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  • Young Woman with Older Man Ch. 03

Young Woman with Older Man Ch. 03

She stood in my bedroom doorway clutching her pillow. "May I sleep with you," she asked.

Now that she was here, there was so much I didn't know about her and so much that I needed to know, the little things that suddenly become so important, when they're missing from your daily routine. Does she drink coffee? What does she eat for breakfast? What time does she go to bed? What time does she get up in the morning? What does she look like in the morning without makeup?

There was so many things to learn about her. Which programs does she watch on television? Does she like watching baseball, the Boston Red Sox? What about football, the New England Patriots? Basketball, the Boston Celtics? Hockey, the Boston Bruins? It was then that I realized that I needed to get a life, instead of living my live vicariously through the lives of professional athletes.

My quandary about her private life continued in my mind. What kind of music does she like? Which side of the bed does she prefer? Does she sleep in pajamas, a nightgown, or in the nude? I could only imagine the image of her sleeping in the nude. Okay, the last two questions, I admit, are premature, but maybe, if it was to come up in conversation, in readiness of her sleeping arrangements, I'd make special note of her preferences.

I helped her with her things, moving what she needed me to carry, lift, and move, and helping her to arrange the empty closet in the guest bedroom. No one has been here since my girlfriend moved out last year and before that, my twin daughters stayed with me, until they got their careers going. I was not only excited about having a roommate but also excited about specifically having her as a roommate. If nothing else, an understatement, it was someone to talk to on a daily basis. It sometimes gets lonely living alone and, as much as I hated to admit it, I was just beginning to get used to the quiet, emptiness that my life had become, without having a woman in my life.

I had to make a conscious effort not to stare at her, she was just so damn beautiful and I was so damn attracted to her that I could not help myself from staring. Afraid of ruining this temporary arrangement by making her feel uncomfortable, continually, I told myself not to stare at her but to play it cool. Only, inside, I was dying. I was dying to touch her, to hold her, and to kiss her. She consumed my every thought. I was falling in love with her.

She grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from her suitcase and came over to me and turned around.

"Would you do me the honors?"

It had been a while, since I've been with a woman and, at first; I didn't know what she wanted me to do. Then, she pointed to the back of her dress. I unzipped her dressed and was rewarded with a view of the back of her bra. Frozen in place, I stared at her back. I had a view of the top of her panty while imagining showering her neck and back with kisses. Then, I could not believe it when she leaned down, pulled up the hem and lifted her dress up and over her head.

She turned to face me and smiled. There she stood not three feet away from me in her low cut, sexy lace bra and bikini panty. As if she was standing before me fully clothe, she talked, as she dressed.

"You have a beautiful home, Freddie."

"Thank you," I said telling myself not to stare at her semi-naked, underwear clad body, but I wasn't listening to myself. I stared. I stared at her bra and I stare at her panty, while wondering what were beneath those oh so thin and oh sheer silk and satin pieces of material.

Boy did she ever have a body. She had a Playboy magazine body, but without the phony tits. Everything about her was real, genuine, and sincere. Just as I thought that, I realized that I was putting her high up on the pedestal, as I did with my ex-wife. and as I did with my ex-girlfriend. You'd think that I'd have learned from the bad experience I had with my ex's. I needed to stop doing that. No doubt, she's just like me, human with all of her foibles, yet, she was worthy of that lofty pedestal position. Only, one of the things that gets me going is seeing a shapely woman in her panties and bra and she was certainly shapely.

"I'm sorry," she said laughing. "Did I embarrass you?"

"No, no, not I all," I said, while thinking that arousing me was more the word. "I have to sit down before I pass out," I said suddenly hot and waving my hand in front of my face, while discreetly making an adjustment to the position of my growing penis. "Actually, yes," I said. "I'm not accustomed to seeing a woman strip off her clothes in front of me."

"I've never harbored any inhibitions, when it comes to nudity." She laughed, again. "That was one of the things that drove my boyfriend nuts," she said shrugging her shoulders, before shimming her t-shirt over her head. "For an artist, he's such a prude."

I figured from my first assessment of her that she was a very modest and private person. Now, I know better, I was wrong. Already my pedestal that I had put her on had a crack in it. Yet, I preferred a woman, who didn't have too many inhibitions and was more open with her feelings. I watched her as she wiggled her round, panty clad ass in her jeans. I wondered if she was shaved, trimmed or bushy. Since there was no evidence of errant hairs or a dark shadow, I ruled out bushy.

