2 comments/ 48398 views/ 8 favorites Womanly Woman By: Polysexual Chapter 1: Steve Writing My eyes were drawn to her. As soon as she entered the lounge, my eyes were drawn to her. The people sitting around me eating bagels, muffins, or happy meals, the crackling announcements of flights to other places, and the gray vinyl seats and stained blue carpets-they faded away. My eyes were drawn to her. She was blond, but whether it was her own color or borrowed I couldn't tell. She wasn't tall-maybe five-four. Her figure wasn't statuesque. It was voluptuous. Yes, I think that's the best word for it-voluptuous. Rounded, swelling, bubbling, overflowing, mouthwatering, voluptuous. But there was more, and a more I treasured. She looked warm, comfy, inviting. Her clothing was attractive, tasteful, not gaudy, but just right for her. She wore an elegant, flowing, rose silk blouse, a couple undone buttons guiding the eye to inviting cleavage. The blouse was tucked into well-cut jeans that hugged her form warmly. On her feet were creamy red leather high-heeled sandals. Her face was beautiful, the face of a Lands' End model. Not gaunt, but full and warm and approachable, yet wonderfully angelic and cute at the same time. It was her smile, I think, flashing from across the room, that caught me. It's not that she was smiling at me-she hadn't seen me. But her teeth were perfect, and they flashed with joy, with happiness, with mischief. I was smitten. I watched as she made her way to the ticket counter and spoke to the agent. How old was she? I didn't know. She was maybe forty-five, forty-eight, but with a beauty transcending age. She had the beauty of a woman of forty, of thirty, of twenty-all at once. She combined the warmth and grace of experience and maturity with the joyful anticipation of youth. I watched her. She traveled with a man her age who was clearly mentally handicapped. She was solicitous, good-natured. She was his guardian, it seemed. I watched her. When she spoke, at times, she bubbled. I watched her when she didn't speak. At times her face seemed sad, wistful. At other times it seemed serene. It was always lovely. But she was far away, halfway across the room, and I went back to my book, D. H. Lawrence's "The Rainbow," rather less impressive than I'd hoped. My flight was called. I was near the back, next to the window. Not my favorite spot. Front aisle was more to my taste. I prayed for an empty center seat, but the stewardess announced over the intercom that the flight would be full. No luck. I prayed for someone little who would leave me the armrest. I watched people come down the aisle. "Not him," I thought. "I'll bet it's them." "Oh, please, not those people." But then she came, behind the retarded man, who was bobbing along with a big goofy grin. They were coming my way. The plane was almost full. Closer. Yes. They peered at the row numbers. It was my row. She pulled a suitcase on wheels and carried a bag and a purse. She tried to lift the suitcase to the last empty space in the overhead compartment. She couldn't. The retarded man hadn't noticed her need. I leapt up. "May I help?" I asked. The suitcase was full, but I easily lifted it and wedged it into place and closed the compartment door. I returned to my seat. "I think you have the center seat," she said to retarded man, starting to help him in. My heart sank. He would talk the whole way. I would get no rest. He would drive me crazy. "I want this one," the man said, pointing to the aisle seat. "I don't know that man." He laughed. "Alright," said my lovely lady. She slid in next to me. "Sorry," she said. Sorry? I wasn't sorry at all! She helped her companion sit down and stowed away their bags under the seats in front of them. She tried to buckle her seatbelt, but it was too tight. The previous occupant of the seat had been a bit less voluptuous. She looked embarrassed, as if the seat were shouting out her waist size. She tugged. It didn't loosen. "May I help you?" I said. She blushed and said yes. Her left hand was on the buckle. My left hand closed over hers, soft, small, and warm. The warmth seemed to flash up my arm. My right hand reached across, grabbed the other end of the buckle, lifted up. The strap loosened at once. My forearm was pressing against her waist. Her waist was soft. It gave a little. I could feel her through my forearm. The hairs on my arm were transmitting her to my brain. "Thank you," she said. She in turn helped the man beside her, who was quite puzzled by his seatbelt. I was immersed in my novel. I don't generally talk to people on planes. Maybe I'm too shy. I smile, I watch, sometimes I talk a little, but generally not much. I watched her. She was one of the loveliest women I had ever seen. She was better close up than from a distance, and she was striking from a distance. Did she know I was watching her? Could she sense me watching from the corner of my eye? Did she notice my head turn? I don't know. I watched her. Her eyes were green, a lovely light green, thin jade with a light behind it. Her lips were pink rose, almost the same color as her blouse, and they were full and soft. Her skin was lovely, glowing with health. The stewardess guided us through crash procedures. We taxied. We rose into the air. I watched her. If a woman is too thin, the time comes in her forties when lines form in her face. If she has a little more padding, is more comfortable, there are pads of flesh on her face that thicken a little. I suppose this can be a bit unnerving to a man in his twenties. I'm fifty. I admire it. She was aging beautifully, gracefully. She was utterly beautiful, but not twenty, not thirty, not forty. She was better. Her face wasn't hardening. It was softening. Her skin was luminous. Her hair was luminous. Her teeth were luminous. Merely having her next to me was a gift. I watched her as I would watch a campfire. I watched her as I would watch a doe in the woods. I watched her as I would watch a newborn. I watched her as I would watch the tenderest of lovers. I watched her. There's always a little battle on airplanes over armrests. Men will sit with arms folded for hours, their necks and shoulders aching, rather than let their arms touch the arms of other men on armrests. Women are often overpowered by men who, knowing their own strength and asserting it, take the armrests for themselves. Women are often afraid of being touched, of touching, lest they give the wrong impression. I don't want to make women uncomfortable. I'm usually polite, but careful not to impose myself unless interest is signaled. At first I was careful to leave her room. I took the front half of the armrest and left her the back. But then her arm touched mine. I thought she would flinch away, perhaps apologize. That's what usually happens. She didn't. She was talking with the retarded man, leaning toward him. He had a hundred questions. I smiled to hear her reassuring him in her low, full, round, lovely voice. Her arm rested companionably next to mine. We both wore short sleeves. I could feel her naked arm. It was not a little arm. It was full, round, not an arm to encircle between thumb and forefinger. It was an arm to adore. It was so soft, so soft. Now and then I would move my arm a little, up, down, as if adjusting it. No, it was only to feel her arm against mine. The people in the row in front of us leaned their seats back. I'm tall. I had to spread my legs