rail molding that no one has made in fifty years. So the effort on that and other tasks had been going on for months. Periodically, while working in the house, the lady’s divorced daughter would come over to visit her. If I was working in a room where it was convenient, they would often include me in their conversations. So, the daughter and I were not strangers.
For the last three weeks of June, the owner went on an extended bus tour with a lot of other elderly people from her “club”, leaving me the key so I could continue my work. Knowing she would not be home for that length of time, I had planned on doing some of the really messy work when I didn’t have to worry about constantly cleaning as I went along.
Arriving at the house at about 8:00 on that first Saturday, I dragged in the oak paneling and started back out for the plaster board when Pam (THE thirty-two year old daughter) enters the dining room area with one towel wrapped around her body, toweling her hair with another. I stared. She yelped. I left saying I would wait in the back yard until she was dressed. During the ten minutes that that took, I went through more fantasies in my mind than this essay has room to relate. But most of them focused on my favorite subject; tasting her to confirm my belief that she would taste very good when she was reqady to be loved. Even in my limited experience, I’m amazed at the number of women who do not seem to know that a simple soapy wash cloth applied diligently to every luscious fold and crevice, front and back, can be the prelude to long duration pleasure. I always form an opinion of how women I find desirable will taste. Being me, however, I almost never get to find out if my guess is correct. But since I had decided that Pam would taste good, my fantasies revolved around at least a half hour of carefully determining if I was right. By the time Pam was dressed I had myself thoroughly convinced that two tries would be required; once before we made love, and once after she came the first time. The change in the texture of a women’s lubrication after she comes, and the marked increase in glucose, absolutely fascinates me.
Letting me know she was dressed, my work began, and the talk. Subject to subject, as idle conversations always go. She finally commented that she had decided to stay over at her mothers so that we could visit while I was working and she wouldn’t feel so alone on another weekend. She just hadn’t anticipated such an early arrival on my part. During lunch break there was an item on the news station of the radio in which Dr. Joyce Brothers stated that a recent survey showed that 65% of the women polled felt that their sexual relationships were unfulfilling. I commented that that was a shame. Pam said that she felt that the fault rested squarely on the shoulders of the men involved. I admitted that there was probably an appreciable percentage of cases where that was true, but that she shouldn’t dismiss the fact that many women contribute significantly in a number of ways also, enlightenment on matters sexual being the most prevalent.
That theme pretty much prevailed during the rest of the day. At times I launched into my old PWP lead role of John teaching the masses. We touched on style, variety, communication, patience, hygiene, mood, all in a very cool, detached manner. In fact I was anything but cool and detached. By then my most earnest goal was to be attached to this beautiful women. Face first and then cock first. By now I new her well enough that I wanted to “communicate” with her. In my mind, long-duration lovemaking is my way of demonstrating to a woman I feel strongly about how much I care about her. There are no words that can replace the actions of caring lovers making love to each other. That is communicating on a level which leaves no doubts.
Finally I finished my work, cleaned up, said good-bye, went home.
Pt III
On the following Saturday morning I woke up fantasizing about Pam. Would she be there again? Should I arrive at nine so as not to “catch” her again? Should I arrive at eight to be predictably consistent? How could I convince her to change into nylons and a garter belt, a skirt and blouse, with no panties or bra, and get up on the top of a ladder while I held it for her from below? Could I get her to spill something in her lap and then offer to lick it clean for her? Would she think it was too obvious if I brought in my Polaroid camera to take the “after” pictures before I was even finished with my work? Those kind of thoughts continued all through the drive to her mother’s house. How I kept from being killed on the Riverside Freeway that morning is a wonder. All I could see in front of me was what I imagined her body would look like; as the towel fell slowly to the floor; as we lay reverse to each other, her over me, sucking each others nipples as we moved toward the real treats; as she crawled lithely across the bed on all fours, back arched, ass high, pussy lips slightly open and inviting. Finally I pulled into the driveway, put on my tool pouch, grabbed some other tools I might need, and let myself in the back door.
The shower was running. It was 8:00 exactly. This had to be an invitation, didn’t it? Quietly I walked through the living room, into the hall, and found the bathroom door slightly open. A definite invitation, right? Having painted that bathroom five weeks before I knew that you could only get an oblique view of the bath tub from the door. But the new shower doors I had installed were three-section sliders; one is a mirror, one is patterned, and one is clear glass. She was primarily behind the worst two and the clear one was spotted and kind of steamy. But eventually she moved back to the clear one so that the water would hit the lower part of her body as she rinsed off. I was quaking with sexual energy. What I could see was gorgeous. She sort of pushed her hips forward as she obviously rinsed her pussy. Then she turned her back to the shower (and me), thrust her ass out and wiped soap out of the crevice of her ass. In the few brief seconds of viewing her I could have been whipped by any kitten I was so shaky and weak kneed. I ducked back toward the living room before she turned off the shower, banging my damn hammer on a parsons table in the hall.
