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Miriam

By: yesterdays



This is the story of how, as a man of 63, desperate and bereft after my wife died, I was eventually was solicited by and paid our 22-year old neighbor for sex. It's a story that in some ways is pathetic, but to me it's also erotic. I'll tell you right now that I came to love her, even though I don't think she ever loved me. She had affection for me, and I think came to really like me, and I know I made her come several times. But the reality is that she wouldn't have done the things we did together if it wasn't for the money. But Miriam may have saved my life. She was and is an amazing, complicated, and even now mysterious woman to me, and so it will take a while to tell our story—or at least my side of it. Like many things in life, our story was as much about the journey as the destination.

I was a professor of history for more than 30 years, and my wife, Helen, was a high school teacher. We fell in love in grad school, worked hard and got our degrees, struggled and then succeeded in finding jobs in a new city, had a boy and a girl, both now grown and with careers of their own far away. We had ups and downs of all sorts in life and marriage—and then suddenly, before I was ready (and thought I'd go first, somehow), it was over. As simple and as complex as that, one day my wife keeled over and died of a heart attack. 

I was pretty depressed, and in fact still struggle with it on a day to day basis. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have retired early, even though the house and the cars were paid off, and at that point I was somewhat burnt out on my job and tired of my colleagues. Many professors, as you can probably guess, can be royal pains in the ass. And I include myself in that. Even though I didn't like the seemingly endless faculty meetings and committee meetings, and was finding publishing a bit of a challenge, I still loved the teaching. But the students kept getting younger and younger, and the tough truth was that I was beginning to lose my touch with that as well. 

Travel, hobbies, and that historical novel I always said I was going to write called. Before we'd gotten to do much of that, though, Helen was gone. And then it was just a struggle to keep going day by day, and I didn't feel like doing much of any of that stuff I'd planned. I felt like I was going to die of a broken heart, and maybe I was starting to. The daily loneliness was often a lot to take.

This story begins six months after Helen's death. Our kids were no longer visiting much, I was still going to therapy and had my prescription for anti-depressants (that I didn't take, because I was worried about the side effects), and was still just trying to figure out how to survive. 

It was when I was out walking my dog, and she was doing the same with hers, that I met her. My little rescue poodle Fluffy loved people, but wasn't so good with her own kind, and tended to bark as part what might be called her Napoleon complex. But suddenly this beautiful brunette with slightly longish nose that I hadn't seen before was smiling at me and my dog with amusement, and her sweet and patient golden retriever seemed to almost have the same reaction. She looked a lot like Natalie Portman in her early 20s, although taller and not quite as "perfect."

"Are you Mr. Benson?" She asked, as our dogs sniffed and wagged at each other, and Fluffy once-in-a-while barked. She was dressed in blue jeans and a medium blue form-fitting t-shirt, and I could see she wasn't wearing a bra, because her nipples and the entrancing shapes of her perky medium-small breasts were making themselves known through the fabric. 

Looking at her liquid brown eyes, which were sparkling with amusement (I'm pretty sure she'd caught me admiring her breasts for a half a second), I said, laughing a little, "Yes—you must be a mind reader. But I'm afraid my powers are weak. I have no idea who you are! You can't be a former student, because then you would have called me 'Professor Benson.'"

"Well," she said, bending down to pet my dog and make funny faces at her, "if this is Fluffy, then I guess I am a mind reader."

I could only laugh for a second in amazement, as this beautiful young woman worked her charms on me and my dog. And I realized it had been a while since I'd laughed.

"I'm amazed at your powers, young witch," I said, trying to keep up with her, and added, "Are you a recent graduate of Hogwarts?" 

She smiled at what was a clichéd cultural touchstone for both of us, but played along, and said, with an Emma Watson-ish British accent, "You've discovered me! But you must never tell."

"I won't," I replied, and I couldn't keep from smiling broadly as I got down to pet her dog as she petted mine. And then she finally said, as we looked at each other between the wiggling dogs, "I recognized you because of your dog. My parents told me to look out for a distinguished-looking gentleman walking around the neighborhood with a little, white poodle." As she got up, she said, "They told me who you are, and asked me to look out for you."

I had felt younger for brief while as this lovely young woman, seemingly from nowhere, flirted with me a little, but now suddenly I felt old again. I was "distinguished." An old man who had lost his wife and was being looked out for. A widower. I stood up.

Miriam saw what must have been a look of pain and weariness cross my face, and looked concerned. 

"Are your parents the Ottingers?" I asked, trying to smile politely.

"Yes!" She answered with too much enthusiasm, but going back to her British voice: "You're a mind reader too! Did you learn Legilimency from Professor Snape himself? Or perhaps you taught him?"

"Yes. I taught Snape," I said in my faux British accent, rather like Alan Rickman's snide voice, which is something I did sometimes to amuse my American students, "Or, Severus, as I always called that little snot!"