to avoid having my knees crushed. My thigh brushed hers. Her legs, full and round in designer jeans, were also spread. I thought she would move her thigh away. There was room. She didn't. She let it stay there. I could feel our thighs together through our jeans, our arms together skin to skin. Voluptuous. She was voluptuous. She filled out her seat and spread out a little into mine. A round, healthy roll of flesh pressed lightly against my side. I loved it. Our meals came. It was cramped. Our trays were down. We ate. She helped the retarded man open his sandwich, his potato salad, his cookies, his napkin. Now and then, as if adjusting myself, I lifted my thigh an inch and brought it back down. I merely wanted the sensation of her thigh moving against mine. As I ate, I moved my arm more, up and down. She did not pull back, did not remove her arm. The meal over, the movie started. She had bought a headset for the retarded man, though not for herself, and he avidly watched the little TV hanging from the overhead compartment. The lovely lady put her head back against the headrest, but it was uncomfortable. Her pillow was in the small of her back. I offered her mine. She thanked me and smiled. The smile far repaid my little gift. But it wasn't comfortable for her. She couldn't find rest. Our tray tables were down though our trays were gone. "Try this," I said. I showed her how I rest on planes, with my elbows on the tray table, my forehead against the seat in front of me, my head between my hands, which are resting on the seat. She put the pillow against the seat in front of her, crossed her arms on the tray table, and rested. Somehow, this brought our arms closer together. I loved the creamy smooth feel of her arm. Our thighs still touched. I began gently lifting and dropping my leg, and our thighs and calves were touching. Our arms were touching. I slid my arm quietly back and forth against hers. After about fifteen minutes she turned her face, looking a bit dreamy, crushed, sleepy-looking, to mine, next to her. "You are very, very nice," she said simply. Her breath was pleasant, human. "Thank you," I said. "You are very soft and beautiful." She smiled and returned her face to the pillow. The first movie ended. The man beside her figured out his seatbelt, rose, and made his way to the toilet. The lovely lady turned toward me again. To my shock, she kissed me gently on the cheek. Her cheek against mine felt like the softest velvet. "What's your name?" she said. "Steve," I said. "What's yours." "Cassandra." "Is the man your brother?" I asked. "No, I work at a state home. He's institutionalized, but learning to live on his own. He's on a visit to California to visit relatives. I'm helping him get there." "That's very kind of you," I said, "but just what I'd expect you to do." "I'm well paid," she said. "I'll be staying several days, until he's acclimatized. He'll be staying several months if things work out." When she turned toward me to kiss my cheek, somehow my right hand had fallen comfortably on her leg. I left it there. She didn't move it. I gently squeezed her knee, traced my finger around her patella. I stroked gently the inside of her thigh, halfway up. I gazed hungrily, admiring her eyes, drinking in every detail of her face, her hair-naturally dirty blond, but streaked ash blond and with becoming gray hairs interspersed. The retarded man returned, sat down. Cassandra helped him with his seatbelt. The next movie was starting, and the man positioned his headphones. Cassandra lifted up the armrest between us, pushing it back between the seats. She again crossed her arms on the tray table and put her head on the pillow against the seat in front of her. I took her right hand with my left. It was a soft hand. All of her was soft and lovely. I squeezed. She squeezed back. The luscious ripeness of her warm side pressed against me. She was nestling against me. She liked this! She was wearing open-toed and open-backed heels of red leather. I was wearing black leather slip-on shoes. I had noticed her beautiful feet. I slipped off my left shoe and gently rubbed my left foot, clad in its thin nylon sock, over her sandal, over her toes. Then I removed my other shoe. Silently, using only my feet, I led her to pull her left foot out of its sandal. With my feet I caressed hers, sliding my feet over her toes, under her toes, under her instep, rubbing my instep over the top of her foot, caressing her heel with both of my insteps. With my right hand I caressed her left arm, reveling in the softness of it, the fullness of it. I took her hand with my right hand, and my left hand caressed her thigh, gently, slowly, the inside of her thigh. Against the back of my right hand I could feel the swell of her breast. I rubbed the back of my hand gently against it. I reached my left hand up and gently traced the swell of her breast, the soft roundness of it. I could feel her nipple. I gently traced it with my finger. She didn't speak, didn't move. She only breathed deeply. I was hard. I thought of placing her hand on me. How would she react? But I didn't. Instead, I savored this less overt but wonderfully sweet body of sensations. It was a five-hour flight, but I'd swear it was only two. I was immersed in rapture, captured by an angel, not an angel of lust, but an angel of sweet desire. We could have chatted happily, I suppose, but instead we chose silence and slow time. We landed. We taxied. The ramp drew up to the plane. The others got off first. The retarded man rose and moved into the aisle. Cassandra rose to help him. I rose to help with her suitcase. As Cassandra helped her ward, I quietly glanced at the luggage tags. There were two. One was an address in Pennsylvania. One was an address in Los Angeles. There were phone numbers. Sometimes my memory works better than others. I read quickly but carefully. I remembered. We made our way off the plane. Cassandra and her ward stopped at the agent's desk to ask for assistance. "It was a pleasure meeting you," I said to Cassandra. "You, too," she smiled. "Thanks for everything." I walked down the hallway to the nearest restroom. I grabbed a paper towel. I scribbled down the two addresses and phone numbers. Chapter 2: Cassandra Writing As Cassandra is leaving the plane she couldn't help but think about this mystery man and how she had enjoyed the previous five hours. It was the first time she hadn't wanted a long flight to end. She was thinking what a handsome man, with light brown hair, some graying. A goatee, also graying in all the right places, gave him a distinguished look. His voice was soft and low. The faint curve of his mouth was more of a grin then a smile, very mysterious, his blue eyes very piercing. He smelled good, not perfumy but good, a smell she could get used to. The big turn on was his strong looking but well manicured hands. Oh those hands, there was such passion in his touch. His touch was electrifying, making her want him so bad. He had a gentle way about him-she felt so relaxed, yet just kissing him on the cheek was jolting. She wondered if he had also felt it. When his hand was on her knee, her heart was beating so hard. She was moaning softly inside, wanting to just open her legs wider and move his hand higher. The ultimate temptation was wanting him to feel how wet she had gotten. She thought they both would have been delighted. She had wanted to place her hand on