Now my primary problem was to be in a not-too-obvious location if she repeated the towel on the body routine so that I could look at her longer before we “discovered” each other and went on to the “yelp!” bit. Since I had to remove the base molding by the step into the kitchen, I crouched down there and watched the archway from the hallway. Sure enough, here she came. Towel and all (or towel and nothing else). She didn’t see me right away and walked over toward the window. When she lifted the bottom of the blinds to look out in the driveway she bent down, the towel crept up in the back, I began to salivate. Knowing I had to do something I pried out on the molding (now with my back to her), it groaned after 65 years of not moving, she yelped, I jumped up and stared. BUT I DIDN’T RUN OUT OF THE HOUSE. I also didn’t move. Just stared. Pam had to walk somewhat toward me to get back to the hallway and she did, slowly. She stopped about eight feet from me and asked me why I was staring at her. Because you’re beautiful was my horse reply. She said she thought I would have sense enough to arrive later after having this same thing happen the previous week. My thought was to be consistent was my response. Well, replied she, if you’re waiting for the towel to come loose you have a long wait. I didn’t say anything. I was too busy willing the towel to do just that. Well say something, John, she finally blurted. I barely got out some statement about the longer we stood there the longer I got to look at her and dream. Off she went. DAMN. How come tons of men would have done or said something worthwhile, and I get her to leave the room. My sergeant used to call me Dip Shit. He probably knew how I would turn out.
Slowly I went back to work. About twenty minutes later she came back into the room and walked up behind me. Before I could turn around she said, “I owe you an apology, John. My game didn’t turn out the way I thought it would. I shouldn’t have tried it. I’m old enough to know better.”
Now I turned around and looked up at her from my position on the floor. She was in a pale blue buffed cotton robe that reached down to her ankles. “I’m not good at boy/girl games, Pam,” I explained, “but you are truly beautiful.”
“Well, I was going to prove to myself that you were not like your words, but just like any other man who will jump at the chance for a quick piece and then be gone. This was all a set-up. I even left the bathroom door ajar for you.”
“I know. I looked at you as you were rinsing off. My shakes still haven’t gone away from watching you.”
“I knew you wouldn’t hurt me,” she said, “but why didn’t you run over to me and rip the towel off like I expected you to?”
“Because I am like my words, Pam. I couldn’t do that. I mean not today. When we knew each other better, and if I knew you liked me to do that to you. But not yet.” After a long silence I continued, “But I wanted to. I still do. You don’t know how desirable you are. For weeks I’ve been fantasizing about you.”
“Tell me,” she demanded in a very quiet voice.
“I can’t. I could tell ten or a hundred people, easily. But I can’t tell just you - now.”
“Why not? John, I want to hear them. I need to hear them. I need to know I’m still desirable.” She looked so very sad. I guess her divorce had been a bad one. We had never talked about it. Just that she had been alone for about seven months.
Standing stone still, I said, “Let me show you. Let me make love to you. I’ll be clumsy at first because I don’t know what you like; what excites you. Let me taste you and show you how desirable you are to me.” Although I could hardly believe those words came from me, I had finally said something positive. Me! The runner.
She looked at me for the longest time without saying a word, but I could plainly see she was arguing with herself. Probably wondering why she should risk being hurt again, or some such thing. Then she turned, walked around the chair between us and the hallway, saying, “Come into the spare room in five minutes.” Then she stopped walking, turned back to me, and added, “And love me.” Then she left the room.
Even with all that had just happened (the shower, the window, the towel-clad body, the robe and the talk) I was stunned. I was glad for the five minutes. It would take me that long to get my body to move from the spot to which I was firmly riveted. Shy old John was going to get to make love to this luscious woman. She would be in heaven if there was any possibility of it at all. She deserved confirmation of her sexuality and release from that age old itch and I was the guy who was going to do everything I could to make it happen. From a slightly dictatorial role, which I felt she needed for her self-esteem, I was going to love this lady into oblivion.
