Lake Massage

It has been three years since our Chicago tryst. The tension between Lynn and me remained like dry kindling ready to catch fire. Now at 65 she was still an amazing woman in every way, my attraction to her never waned. I did not see Lynn again, in the flesh that is, until one hot Carolina summer afternoon.

Lynn was considering retirement in order to care more for her invalid husband and reduce the expense of his caretaker. Her leaving the university would leave a void in life.

Every now and then I need a day to get away and recharge my battery. A real estate developer had a lake bungalow he would let me use for a day so I could retreat. I had no radio with me, no television, and no stereo, which meant having no baseball games, no news, and no Mozart. I did not smoke my pipe or drink wine. I did not talk on the phone. The cell phone remained on top of my desk at work. I would usually take a thoughtful book of fiction or a book of collected poetry to rouse my imagination. There would be a long morning walk down the gravel road to the lake, along the shore then up through woods back to the little cottage. The purpose of all this was to consult with my soul. Being alone, away from Pascalian diversions, was a way for me to clear the deck, so to speak.

What possessed me I will never know, but on the afternoon before my retreat, I scratched directions to the lake house with an open invitation to Lynn, folded the note and left it on her cubicle chair. It was very doubtful she would make the ninety minute drive with her work load. The next morning I hit the road with a book of short stories by John Updike, my journal and other necessities one might need for a day-trip. It was a clear, sunny Carolina day. And it was going to be hot.

The key was right where my friend said it was. Unlocking the door and walking in, I immediately set the thermostat to cool off the place, and then checked the place out – especially the well-stocked 'fridge. Being the predictable steady-as-she-goes type, I embarked on my walk. Nothing is more restorative than a walk through unadulterated nature. The lake was serene. The stroll along the shoreline was getting warm so the shade of the wood provided much respite from the ensuing heat of the day. Getting back on the gravel road toward the bungalow and walking over the rise of the knoll, I saw something familiar, a tan Camry parked off the road in front of my place of refuge. Lynn arrived.

"The air conditioning compressor broke down again. We were told we could go home, so here I am instead," Lynn said while she was rocking on the front deck of the lake house.

"Let's cool off inside," I said as I kissed her on the cheek. Lynn sat on the couch while I went to invade the 'fridge to get a couple bottles of cold water. It was close to noon.

"Are you hungry?"

"Oh, a little bit."

I scrounged around and found some sliced ham, cheese, mayo and mustard and made sandwiches for us. Checking out the produce drawers, there were some apples, so I sliced those up, put them on plates and brought them out to the living room. Lynn was on one end of the couch, lounging at an angle with her feet propped up on the coffee table. I plopped down next to her in the middle with my plate on my lap and we ate and talked. She gave me an update on her husband's health and her children. We spoke about the books we were reading. Lynn was wearing a loose fitting, but silky outfit, suitable for office attire but relaxing enough for a hot afternoon. Finishing my sandwich, I substituted the plate on my lap with her feet and began to massage them.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… that feels heavenly," as she slowly began to melt into the soft cushions, adjusting herself to give me better access.

"A foot massage makes your whole body tingle," as I gripped the ball of her heel and ran my fingernails over her arch. I took great delight and time caressing her feet, tenderly poking my finger between her toes. Her eyes closed as she tilted her head back. Her breathing slowed and deepened. She was winding down, obviously enjoying my ministration.

Her cropped pants allowed me to move my hands above her ankles and massage her calve muscles. I guess I wasn't going to accomplish any reading or journaling this afternoon, but at this point I wasn't complaining. I took pleasure in brining Lynn pleasure. I felt a little sleepy, so I stopped and leaned back on the couch and rested my eyes. Both of us savored the quiet repose, but not for long. I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Are you up for a massage? Her lips curled into a mischievous smile. I got up from the couch, turned toward her, and took her hands in mine and raised her up. Standing in front of her, holding both her hands, I walked backwards, leading her to the bedroom.

This little bungalow was equipped with a living area, a kitchen, a full bath and two small bedrooms, all nicely appointed and comfy. One had a twin bed, the other had a double bed and extra down pillows.

Lynn is a diminutive lady with the cutest bottom. It was the sort that must have inspired Walker Percy to write in The Moviegoer, "Her bottom is so beautiful that once as she crossed the room to the cooler I felt my eyes smart with tears of gratitude. She is one of those village beauties of which the South is so prodigal." Even in her mid-sixties, she still maintained a proportioned hourglass shape. She has aged gracefully. Even her biceps have a sensuous shape to them.

It took no effort for me to sweep her 110-pound frame up and position her on the bed. She rolled over, grabbing one of the down pillows and settled her head upon it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I began kneading her neck and shoulders. The fabric of her top was silky smooth to the touch. Lynn then rolled back over and sat up, "Perhaps it would be better if I remove this," as she unbuttoned her blouse and cast it to the side of the bed.

As she repositioned herself, I unhooked her bra to give full contact to her back. I resumed my touch of her neck and shoulders then began long strokes up and down and across her back with the palms of my hands with occasional grazes with my finger nails. Thinking how much better this would be with some sort of lotion or oil, I excused myself and made a dash to the bathroom hoping to find something, anything! Suntan oil… hand moisturizer… I was looking frantically to find something suitable to make this a more sensuous experience for her. I'm thinking to myself, "Wouldn't some Kama Sutra lotion be ideal now." But that was not to be. I looked under the sink moving various first aid items. Behold a couple unused bottles of body lotion you find in hotel rooms, these amenities were from the Gaylord Hotel -- Aloe Vera body lotion. "I wonder if this stuff will work?" talking to myself.