his visibly swelling erection. She wondered if he knew she had noticed it or if he thought she hadn't. When he had touched her breast and then her nipples she felt herself come to a climax. Being a women who has multiple orgasms and very sensitive to touch, she was very wet by the time the flight was over. Lost in her thoughts, she had not heard Joe saying, "I have to go! I have to go!" He was clutching his groin as if he would wet himself any minute. Oh My God! Hold it in, Joe. Please, not here. "Hurry," he said. "Joe has to go bad." She found a rest room for him, then her mind went back to Steve. She wondered if he was as attracted to her as she was to him. Or was this something he did all the time? He looked like a man well traveled, very worldly. She wondered if a man like this could be attracted to a simple country girl like herself. Not to say that she was not sophisticated-she had a very sophisticated way about her, but always thought of herself as a country girl. After all, she thought, they say opposites attract. With that thought in mind it came to her that she would never see him again. I should have asked him to dinner or something, she thought. She looked back to see if he was maybe walking around still. He was nowhere in sight. She was disappointed. She sat on a bench and waited for Joe, the man she was caring for, hoping that Steve would come walking by her. Her heart pounded with the thought that she might see him and have to step out of her comfort zone and ask him to dinner. But instead her heart slowly sank. Steve didn't come her way. She then stood up to go find a taxi. After getting in the car, she called her sister Linda to tell her about her flight. Linda and Cassandra were close and told each other everything. Needing to tell someone, she hoped Linda would be home. Linda answered. "Hello!" Cassandra said. "I've landed and we're on our way to Joe's sister's house." "How was your flight? Did Joe act up?" "No, thank God. Surprisingly, he was very good." Linda said, "I'm glad to hear that. I know Joe can get upset and violent at times. I was worried for you that he would act out." "No, actually, I had a very pleasant flight, I sat next to a very handsome man." "You did? Hmm. So did you get to know him?" "I did! I guess you could say we were playing footies." "Playing what?" Linda said. "Well, he took his shoe off and was rubbing my foot, and I took my sandal off and played back." "Well that's a first. I've never heard of such a thing happening on a plane. I think you read too many romance novels." They both laughed. "So did you get his number or did you give him yours? "No, that's the upsetting part. Linda, this man was hot. I mean, very hot! He's the man of my dreams! Really! I have dreamed so many times of a man like him." Linda said, "Do you know his name?" "Yes, it's Steve." "Do you know his whole name?" Cassandra said, "No! If I did I would call every hotel in the area to try to find him." Linda said, "Did you tell him where you were staying?" "Well, I don't think so. I did say I would be staying in the area for awhile," Cassandra said. "I guess this was not the time to be shy." Feeling very sad, she said, "I'll never see him again." Linda replied, "I can't believe you played footies with a man and didn't even get his full name or where he is staying." Cassandra said, "Linda, I have to go. I'm at Joe's sister's house." "Okay," Linda said. "Be sure to call me again sometime this week. "Okay, I will," Cassandra said. "Bye." Chapter 3: Steve Writing I had a rental car reserved at LAX, but I still had to wait in line for half an hour before I could get the key. The car was comfortable, silent, and the air conditioner worked. It came with good directions away from the airport, and in a few minutes I was in the usual L. A. traffic-one minute at 75, two minutes at 45, one minute at 0, then repeat. I took I-105 to I-110, then drove north past Century City and up to Pasadena. Los Angeles grows on you-like a mole, a wart, a melanoma. You eventually get used to it, unless it kills you. Coming from the green hills of Pennsylvania in the summer, I found L. A. horrifying-all city all the time. But I knew that in a day or two I would get used to it again and find it easier to see its beauty. When I'd first visited L. A., forty years before, when I was a boy, the city that's there now barely existed. There were a hundred little towns with mountains and deserts and miles of orange groves and vineyards between them. When I lived there in the seventies those groves were being cut down. Today, even the mountains are pared away, and hundreds of thousands of houses have been planted. They are often lovely, as if various Italian and Spanish hill towns had wafted across the Atlantic and landed on the Southern California hills, but there are so many of them! The time to visit L. A. is late December, before the January rains hit. The weather is comfortable: short sleeve shirt temperature in the day, sweater temperature at night. The sky is blue. The mountains wear berets of snow on their heads. But this was summer. Womanly Woman I could see the sky, but it was pale blue, not deep. There are no shadows in L. A. in the summer. The light smog in the air is nowhere near as serious as it used to be, but it diffuses the sunlight like a big reflector and shines it into places generally shadowed. I miss shadows. I sometimes think the minds of Southern Californians also have no shadows, no stark blacks and whites. Everything is relative, and nothing is entirely clear. Maybe that's a more realistic approach. I don't know. I-110 petered out in Pasadena, and I drove down Colorado Avenue to my hotel. There are parts of Pasadena that aren't great, but the average house price there is over $400,000, so even the dumps are too expensive for the sort of people who usually live in dumps. There are lots of shady trees, palms, fountains, good restaurants. A valet took my car. I checked into the hotel, found my room, put my clothes in the drawers, hung up some things, and put away my suitcase. I like a neat hotel room. When I walk in after a long day, I don't want to be reminded that I'm living out of a suitcase. As I had driven to Pasadena-an hour and a half to go about thirty miles-I had thought about Cassandra. She filled my mind. Not only was she utterly beautiful to me, utterly sexy and touchable, but she radiated warmth, compassion, friendliness, intelligence-things I treasure in a woman. She was like a dream. I thought of how I had touched her. For me it had been not sexual but sensual, a banquet of tactile sensation. The touching was so sweet, so delightful. I wasn't thinking, "I wonder if I can score with this woman? How far can I get?" I was simply enjoying the feelings. I wondered if I had gone too far, encroached on her privacy. Was she offended? After all, I don't just go around rubbing the arms and legs of women on airplanes. This was something new for me. What if she felt molested or something? I sat at the leather-topped desk in a comfortable desk chair. At my side was a telephone. In my hand was the paper towel on which I'd scribbled both her Los Angeles address and number and her Pennsylvania address and number. Maybe she wouldn't want to hear from me, but at least there was a chance. We had passed like ships in the night, but I'd caught the name of the other ship and had access to my ship's telegraph office. There