"Prude? I'd more like to think of him as an asshole," I said with a chuckle.

"All of his friends have seen me naked," she said with a shrug.

"Naked? Really? How?"

I figured her boyfriend forced her to strip naked. More excited by the prospect of her giving me pillow talk of all the times that guys have seen her naked than by the thought of seeing her naked, there was something about her that drove me mad with sexual desire for her. Now, there's a glaring difference between a 50-year-old man and a 25-year-old man, older men are content to watch and to savor the sexual images, before jumping head first in the deep end of the pool, whereas the younger men always want to dive headlong without checking first for water.

More erotic in nature than pornographic, we older men appreciate the growing lust that colors our imagination and strokes our cerebral desire in time, whereas our younger counterparts are more concerned with the physical aspects of satisfying their penis with sex now, long before their brain has had a chance to catch up with their cock. We older guys play it cool longer, while fanning the flames of sexual desire to bring the passion of the woman to a warm glowing ember before we act. Easier to extinguish with just a blow, forgetting about the heat, or lack thereof, of the woman, the young studs strike, when their flames are highest, long before the fires have permanently been stoked. Too quickly their flames douse, often times in a matter of minutes, while our fire still burns brightly years later.

"They always had an excuse to come over without an invitation, when they knew my boyfriend was painting me in the nude. I was slow to cover up and they got a show," she said with another shrug. "My boyfriend threw them out time and again." She looked at me with those blue-grey eyes. "I guess I could have been a nudist." She smiled, "I thought it was funny. Guys are so easily aroused."

Suddenly, I heard another, albeit longer crack in her pedestal. I hoped for my sake that she could maintain her balance and not fall from the high height that I put her.

"Well, feel free to walk around in the nude," I said with a chuckle. "You're my guest and if you're more comfortable without your clothes, so be it. I'll force myself to tolerate you walking around naked," I said with a laugh.

"Thank you," she laughed, "but I don't want to give you the wrong impression of me, at least, not yet," she said giving me a sexy look.

As long as I live, I will never forget that look. That was her first look of serious, sexual interest in me. Sirens and alarm bells went off in my head telling me that I had a chance of a love affair with my angel. Her boyfriend was wrong about my chances with her. Having already moved her into my house, I'd say my chances of a love connection were good, very good.

"Unless you committed murder and murdered me," I said, "you could never give me the wrong impression of you."

"Want some coffee?" She said looking at her watch. "I usually have coffee this time every day."

"Sure," I said happy that she was a coffee drinker.

"If you show me where the kitchen is, I'll make it."

I escorted her down the hall, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. She glanced outside where Polo and Seymour played.

"Are they okay?"

I stood a few feet behind her admiring the impression her round, firm ass made in her skin tight blue jeans.

"They're fine," I said removing my stare from her backside for fear that she'd catch me enjoying more the view of her ass than that of the pets playing out back. "They're having a ball."

I stood by the back window watching them play, while she played Suzy homemaker in the kitchen. It felt good having a woman in the house, again. I wondered if she cooked. It didn't matter, as I like to cook and, besides, someone who looks as good as she does, doesn't need to cook.

"Polo likes having a live-in friend," I said watching the dogs play. "And I do, too," I said looking at her and giving her a smile.

"Thank you for having me stay here with you," she said turning and returning my smile, before looking out the back window again to watch the dogs play. "Only, I don't know how much Polo will like him, once he's full grown because, judging by his paws, he's going to be a really, big dog, nearly as big as a Great Dane."

Her comment stunned me. She forgot about the past with her boyfriend, skipped the present with me, and talked about the future with us; at least, staying with me until her dog grew to his full size. That was several months away. I was on cloud 9 drifting off with sounds of Jimmy Buffet playing Cheeseburger in Paradise and with the thoughts of her shacking up with me for the rest of the year, at least, if not for the rest of my life. I was getting ahead of myself. One day at a time. She's here today and I can only hope she stay here tomorrow.

Nonetheless, there was no calming my excitement. The rest of my life echoed in my mind. I suddenly wondered how much longer I had to live. My father died at 90, maybe, I'll live to that age. Imagine 40 years of Lynn. I had goose bumps thinking of all the good times we could have and all the sex we could have in 40 years. I wondered if I could still get it up at 90, 80 or 70, even. Thank God for Viagra.

