by JEdwins ©
This story
was split into 3 parts. Jump to any of the segments from here:
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Note: This story was originally
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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.
(next)
This story was split into 3 parts. Jump to any of the segments from here:
1|2|3
Note: This story was originally
submitted as one long story
and it was only broken into parts for faster page loading.