was hope. SOS-SOS-SOS. Still, I'm rather shy, and initiating phone calls isn't easy for me. I sat at the desk for a long time, planning my call, wondering if she'd arrived yet, what I should say, what my tone of voice should be. Finally I brought my courage to the sticking point and dialed. Joe answered. I could tell it was Joe. The voice. Were they already letting him answer the phone there? "Hi, Joe," I said. "May I talk with Cassandra?" "Okay," Joe said. No questions. "Hello?" Cassandra said. I recognized her sweet, full voice. "Hi there," I said. "This is Steve, from the plane." There was a moment of silence. Was it discomfort or shock or anger? Was it a pause to regain lost self-composure? "Well," Cassandra gasped, "prayers ARE answered, after all. How did you get my number?" I confessed my theft of personal data. "I hope you aren't mad," I said. "I've never done this before, and I don't want to invade your privacy, but it was such a pleasure meeting you that I didn't want you to disappear out of my life." "I'm glad to hear that," Cassandra said. "I felt the same, but I failed to spot your luggage tag, and when I tried to find you you'd disappeared." "I don't know what your schedule is," I said, "but if you have any time available when I don't have to be in a meeting, I'd really like to see you." "I'd like to see you, too," Cassandra said. I sighed with relief. "I can't see you tonight," she continued. "It will take a while to get Joe settled. He hasn't seen his sister in quite a few years, and it will take time to rebuild his memories of her and her family." "How about tomorrow?" I asked. "Well, that depends on how he's doing, but my guess is that he won't be ready to spend a whole day alone with his sister yet." "Can we take him out somewhere together?" I said. "Sure. Where?" "There's Disneyland, but that might be pretty crowded." "Well, people like him sometimes don't do too well on the fast rides, anyway. Sometimes they get sick and lose their lunch. Not pleasant." "That's true," I said. "When my youngest son was little he loved to play with Legos, and his greatest desire was to visit Legoland. It's down toward San Diego." "Oh," Cassandra said. "That sounds perfect. Joe can't do the little Lego sets very well, but he loves the big blocks, and he loves those monthly catalogs. Someone from the state home signed him up. He brought some with him in his suitcase." "Okay, great," I said. "When shall I pick you up?" "How about one?" "That's fine. I have your address, so I can find you. See you then." I didn't sleep very well. Maybe that was because I usually don't sleep well my first night in a strange bed. I think it was more because I couldn't get Cassandra out of my mind. It turned out that Joe's sister lived in Covina, about an hour from Pasadena, and at one the next day I was there. It was a lovely day, dry and sunny, of course, clearer than usual for the summer, with a pleasant breeze from the west. I knew there would be a nice ocean breeze down at Legoland. Joe was leaping around like a puppy as I drove up. Cassandra was gorgeous, her beautiful face glowing with joy. She wore a black knitted thing with straps over her shoulders-I don't know what to call it. It had patterns of sequins on it that caught the sun. It exposed her creamy, satiny neck, shoulders, and arms. She wore a full, flowing skirt down below her knees. It swished gracefully as she walked and emphasized her shapely, womanly figure. No heels today, but sensible shoes for walking. Good girl. Cassandra came down the sidewalk and gave me a quick hug. "A little complication," she said. "Would it be okay if Joe's sister's two kids come, too? They love Legos, and they've never been to Legoland. It would be a good bonding experience for Joe." "Sure, no trouble," I said, "so long as you come, as well." We went into the house and met Joe's sister and met her kids, Jill and Bill, aged eight and ten. They had all eaten lunch. We packed into the car and set off. The car was big enough. Cassandra sat beside me. The three "kids" sat in the back-it was hard not to think of Joe as a kid, even though he was at least forty. The kids chattered and argued and fought in the back, commented on everything they saw. Cassandra and I talked in the front when we weren't answering questions about our estimated time of arrival. "I hesitated to call you," I said. "I was afraid you might be angry." "I was," Cassandra said. I glanced at her fearfully. She laughed. "I was angry that I didn't get your phone number. I told my sister Linda about meeting you, and she told me I was socially inept." "Oh! You didn't seem socially inept to me yesterday. It was just a special sort of time for us." "You can say that again," Cassandra said. "Definitely special, definitely a first, but not, I hope, unique." Her hand was on her lap. I took it in mine. It was small and soft and graceful, yet rounded. I didn't seize it. I didn't clutch it until the sweat poured from us. I held it lightly, rubbed my fingers over it. I could feel her thigh and her silky skirt beneath my wrist, but I controlled myself. It was daytime, and there were children watching. The traffic at one wasn't bad, and we reached Legoland by three, when the traffic gets dramatically worse. By this time the early birds were leaving, so we found a parking space near the entrance. I put the five tickets on my credit card. Joe's sister had sent along money for her kid's tickets. I saved it for snacks. Actually, I like Legoland. It's my kind of place. I hate rollercoasters. The rides at Legoland are all appropriate for six year olds. Just my speed. I also like sculptures and castles and towns made of Legos, millions of them. It was fun. Not so much exciting as fun. I'd love to have enough Legos to make something big enough to live in. Joe and the kids had a great time. When we walked around, Cassandra and I walked behind them, hand in hand. When we went on rides the three of them took up a whole seat, and Cassandra and I rode in the seat behind. This gave us a little privacy. We held hands. I massaged her silky thigh beneath her silky skirt, and the flow of the skirt made this much more exciting than when she was wearing jeans. The feel of her made me hard. When we entered a tunnel for a subterranean ride I took her lovely face between my hands and gently kissed her. I fed on her lips, sucking first one than the other into my mouth. I darted my tongue into her mouth, and she moaned. She shared her tongue with me. I felt fingers tracing the length of me in my jeans, and again she moaned. But then we returned to the light, and we disengaged. After all, there were families in the cars behind us. It was a delicious game. We walked, waited in line, rode on little rides, kept an eye on the three "kids." When I had the chance I kissed Cassandra. Oh, my, what a wonderful kisser. Just the way I like it: slow, relaxed, exploring, reveling in the sensation and taste of it all. Sometimes I nibbled her ears, gently tracing the inner and outer whorls with my tongue. Sometimes I kissed the sweet hollows of her neck. Then, again, the light. We stuffed the kids with pizza, hot dogs, ice cream, all the food that makes kids smile with contentment on outings like this. They were all surprisingly good together. The younger ones seemed very comfortable with Joe, as if he were a big playmate, and he was more relaxed than we expected. We rode more