Pt IV
Pam was on the bed, in her robe, on her back, head on a pillow, and looking at me when I came to the doorway. She giggled nervously and asked me if I thought I really needed twenty pounds of tools with me. That is the first time I realized I still had my tool pouch on my waist. I laughed, equally nervously, and took it off, along with my moccasins. Walking up to the side of the bed, I kissed her lightly on the lips and told her to turn over with her hands at her sides. Starting at her neck and shoulders, I did my best imitation of a masseur. Down her back to her waist and then back up to her shoulders and neck. As badly as I wanted to see and feel her skin, the robe stayed in place. Even as an amateur I could tell that her neck was more relaxed the second time there. Next I went down her arms, palms, and fingers. Someone once told me that pushing into the palm by the base of the thumb with your thumb, and rubbing in that little hollow there, was very pleasant and relaxing. I tried that for a couple of minutes on each palm. Then back up Pam’s arms and down her back to her waist. By now I was on the bed, straddling her hips, because that was most comfortable for me. But I had to move down quite a ways in order to massage her legs. I left her ass alone (but I didn’t want to) and did not force the robe between her thighs, but only massaged what could comfortably be reached.
By the time I reached her feet Pam was laying with her face turned sideways. Every now and again I heard a very faint moan. When I massaged her feet, especially with my thumb in the soft part of the sole of each foot, she actually commented on how good that felt. Telling her to just lay there as she was, I got off of the bed on the side away from her face and undressed. When I was again straddling her feet, I worked my way back up her legs. The difference this time was that I was moving her robe up her body as I went. Instead of just massaging, I kissed the backs of her calves, licked the backs of her knees when I got to them, and kissed her thighs as they became exposed. I know she liked all of this attention because of the way she moved her sweet ass around in little movement all during the process. When I had to move further up her body, my cock dangled between her legs and she felt it. She lifted her head and looked back at it and then up at my face, smiling.
By the time I got to the tops of her thighs and moved her robe up to her waist I’m sure she thought the sex would begin. But as difficult as it was, and it was, I never touched her ass. Instead I reached under her, untied the robe, pulled it out from under her body and down off of her arms. Finally, she was naked. When I moved up further to work my way up her back again, my now fairly erect cock rubbed along that delectable stretch of womanhood at the tops of her thighs and the base of her ass cheeks. But, I was only massaging my way to her neck again. While I was gently rubbing into her hairline Pam moved her left hand so that she was holding my very excited cock. She didn’t fondle or rub, but just held it still.
Instead of having her turn over, I decided to start from where she was. With kisses, I started back down toward her waist. Women, who I believe are so much more in touch with their bodies than are men, have so many places which are erogenous (or at least satisfying) that you could spend hours kissing and nibbling your way around until they ravished you. It’s wonderful. This time when I got to her waist I didn’t skip down to her thighs. I kissed all around her waist and hips, rubbed my face and hair all over her soft cheeks, and she was again demonstrably pleased. Finally, I couldn’t wait any longer. Telling Pam to raise her hips up some, I started at the top of her pussy, wet-kissed all around her mound and on the super-soft skin of her thighs. About the time I had kissed down both sides and the logical next step was to lick her lips, she pushed her pussy back against my mouth and moaned, “Oh! Yes! Do it, please.”
Now came some more of the soft dictatorial stuff. “Do what, Pam?”
“Kiss me in the center.”
“Kiss you where?” I wanted her to tell me exactly. I had already found out during our conversations the week before that she didn’t seem to use sex words, so if I could force her to use them during sex, she would become either more excited or she would get angry. The odds were for getting more excited.
“Keep kissing me down the center. You know what I mean.”
I kissed her again, Just at the top of her seam, but just a peck. “You have to tell me exactly where. Tell me, Pam!”
She lifted her ass even higher (isn’t it amazing how exciting it is to see a woman lift her ass to you.) “Kiss my lips, John. Please. Kiss them nice like you were just doing.” To hear is to obey, right? And she moaned so nicely when my tongue flicked out and probed between pussy lips that were looking for an excuse to open. So nice, in fact, that I let my tongue linger there for a couple of minutes while she moved her hips, pleasuring herself. Then came time to move even lower. Although difficult, and kind of hard on the neck, reaching a tongue down to a waiting clit, from behind, has always resulted in the highest ass lift a woman can manage. I think it’s because they find it incredibly sexy and satisfying. So do I. With my face almost completely buried in her, my first feel of Pam’s soft inner flesh and the taste of her pussy was all it took to get me as hard as I ever get. I spent considerable time poking and prodding gently in her luscious folds with my tongue and lips. I pulled sections of her lips in between mine so that I could run the tip of my tongue back and forth across them. Now that I had her pussy scent all over my wet face, it came time for my planned next step.