I bounded back to the bedroom to find Lynn, flat on her tummy, wearing nothing but her Jockey's. The lotion didn't have a heavy scent or texture and these two containers seemed to hold enough stuff for our session, so I rubbed a generous amount on my hands and resumed my strokes. Childhood games came to mind and I drew pictures on her back with my moist finger. She tried to guess what I was drawing. I purposely drew large pictures with sweeping strokes to tease. It was time to move below, so getting no protest or resistance; I slowly pulled off her white Jockey's to reveal her heart-shaped derriere. It felt so good to hold and massage this part of her body I have long admired. It was shapely, soft, squishy, and sensuous. What delight I took kneading it, caressing it, and stroking it! No part escaped my touch.

Lynn's legs were next. Applying more lotion, I moved my hands in long stokes down her thighs to her ankles and back up to her cheeks; sliding my clasped hands up the back of her leg and then slide down with one hand on the inner thigh and the other on the outer thigh, then back toward her cheeks. Each stoke, I would purposely get closer to her sex but never touching her. I could feel her heat and moisture. With my moist hands it was easy to grip her foot by the ankles with both my hands then slide them off at her toes. This sent shivers down her spine. And that was my next area of ministration.

Back up at her neck, with a finger on each side of her spine, I moved down her back, past the small of her back down her crevasse, around her ass cheeks, then up her rib sides returning to her neck and back down again.

Looking at the clock-radio on the nightstand, I saw we've been at this for over ninety minutes. Was this the point of no return?

"Lynn, what do you want to do? We can stop or we can go on. It's up to you. I don't want you to feel awkward or uncomfortable. This has been a joy so far"

"This afternoon has been like an oasis for my soul, I feel so relaxed, please, don't stop. Bring me over the top." Turning over on her back indicated she wanted more. As she adjusted herself on the pillows, I went to the bathroom again, returning with towels. Returning by her side, I resumed my massage by outlining her face. Lynn has beautiful cheek bones and full lips, her delicate round face is graced with age lines. I rubbed her brow, outlined her lips and ears, and then whispered in her ear just what a beautiful, smart, sexy woman she is. She smiled. I moved down her torso and played with her small, but pert breasts. I cupped each one and used the pads of my thumbs to circle her nipples, occasionally nipping and pulling them. I got off of the bed and moved down toward the foot of the bed and spread her legs so that her feet were at each corner of the bed. Putting a towel over one of the down pillows, I placed it under her derriere.

Sensing her acquisition to my care and loving touch, I moved forward and placed my hand over her vulva and squirted more lotion on my fingers letting it seep all around. Next, I began pulling my hands from the bottom of her vulva, up over her folds, clitoris and pubic area, alternating them in continual motion, varying the speed and pressure. Her excitement was building as I gently stimulated her in this way. Juices started to flow. Breathing began to get short. Muscles were starting to tense. I took this as a cue to enter her with my fingers. I slowly penetrated her warm, wet vagina with my index and middle finger of one hand with the other rested on her mons. In and out, all around, I massaged her insides. Her breathing began to shorten. Pressing deeper within her sex, I searched for her G-spot by moving my fingers in a "come here" motion. Moans of pleasure became more audible. Kneeling perpendicular to her, with my knees at her side, I bent over and, kissing her sex, lightly tongued her clitoris. Her vaginal perfume filled my nostrils as I orally pleasured her while massaging that mysterious spot inside. Lynn began to orgasm. Her legs started to tremor. Juices gushed as her wave after wave after wave of pleasure engulfed her. I could feel her contractions grip my fingers as I eased my ministration upon her sex.

"Oh…that was so incredible, so wonderful, so intense…I hadn't had a release like that in ages… thank you, than….."

Listening to her babble, I rested one hand on her vulva and the other on her brow for a few minutes as her breathing came back to normal. In the quiet of that room, I took the bath towels to wipe her down and absorb any excess moisture and bodily fluid, then put a blanket over her as she rested in the glow of her orgasms. I wanted or needed nothing in return. Her pleasure was mine. As she dozed off, I went back to the sofa and tried to enter in my journal what was stirring inside me.

There is a Proverb that says there are three things which are too wonderful, yea, four which I do not understand: the way of an eagle in the air; the way of the serpent upon the rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.

This relationship is unquestionably counter-intuitive. How does one account for falling in love with another woman -- a woman 12 years my senior, who is not my wife? From where does this desire come? It remains a mystery to me; Conflicted, I feel as if I am teetering on the edge of a cliff. Being human involves a tendency toward adultery. That is certainly true, isn't it? Here I am, caught in the web even though I fell short this day of committing the ultimate act. There was an intimacy this afternoon, an afternoon delight; a giving, a sharing, and a receiving.

Regret? None, but reminded of my weakness and frailty. A love affair is like shooting an arrow into the air; it gives life a passionate but fleeting direction.

Lynn came out of the bedroom, dressed. Making eye contact was like seeing through each other, we smiled. It was late in the afternoon. I folded my notebook as she sat down beside me putting her arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze. The time to depart this bungalow, our intimate sanctuary, arrived. But before we got in our cars to drive home, we walked down the gravel road and stood on the dock, together, but alone in our thoughts.