rides as the sun set, then enjoyed the fireworks that closed the evening's entertainment at ten. People flooded to the exits. We made sure everyone went to the restroom before we left. I kept an eye on Joe and Bill in the men's room, and Cassandra kept an eye on Jill. We didn't want anyone wandering away in the darkness. We found our car and eventually got out of the parking lot and onto the freeway. The "kids" chattered happily as I held Cassandra's hand or stroked her skirt-covered thigh in the darkness. Then they chattered sleepily. Then they fell silent, one by one. I looked back. "Looks like they're all asleep," I said. "I'm nearly there myself," Cassandra said. "I'm on Pennsylvania time. It's after one in the morning my time." "Why don't you just lean your seat back a little and relax?" She put her seat back about six inches, closed her eyes, and sighed. I had to keep my eyes on the road-you don't dare drift off on an L. A. freeway. That way lies destruction. But my hand was free. Cassandra disengaged her hand from mine and placed it gently on my forearm. I stroked her thigh through her skirt, but now, with her hand elsewhere, I was free to use my fingers on it. Her legs were relaxed, opened a bit, not pressed tightly together. I was free to caress the thigh closest to me, enjoying the soft give of it. Then I noticed that really that silky skirt slid over her thighs very sweetly, and it occurred to me that it slid up as well as down. I slowly inched up her long loose skirt until my hand was on her soft bare knee. It was a lovely knee, not bony, but yielding, supple. I gently massaged her knee. Cassandra said "Mmm" quietly. My hand drifted upward, and I was caressing her naked thigh. I glanced over. It glowed palely in the glare from headlights and the broader light from lampposts along the road. It looked creamy, milky, utterly smooth and luscious and giving. It felt even better than it looked. I slid my hand along the top of her thigh. I slid my fingers deep around the curve of her thigh, and her legs opened wider. She liked this. Women have a hollow in their inner thighs. For many women it is exquisitely sensitive. That's the way it was for Cassandra. I trailed my fingers up and down this hollow. She moaned again, and I sensed rather than saw her face tensing a little. Higher up and deeper in-was there treasure to be found? I slid my hand up, and what I found made my already hard cock even harder. My hand sunk into hot, wet, bare woman-flesh, not covered by panties. It was an utter turn-on, utterly unexpected. Cassandra inhaled deeply and loudly, and her legs opened wider. When I had myself under control again after the shock, I glanced over at her. She was looking at me with her big eyes, smirking at my reaction? "Like it?" she said quietly? "I took them off in the restroom before we got in the car. I wanted to give you easier access." "You are an amazing woman," I said. I began squirming my fingers back and forth in the slick, slippery wetness of her. She loosened her seatbelt enough so she could slide forward in the seat. Then she rested her right foot on the edge of the dashboard and her knee against the window. Discreet? No. But it was night, it was late, the "kids" were asleep, and it was L. A. If anyone was watching, let them. They could look, but they couldn't touch. She had pubic hair. That made me happy. I know a lot of women shave it off these days, but I like it. I wished I could see it, but I couldn't. I ran my fingers through it. I grabbed handfuls between my fingers and gently tugged. Again I traced my fingers up and down her inner thighs. Her eyes were closed, her expression intent on herself, focused, her lips parted, her breath deep and steady. I cupped the swelling lips of her cunt in my hand and squeezed. They were a delicious handful. I squeezed rhythmically and tugged them outward and downward, pulling at her clitoris without touching it. I pulled the handful up, over and over, putting pressure on her clit each time. Cassandra exhaled in a puff every now and then. I slid my fingers between the lips. She was so juicy, so squishy. Yum. I wanted to plunge my face between her legs, but that wasn't really an option at the moment. Half of my mind was concentrating hard on my driving. Keep the speed up; don't weave. My mind flashed back to New Year's Eve, 1974, just a few miles away from where we were now. I had invited a girl to spend the evening celebrating at Disneyland. There were supposed to be great fireworks at midnight. We'd gotten lost and driven around in Watts for a couple hours, terrified. We finally found a freeway on-ramp about one a.m. and were driving home to Riverside, never having found Disneyland. A cop pulled us over. I knew I wasn't speeding. What's the problem, officer? I had weaved out of my lane slightly. This was the night the new sobriety tests came into effect. I hadn't had a drink in a month. That didn't matter. I had to walk straight along the white line beside the road. I've never been able to walk a straight line like that. Then the cop told me to close my eyes and stretch out my arms. I did. Now touch my nose with my right forefinger. I did. Now straighten out my arm. I did, vigorously. Right into the nose of another cop who had pulled up behind the first cop and walked up beside me without my realizing it. My eyes opened in surprise and fear. I thought I was going to be beaten or shot. Instead the first officer smelled my breath. Clean. He told me to get on home and drive carefully. Happy New Year! Thanks; you, too. We drove on home. This time my girlfriend kept her head OUT of my lap. That's why I had been weaving a little. I hadn't explained that to the cop. If I had, I might not have had to walk the line. Anyway, half of my mind was concentrating on the road, but the rest of me was sliding into Cassandra. Her wetness was, what? What was it like? It was wet and slippery, but not greasy. It was fluid, rather than thick, clear, highly lubricating, but quick-drying in the air. Sometimes I analyze too much. I pinched her inner lips between my thumb and the side of my forefinger and rubbed them together. They were delicate, but substantial and rubbery. I tugged on them, stretching them out beyond her outer lips. I slid two fingers between the lips, around the little curve of her urethra, and around the corner into her vagina, shallowly, just enough to coat them thoroughly. Then I slipped them up to her clitoris, my index finger to the left of it, my middle finger to the right, my thumb and other fingers separating her. I could feel the body of her clit between my fingers like a tiny cock. My fingers squeezed it gently as they rubbed up and down. With each slow stroke I pulled down on it, stretching it, tugging at the delicate nerves. Cassandra's involuntary moan was almost like a sob. That seemed to be a good place for her. I continued, slowly, stroke after stroke. "A little tighter and higher," she said. I like it when a woman tells me what to do. I obeyed. "Now a little more pressure a little further down." I could do that. "That's it. Don't stop." I rubbed her lovingly, smoothly. Cassandra seemed more and more intent on her feelings. She emitted little squeaks, as if she were a mouse squeezed tight. Then her face puckered up and her body jerked several times, almost as if she were having a seizure. Then, as I stroked her, she began to sob quietly, tearlessly, in