She laughed, which was a sound like mischievous angels, or classical music mixed with alternative rock. She was genuinely amused and surprised, but I could sense she was also playing it up a bit to make me feel good.

"Well, I'm Miriam, their daughter," she said, holding her lovely, tanned, and slightly hairy arm sideways with her elegant hand out, almost as if she were inviting me to kiss it. I resisted the temptation (what would the neighbors say if they saw?), and gently but firmly shook her hand instead, saying, "It's very nice to meet you, Miriam. Your always parents speak very highly of you."

"Not always, I don't imagine!" 

It was true that her parents, who'd invited me over for dinner shortly after my wife's death, had mentioned that their daughter was academically gifted, and a very hard worker, but also a bit wild. At the dinner, since I was still in the raw part of grieving, and had trouble keeping up my end of the conversation, they'd rattled on about their daughter a little too much, and a little too honestly. I knew, for instance, that she had lots of boyfriends, one girlfriend they'd been introduced to, and also that once she'd been busted for pot by the campus cops at her elite liberal arts college. With the legalization of pot in some parts of the country this seemed more amusing to them than awful, and I tended to agree.

"Anyway," Miriam continued, as I was clearly lost in thought and not sure what to say, "my parents asked me to look out for you so that we could invite you over for dinner again. Is there any day this week that would work?"

"I should check my calendar, but I'm afraid to say that I think all the evenings this week are free. I have symphony tickets at some point, but I think that's next week. Or the week after that. Anyway, please thank your parents and tell them I'll give them a call."

She smiled, and said again in her British accent, "I'll tell them, Professor Benson. And may I say it's been *such* a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure's mine," I said in my regular voice with a genuine smile, "but please call me Rick."

***

The dinner was good. Sarah and Michael Ottinger were both good cooks, and the food was delicious. But I had to keep myself from staring at Miriam, who was wearing a black, elegant and yet slinky, somewhat low-cut dress. The tops of her perky breasts were on magnificent display, and I had to be very conscious to maintain eye contact, and honestly when I thought no one was looking I sneaked a peek a few times. She was a knock out and she knew it, but why she was dressed like this for an old man like me, I couldn't figure. I guess when you've got a figure and a face like hers, and an outgoing personality to match, it's a case of "if you've got it, you flaunt it."

Finally, Sarah got around to asking me a serious question of how I was coping. As I've already said, I was pretty depressed still, and although I tried to hide it, the topic just didn't help conceal that.

"Well, tomorrow," I said, trying to be chipper, "I'm going to call up a woman recommended by my therapist, and set up at appointment so that I can pay her to help go through my wife's things in order to help me get rid of some stuff."

"Oh, Richard," Sarah said, "that must be so hard."

As I thought of the dresses, the letters, the papers, and even the underwear that I had to get rid of, I couldn't help but choke up.

"Yes," I almost croaked.

"How much are you paying this person?" Miriam asked.

"Miriam," Her mother said, looking at her sideways and using a warning tone.

"No, it's fine," I said with an attempt at a smile, "She charges $25 an hour. But it's not just for dealing with my wife's stuff, which is going to take a while. She's also supposed to do some light cleanup, check that I'm taking my meds, might share a cup of tea with me, or even cook a meal and share it. It's basically paid house help with a dollop of companionship—or at least that's how my therapist described what she does. She's supposed to come two or three times a week for three-hour sessions each time. But I have to say that the idea of going through Helen's things with a complete stranger sounds much more painful and embarrassing than helpful at this point."

"Yes," Michael said, sympathetically, "I can imag—"

"For $25 an hour, I'll do it!" Miriam interrupted.

"Miriam," her mother said again, sounding exasperated, in what I guessed was an oft-used tone.

Michael broke in and tried to explain, "She makes about $12 an hour at Starbucks, and can never get enough hours anyway, and so double that no doubt sounds good to her. And, as you can tell, Miriam sometimes has expensive tastes in clothes."

"Daddy!" 

Now it was Miriam's turn to be exasperated. 

"As a lawyer, you should know to keep clear of other people's business," she said, somewhat more politely. "If Professor Benson wants to hire me instead of some strange woman, that's his call."

"Ah, well. Miriam," I said, hemming and hawing, "I think I'd feel embarrassed to have you helping clean up my kitchen or going through my wife's things."

She fixed her brown eyes on me, and leaned a little over the dinner table toward me, since I was across from her. This had the effect of pushing her stunning breasts out even more, and she said:

"But you just said it would be painful and embarrassing with that other woman. I bet it'll be less so with me. Wouldn't you like to try? If it doesn't work out you can just call her up instead—no hurt feelings and no harm done."

While she was saying this, I couldn't help but glance down for a fraction of a second at her amazing breasts, or what I could see of them anyway, and as she detected this I saw a tiny look of victory in her eyes.