Once the coffee finished brewing, we took our cups out to the back screened-in porch to watch the dogs play. They never tired of running, jumping, leaping, and playing. We sat like old friends sipping our coffee, talking, laughing, and getting to know one another better. I reached out and touched her cheek where he slapped her. It was my excuse to touch her, to see if she was real, and to prove to myself that I wasn't dreaming and imagining her in my house.

"That's gonna bruise," I said. Her skin felt so soft.

"I'll cover it with makeup," she said gently touching it with her fingertips.

"I should have given you some ice to stop the swelling." I touched her hand and kept it there when she did not move away. "I'm sorry that I didn't think to do that."

"I'm fine, really I am, thank you."

"He's done this before, hit you like that?"

"Yes, several times." She took a long thoughtful sip of her coffee. "I don't know why I stayed with him for as long as I did, but I had no place to go. I didn't want to go home to my parents and I couldn't afford a place of my own. I'm just glad he's out of my life and this time for good," she said looking at me with a sad smile. "Thank you. I'm grateful to you."

"It's okay. Don't mention it. I'm only too glad to help. He really is a bastard."

"I knew there was a reason why you came into my life," she said, as if we were suddenly psychically connected. She looked at me with a look that melted my heart and smiled. "I always believed that there's a reason for everything." She touched my fingers with her fingers and we sat there drinking coffee, watching the dogs play, and holding hands.

"Bastard! I hope I broke his jaw. I would've twenty years ago, when I punched my bag regularly. I would've knocked him out with that uppercut. Then, I would've stomped on his balls when he was down and out."

"Someone beat you to that, I think." She laughed. "He has a very demure penis."

I felt my cock stir hearing her talk about another man's package.

Her smile and her beautiful, erotic eyes touched my heart and I so wanted to lean over and kiss her. Only, I needed to fan the flame. I didn't want to rush the fire by smothering it with my horniness. She must have sensed the moment because she leaned over and kissed me. It was so surreal and I couldn't believe. It was a short kiss, a peck really, but it was on my lips. It was so quick that I didn't have a chance to react to it and to kiss her back. I didn't even have the chance to close my eyes. She caught me by surprise.

Our first kiss, the romantic that I am; I wished it had been longer with our naked bodies and tongues entwined in passion. I wished we were in a better setting than my back porch, somewhere with a sunrise or a sunset, perhaps, by the ocean, or atop a mountain, or in the valley by a scenic stream. Still, I was ecstatic for her sudden and unexpected display of affection.

Later that night, as I drifted off to sleep thinking about her sleeping in the guest bedroom, my hand found my cock and I began stroking it to a nice erection. She had made me horny all day, especially when she changed her clothes in front of me and especially when she turned to face me in her bra and panties. She has a wonderful body, the best body these old eyes have ever seen.

I thought about slowly undressing her and when she was naked finally, asking her to turn from side to side, so that I could revel in the beauty of her naked body. I thought about her standing before me in her bra and panty, as she did earlier. I thought about her in those skin, tight blue jeans. Normally, I don't sleep in the nude, but tonight it was hot and humid and I was horny. Since I'm not a big fan of air conditioning, unless I really had to waste electricity to cool the house down, I run the overhead fans with the windows and my bedroom door wide open for the cross breeze. Still, even with that, it was uncomfortably warm.

I wondered if she was hot. I wondered if I should switch on the air conditioning for her comfort. I wondered if she slept in the nude. I wondered if she slept with the bedroom door open. I wondered if she slept with the light on, with the bedroom door open, and in the nude. I thought about walking down the hall on the pretense of rechecking and securing the house for the night to see what I could see of her. Hoping to catch her lying on her bed asleep naked, figuring, no doubt, that I would, and unable to control myself from staring at her naked body and/or touching her naked body, I thought better of it.

Slow and smooth is better than fast and jumpy. The last thing that I wanted to do was to scare her. The last thing that I wanted to do was to make her unduly uncomfortable. The last thing that I wanted to do was to make her leave and flee my house in the middle of the night for fear that I'd rape her. Slowly stroking myself, instead, I figured that I'd just masturbate my horniness for her in a tissue. Then, when I looked up, she was standing in my bedroom doorway clutching her pillow against the length of her body. Quickly, I moved my hand away from my cock.

"I can't sleep," she said. "It's been a while since I slept alone," she said yawning. There was a long pause and she stunned me with what she said next. "May I sleep with you?"

To be continued...

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