time with my strokes, with a little cough-like jerk with each sob. Finally she placed hand on mine and said, "Wait. Give me a break." Cassandra panted for a while, then her breathing slowed and steadied. "That was so good," she said. "Thank you. It's been a long time." "You deserve it, and a hundred like it," I said. When she had recovered her balance, I slid my hand up under her sleeveless sweater and slid my hands over her bra with the back of my hand-the front of my hand couldn't reach them, of course, given my position. I could barely feel her erect nipples through the fabric. I could more easily feel her breasts above the bra. Cassandra placed two hands to her bra and slid it up over her breasts, freeing them. One nipple fell into my hand, between my fingers. Her breasts were full, round, delectable. They weren't new breasts, I sensed. They had been used. She had children. She wasn't fourteen. Her breasts were full, long, and pendulous, but the areolas were small, the size of silver dollars, and thick. They were lovely and loveable breasts. I teased her nipples, tugged at them, enjoying the curves. Then I returned to the garden between her thighs, and once more I lifted her to the heaven of feeling she had experienced before. Once more she quivered and shook, squeaked and sobbed quietly. The "kids" slept on. "What about you?" Cassandra said when she'd recovered. "Can I do anything for you?" "I'm okay," I said. "This is about you, not me." But Cassandra wasn't satisfied with that. She straightened up, leaned toward me, and kissed my cheek. With her right hand she unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, then slid her cool fingers beneath my underwear. I could feel them sliding, pushing hard because of the tight jeans. Then she had it. Her soft fingers slid around my cock and grasped it gently. It took two hands to get it out, and of course with my pants on she couldn't get it all out, but it was out, and the cool softness of her hands was heavenly. Then she leaned her head into my lap. I could feel her warm breath on my cock. Then I felt her tongue slowly circling the head of it, exploring, licking the rim. Then her mouth sank down over it, engulfing it with wetness as her right hand massaged the shaft. I groaned and barely kept the car in a straight line. I put my hand to the crown of her head and gently raised her head. She mewed like a kitten withdrawn from its mother's nipple. "Sorry," I said. "I have to drive; on the road; right side up. I love what you're doing, but let's wait until tomorrow. Let me do you. Just relax and enjoy it. You don't need to reciprocate." Womanly Woman "I want it in my mouth," Cassandra cooed girlishly. "Please?" "Please, not now," I said, "much as I'd like to." "May I at least hold it?" "Okay, hold it," I said. "I'd love that. But just hold it. Don't try to make me come while I'm driving. I've done that before, but it's dangerous." Cassandra leaned back and slid down. When I returned to her silken thighs and squishy cunt she again put her foot on the dashboard. Oh, she was sweet. I loved touching her. I loved giving her pleasure. She came three more times before I said, "We get off at the next exit." Then she straightened herself up, pulled her bra into place, smoothed down her skirt. She pulled down the sunshade, opened the lighted mirror, and examined her beautiful face. "I'm sure anyone can tell what I've been doing from the contented look on my face," Cassandra said. "I want to see that look on your face as often as possible," I said. I pulled into Joe's sister's driveway a few minutes after midnight. We woke up Joe and the kids and got them inside. Cassandra turned back to me at the door, kissed me quickly on the cheek, and whispered, "Call me tomorrow morning. I owe you one. Or more than one." "You are magnificently lovely," I whispered back, continually amazed by her beautiful face so close to mine. Who needs sex? It's almost as satisfying just looking at that face. I could hear a soft sort of ripping sound as she climbed out of the car, the sound of her skirt peeling off the seat. Even in the dim light I could see that the back of her skirt was wet, and I knew why. I grinned. When I returned to the car, I found that it smelled like a cathouse on Sunday morning. I grinned and inhaled deeply. It was HER smell, the smell of satisfaction. I liked it. I liked satisfying her. I put my hand on the passenger seat. It was wet. Fortunately the cloth fabric was black. The moisture wouldn't leave a stain. But I drove back to my hotel with a couple windows open to dry out the upholstery. Chapter 4: Cassandra Writing As Cassandra, the kids, and Joe entered the house, Joe's sister Joann asked everyone if they had a good time. Joe was so excited that he could hardly speak. The kids were jumping up and down, telling their mother that they had ice cream, hotdogs, and candy. Joe was laughing so hard that he dropped to the floor and rolled around, and the kids jumped on him and tickled him. There were big happy smiles on everyone's face. Cassandra was sure she had the biggest smile of all. Joann said, "Is he always this happy?" Cassandra said, "No. It's very important that you give him his medication on time. Joe has been doing very well, but he does have outbursts sometimes." Joann said, "You're very brave, Cassandra, to travel with him by yourself." "Joe's okay," Cassandra said, "if you know the warning signs. That's why I'm here: to teach you how to keep him happy. Joe seems to love being around the children. I think if we have any trouble with Joe, it will be when it's time to leave and go home. But I don't want you to worry about that now, though. I want your family to enjoy Joe's visit. In fact, I was thinking of leaving Joe here without me for a day. What with having the kids to play with, I think Joe will do fine." Joann said, "So who was that very nice man who invited all of you to go out? Is he with your company?" "No, I met him on the plane, believe it or not." "Oh my, and he was willing to take all of you out like that?" With a big smile Cassandra said, "Yes, there are still really good people in the world." "He sure made everyone happy tonight. Is there any way I can thank him?" "Well," Cassandra said, "I asked him to call me tomorrow." "You did? Hmm, did I see a twinkle in your eye when you said that?" "Well, I do find him interesting and handsome. Meanwhile, the kids are running around like little Indians." Laughing, Joann said, "How much junk did you feed them?" "Enough to keep them all happy. You can thank Steve for all that, too-he bought it all for them." "Time for bed, everyone," Joann announced. "I hope you don't mind sleeping on the pullout," she said to Cassandra. "No, I don't mind. I'm so tired I think I could fall asleep anywhere." "Well then, let me get your pillow and blanket," Joann said. After things calmed down, Cassandra went outside and sat on the swing in the yard. It was a beautiful night, she thought. She stared up at the stars as they twinkled. An almost-full moon was shining brightly in a very clear sky. The adventures of the day went through her mind. She had never had a date like this one her whole life. Thinking how things had happened so fast, she felt it was a combination of feeling relaxed around this man and being attracted to him. She was wondering what Steve was doing about now. Taking in the night air was making her even