I looked down at my plate to keep myself from more slip ups, and said, "Well, sure. I'm afraid it'll be terribly boring work. But if you're willing to give it a try, I'd be grateful. Even though you never knew Helen, your parents did a little, and..."

I felt like I might choke up again, at least a little, and then Miriam stepped in and said quietly, "It's all settled then. Shall we start tomorrow at three o'clock?"

****

"So how's my favorite retired professor today?" Miriam said, while petting Fluffy. And then she added in a different voice while my poodle snuggled her with licks and wags, "And how is my favorite little Fluffy?"

Miriam had pulled back from the elegant and sexy glamor of her dress, make-up, and earrings of the night before, but in her shorts and t-shirt she was just as entrancing to me. She was too pretty to be described as "goofy," but there was something whimsical, playful, and hippie-sh about her. And her nose, which as I've mentioned is a little larger than the norms of classical beauty, was one of her most attractive features to me—in part because it kept her from being too "perfect." As some men know, actually talking with a woman who looks exactly like the cover of a beauty magazine can be difficult without stuttering and making a fool of yourself. Miriam had what I guess is called "approachable beauty." Miriam's legs were long, muscled and tanned, and I noticed she didn't shave. She was only a couple of inches shorter than me, and I'm 5' 10".

But I perceived all that in just a second, and immediately said, smiling: 

"Better, now that you're here. And thanks for doing this, Miriam."

She said with a grin, "I'm glad to help. And, as my Dad said, you pay better than Star-fucks."

"What?" I was somewhere between surprised and just not sure I'd heard right, but then I just laughed. She had a way of doing that to me.

She looked pleased with herself, and said, "What? Don't tell me you're a prude, Rick."

"No. Unfortunately not," I managed to say, suddenly feeling embarrassed, because I felt she could read my mind, since I couldn't help myself from quickly looking her up and down again. As I mentioned, yet again she wasn't wearing a bra, and I struggled to keep eye contact as her nipples poked at the fabric of her old, pink t-shirt that had holes in it that showed teasing bits of skin underneath.

"OK, what's first?" she said, getting us down to business, although she had a sly smile that acknowledged and seemed OK with the fact that I'd just been checking her out.

I tried to get back to being business-like, and said,"Well, I've thought about that, and I don't think I'm ready to tackle the clothes yet. What about we start with Helen's desk? I still haven't really touched it since..."

I could feel my expression fall, as I went from laughing to gloomy in just a minute. Those kind of swings, high and low, but mostly just swinging through levels of the latter, had been happening a lot to me.

"Lead the way," Miriam said, with another dazzling smile, looking right at me with her sparkling liquid browns, clearly trying to keep me upbeat and distracted. She didn't have any make up on, but had a natural beauty that made her even prettier to me than the night before when she'd been made up.

Looking at her once in a while left me almost speechless with attraction and awe, and this was one of those times as I just stared at her for half a sec. And from her pleased and amused expression, she seemed to like that effect she had on me.

But I snapped out it quickly, and brought Miriam up to the joint study that I'd shared with my wife. My desk was on one side, while my late wife's was on the other, left cluttered with papers almost as it had been when she'd died.

"This is—was—her desk," I said, working to keep an even keel as I stared at it with some discomfort. I knew it was past time, but it felt almost like a little betrayal to have an almost complete stranger go through my wife's things. But the reality was that so far I hadn't seemed to have been able to face this job all by myself, and so steps had to be taken.

Continuing, I said, "I don't think there's much that's essential here, since we kept the important tax records and wills and stuff in my desk. But there are perhaps some family photos, letters, and some records that maybe I should take a closer look at. And, you know, maybe there are even few things I could pass on to the kids. But I don't want to burden them. In other words, even though I've been tempted just to throw it all out, I'd like to find some middle ground to see if there are a few things that maybe should be saved. But my bottom line is more or less this: 'When in doubt, throw it out.' Here's the round file, and then this box here is for possible keepers. And let's not even try to get it all done today. Maybe an hour on this, and then we'll maybe go on to something else?"

Miriam didn't looked phased in the slightest by all this, and said, "Sure. I just had to clean out my room and desk at the apartment I had at college. I'd say the throw out rate was about 70-80%, but I had to look through everything to make the call. Does that sound about right?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right. Thanks again, Miriam. I think I'd better get out of your way, both because it's too distressing for me to watch, and I'm likely to want to talk with you about nothing, which won't get the job done. But in a while I'm going to make some English Breakfast tea. Would you like some?—caf. or decaf?"

"Sure. Caf. And while you're at it can you pour a shot of whisky in there for me?" She smiled, but looked serious at the same time.