more relaxed, so off to bed she went. She was awakened by the smell of coffee and the sound of cartoons. Joe sat with Jill and Bill in his pajamas watching the television. Cassandra felt so happy for Joe-he looked so much at home being around the kids. She made her way to the kitchen to find Joe's brother reading the newspaper. "Good morning," Cassandra said. "Good morning. Help yourself to some coffee. Joann will be down shortly to make breakfast." "Thanks," Cassandra said. "I don't know what I would do without my coffee in the morning." When Cassandra sat down she took the opportunity to ask him what he thought of Joe. He said, "He's a lot different than the last time I saw him." "Yes, he's come a long way. I think getting out of the institution is the best thing that has happened for him." "I hear your boyfriend took all of you guys out yesterday. Blushing a little, Cassandra said, "Oh, no, he's not my boyfriend. I mean, he's a friend I've just met." Then, with a big smile, she added, "I hope we can become closer. He seems to be a great guy." Joann came to the kitchen and made everyone breakfast. Cassandra was observing them as they ate breakfast, thinking, "It's a shame Joe can't live here all the time. What a great family life that would be for him." Cassandra announced that if it was okay with everyone, she would disappear for the day and give them all alone time with Joe. Joann said, "That would be fine, but can you leave me your cell phone number in case I need you for anything?" Cassandra said, "Yes, I'll be on call for you if you need me. So, Joe, what do you think? Is it okay if I leave you with your family now?" Joe said, "Yes, but can I sleep over again?" "Yes, you can, Joe. If you are good, I think your sister is going to let you stay here for a while." Joe looked at his sister and said, "I will get a gold star every day." "Yes, I forgot to tell all of you that Joe got the Gold Star award for the most improved behavior. Well, if you don't mind, I would like to take a shower before I leave." "Yes, please do." "I was thinking of maybe going to the beach. I'll need to rent a car first, so I'd better get moving." Cassandra showered and dressed. While she was packing a small bag for the beach, the phone rang. "I hope that's Steve," she thought. "Cassandra," Joann said, "phone for you." As Cassandra was getting close to the phone, Joann added, "It's Steve. I thanked him for being so kind and letting the kids come along yesterday." "Hello?" "Hi, Cassandra," Steve said. "So how are you doing today?" "Fine," Cassandra answered. "I have a full day off today." "Cassandra, I was hoping that we would be able to get together today, but it looks like I'll be in meetings until maybe 3:30 or 4:00." "Oh," said Cassandra. "But I do want to see you after that, if that's okay with you." "Well, I was going to go to Santa Monica Beach today. Actually, I was going to invite you to meet me at the beach, as well, but I understand. This is a business trip for both of us." "Cassandra, there's a fishing and amusement pier at Santa Monica Beach that you can't miss-it's been in too many movies. How about if I try to meet you there about 4:00? Then we can get some dinner." "That sounds great, but I'll be dressed for the beach." "Did you book a room yet, or do you need to stay with Joe a few more nights?" "Well, I was going to do all that today. I'd like to see how Joe does on his own with everyone." Steve said, "I have an idea. Why don't you let me plan a dinner date in my room for tonight? I'll order dinner for both of us. Or we can go out for dinner. Then if you like, you can stay with me or we can find you a room." Cassandra was silent. Steve said, "If you bring a change of clothes with you, then you can shower and get dressed there while I order room service, and we will see how things go. And if you aren't sick of me yet, tomorrow I'd like to take you to the Norton Simon Gallery. That is, if you enjoy Picasso." "Yes, that all sounds great. I was going to rent a car, but I think I'll wait and just taxi to the beach, then." "That's a pretty long taxi ride. If you can get Joe's sister to drive you to the nearest Metro Rail stop, you can take the train right to the beach, I think, or close. Maybe a train and bus combination would do it. She'd know." "Oh," Cassandra said, "That sounds good. Steve, I need to say something." "Yes," Steve said, "What is on that pretty mind of yours?" "Well, I'm a little concerned about what you must be thinking of me. Things have been going very fast for us, from the minute we met on the plane. And although it has been great, like a dream, really, and very exciting, I must say . . . I do want you to know that I have never been like this so soon with anyone. I mean . . ." Steve stopped her. "Cassandra, please know that I do understand, because it has never happened for me like this before, either." "Steve," Cassandra said, "I feel I've known you all my life." "I feel the same," Steve said. "So with that, then, there should not be a problem. I'll pick you up at 4:00 at the ocean end of the pier for a great relaxing night and dinner by candlelight." "Okay," Cassandra said. "I'll bring a change of clothes with me for tonight and tomorrow." "Great!" Steve said. "I can't wait to see you this afternoon." "Okay, then," Cassandra said. "Have a great day, and I'll see you at 4:00. Bye." Cassandra ended up taking the Metro Rail to downtown L. A., then taking the Rapid 720 bus from there to Santa Monica, then walking a few blocks to the beach. It was probably faster than a taxi and saved her about a hundred dollars in taxi fare. It was a beautiful day there at the beach. It was actually about 1:00 by the time she got there. She walked north of the big pier for a few hundred yards, past the volleyballers, the sunners, the surfers, the muscle boys. She stretched out a borrowed towel near a lifeguard tower. She had brought her bathing suit to California with her, just in case she got the opportunity. It was a sleek, shiny, bright blue one piece that showed a lot of cleavage but covered the cheeks of her bottom quite modestly. She reached behind her and unbuttoned the airy yellow sundress she was wearing, let it slide off her, and neatly folded it and stowed it in her bag. She felt a little self-conscious among the thousands of California girls with their slim thighs and flat bellies and long blonde hair. She was in her late forties, after all. Steve called her voluptuous. Some people considered her fat. Well, there was plenty of fat there, she knew, but when she was feeling really good about herself she admired those curves, found them attractive. She wasn't perfect. She was, one might say, plus-sized, woman-sized, though not seriously so. She had scars, both physical and emotional. Some people might not be ready for that. She was a mother, indeed, a grandmother, and that was a thought both scary and comforting at the same time. Well, if she were a grandmother, no one would care how she looked, anyway. So she said, "What the hell?" to herself and walked down to the waves. The sand was coarse-much coarser than the sand on the New Jersey shore she knew so well. The water was cold, much colder, despite the hot day, than the water she remembered from the Florida beach where her younger sister lived. But the water felt good. She waded into the surf, enjoying the waves crashing against her thighs, then her chest. She was watching some surfers gliding toward her when suddenly the wave they were riding broke right over the top of her, knocking her flat. For a moment she feared she would be swept out to sea and drown, but a few seconds later the wave was gone, and she righted herself in the waist-high water. "Rats," she thought. "I was going to keep my hair dry. Oh well. Let him see me at my worst." She noticed how the surfers and swimmers would dive right into a wave as it was breaking and come out behind it, then swim out to sea. She was a pretty good swimmer, and the water no longer seemed so cold, so she followed them out to the deep water. It was scary, but exciting and liberating-like her and Steve. When she tired, she body-surfed back onto the beach. "Oops!" she thought, "that was a mistake!" Her low cut swimming suit acted like a shovel in that position, and she now had a quart of California sand filling her cleavage. She bobbed out to the neck high water, faced the ocean, and shrugged out of the top part of her suit. She swished her suit around to get the sand out and rubbed it off her breasts, flapping them around in the current. Her nipples were rock hard from the cold water. Then she pulled her straps over her shoulders, bobbed back to shallow water, and returned to her towel. Cassandra rubbed sunblock on all those white places the sun was reaching, then lay back on the towel. In a few minutes she started feeling the sun working its way into her skin. There was a gentle throb of heat. She could feel it, almost like waves, coming about every three seconds, all from the sun on her skin. It was deeply sensuous, almost as if the sun were massaging her. She thought she might take a nap, but thoughts of Steve were going through her mind. She was starting to feel a little nervous. After all, he seemed too good to be true. And she remembered what her mother had said to her long ago: "If it seems too good to be true, you'd better believe that it is." She had wanted her mother's advice to be wrong this time, but was it? She thought, "I am not going to worry about anything. I am just going to go with the flow." After all, that is what she had been doing since she had met Steve, and it had all been good so far. So with that, she pulled a book out and began reading. It was a romance novel, "Seduction in Mind," by Susan Johnson, Victorian erotica. How appropriate the name of the book seemed. She enjoyed the erotic content, but when she came to those parts, she felt her mind drifting to someone more contemporary. She watched the time go by: 2:00, then 2:30, then 3:00, then 3:30. At 3:45 she pulled on her sundress, shook out and folded her towel, grabbed a brush from her bag and pulled it through her hair, and walked to the pier. She probably looked just about her worst. Or maybe she looked windblown, sun-bronzed, a goddess, Venus on the halfshell. She wasn't sure. She walked to the end of the pier to see if she could see any dolphins. She had her camera ready. She wondered if they even had dolphins in Los Angeles harbor. She was hoping for a good shot of one leaping up from the water. Well, maybe a sea lion, then. The sun was beating down so hot she pulled her hair up off her neck. All of a sudden she felt someone walk up behind her. It was Steve. He slid his arms around her just beneath her breasts. Oh God! "Hey beautiful," he whispered in her ear. Then a kiss on the side of her neck." "Umm," she was thinking, "he feels so good." "Is that coconuts I smell, Sugar?" he asked. "I love the smell of coconuts." He actually laughed right out loud. Then he kissed her neck again. "Suntan lotion, yum!" Cassandra turned toward him. She smiled and said, "How was your day?" "Long," he said. "There's a reason they call them "Bored Meetings." Fortunately, thinking of you kept me awake, if a bit less than focused. I was thinking of you all day." With that she slowly kissed him, then pulled away slightly and said, "I missed you." Then she went back to kissing him. Was anyone watching? Who cared? Let them eat their hearts out! After reveling in the sensation, Cassandra said, "This was a great day for the beach." "I know," Steve said. "I would have loved to be here with you. But it was just impossible. You look like you might have gotten a little too much sun. Your cheeks are a little pink. I'm sure you look good in pink, but maybe we'd better get you out of the sun for a while. You taste salty, too, so I take it you've been swimming. You'd better wash off that salt or your body will rust through." Cassandra said, "Sounds good." With that, Steve grabbed all her bags and off they went. They pulled out of the parking lot and made their way to some freeway, then waded through the rush hour traffic. This wouldn't be a fast ride. They talked about the day they had. Steve shared some of his favorite music. In an hour or two-who was counting-they reached his hotel in Pasadena and left the car at valet parking. His room was on the twelfth floor, just below the top. Cassandra mentioned that she hated elevators. What was worse, she was in earthquake country. However, she also admitted there was no way she was walking up twelve floors. As they entered the room, Steve said, "Well, let me give you the grand tour." He placed her bags on the bed. He showed her the bathroom. The tub was six feet long and four feet wide. "I just love this tub," Cassandra said. "I think I'll start filling it now." "Good idea," Steve said. "Would you like a drink, ma'am?" "Yes, that would be great. Do you have any rum and Coke?" "Yes, I do," Steve said. "Is Captain Morgan okay?" "My favorite," Cassandra said, somewhat surprised. Steve then said, "Also, maybe you'd like to look at the menu with me so I can order dinner, unless you would rather go out." "I think I would rather stay here and have you all to myself. Let me look at that menu. No, I can't wait to get into that tub. No, I think I will shut the water off for now. I want to jump in that shower first and get some of this sand off before I get in the tub, and I want bubbles in the bath." After shutting off the water they both went over the menu. "I know what I want," Cassandra said. "Caesar Chicken Salad sounds real good." With that Cassandra jumped up. "Okay," Steve said. "I'll bring your drink in for you and place it on the tub if you want." "Yes, that would be great!" "Would you like me to put some candles in there for you, as well?" "Oh yes," Cassandra said. "You are so thoughtful." With that she went over and gave him a big hug and a nice sexy kiss and said, "You are the best kisser. Off to the shower I go." With that Steve went to the wet bar and mixed a strong rum and Coke for both of them. He went over to the bathroom and gave a little tap, then entered the bathroom. "Cassandra, I'm putting your drink here on the tub." "Okay, thanks Steve." "Would you like some help in there? I can wash all that sand off your back," he said with a chuckle. "Ah . . . Hmm." She was feeling a little modest, but this was no place or time for modesty. "Sure, come on in," Cassandra said, "but you have to be dressed the way I am, so I don't feel self-conscious." A few minutes later the glass door to the four by six foot walk-in shower opened. Cassandra, standing under the spray, modestly turned her back to him. "Sugar," Steve said, "you don't have to hide yourself. You are a voluptuous goddess to me. So hurry and kiss me before my head explodes."