"I'm sorry," I said, genuinely apologetic, "Most of the time I don't keep any alcohol in the house. Being alone all the time, I just decided...well, that it wasn't a good idea. I just get a bottle of wine on special nights when someone's coming over, which is rare."

"Sure. I get it." She nodded, and looked thoughtful, and then added, "That's cool. And I admire your self-restraint." 

Miriam now looked sensitive, no longer joshing, and then said:

"But we need to do something about you being alone all the time. We need to get you together with your friends more. And get you to join some clubs or something. And one of my other goals is to try and set you up on a date. Or get you to join a dating service."

"Oh," I said, "I appreciate the thought, Miriam. Really. But I just... I don't think I'm ready." 

But I was desperately lonely, and my therapist had worked to make me more open minded about this possibility already, and so I added, "But we can talk about it."

"You should talk about it with me, Mr. B. I think I can help you a whole lot more than that woman your therapist recommended. I bet she isn't an honors student from a top liberal arts college like I am!"

I laughed.

"Probably not. Although I feel like I've just became a 'senior' project for you," I said—lamely making a double meaning out of it.

She smiled weakly at that. That's another thing I liked about her. She wasn't fake.

I hesitated, and then added, "But...well, I know I'm just saying the obvious here, but it's going to be a awkward for me to talk about my total lack of dating with a beautiful woman, who no doubt is getting asked out on dates all the time."

"Ahh, you think I'm beautiful! Thanks, Mr. B!" She said in a playful, but slightly condescending way, and smiled. She seemed genuinely flattered, yet at the same time took it as self-evident. 

She continued, and was trying to be diplomatic, but took it too far by saying, "You are kinda cute too, for an old guy."

I winced. But middle age was over.

"But, I've already got a boyfriend," She said.

"You do." I said flatly.

And, as much as I tried to prevent it, my expression might have slightly betrayed me. It was utterly absurd, but somehow the craziness of my lonely and pathetic life already made me a tiny bit jealous, and I couldn't quite hide it.

"Yeah, Mr. B, I do. But he's not much to write home about. He's cute, but just a fellow slave at Star-fucks. But, back to what you were saying before, working there most of the time for me it's more like I'm getting hit on by customers and co-workers, instead of getting offers for real dates—although once in a while that happens too. But yeah, I get that it's going to be tough for you talking about dating at your age. And even tougher doing something about it. But as you've already discovered, life is tough."


Miriam



"Well, as Severus Snape would say," I said, smiling snidely and using my Snape accent: "Life *isn't* fair!"

She laughed a little, and said, "Yeah, he got that right. Poor guy. I have to admit though, I always had kind of a twisted thing for Snape. And aside from the fact that you don't have long greasy hair, you do look kinda like him. Although I think your teeth are straighter? But seriously, Mr. B, you gotta get outta my way. I'm still charging you even when we are just standing around here talking."

"Yeah, I know," I said, and smiled, "And don't worry about the money. I can afford it. And the talking part is probably just as important as the desk. Makes me feel like a human being again. Thanks. But the desk is important too, and so I'll leave you to it for an hour."

****

The bottom line is that she was great at it. She knew what to throw out and what to keep for my perusal. Everything in the trash seem to deserve to be there, as I saw as I glanced through a bit of it. But she rightly kept what should get at least a once over from me, although a few of those things, after I looked them over one last time, I put in the trash as well. I won't burden you too much with how emotional and difficult it was, but the fact was that it was a challenge to keep it together in front of Miriam, and she could tell.

After we were done with that for the time being, she could see I was exhausted, and so we had some tea and cookies in the breakfast nook in the kitchen. 

"Did you make these yourself, Rick?" She said, chomping on my oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, while slurping somewhat noisily on her milky tea. I couldn't tell if there was some reason behind when she called me Mr. B and when she called me Rick, or if it was just random.

"Yeah," I said, smiling and trying to be gracious, "I made them in honor of your visit."

"Well, they are delish," she said, finishing her third, "I'll need to get the recipe, as well as your secret for making them so chewy and not burned at all. But for now I'd better stop, because I have to watch my figure, as they say." 

And then she started taking charge, and said, "Show me your meds and vitamins, and I'll set up your pill box for you. I used to do that for my grandparents all the time when I was younger, rest their souls."

"No," I replied, "I'd rather you not do that."

"Don't you have a pill box?" She said, walking toward the bathroom.

"Yes, but..."

"Are you using it?" She said, as I trailed behind her trying to catch up stop her.

"No, but..."

"I know I'm bossy," she said, "but you need to let me do this, Mr. B."

She was bossy sometimes. And before I knew it she was in the downstairs master bathroom, and she'd already found my pills on the counter, and was looking through them. 

"What's this? Cinnamon? What's that for?"

"It evens out your blood sugar, and has some other good effects," I said, but after that I was momentarily paralyzed. 

And then she found my pharmacy bottles hidden behind a big vitamin bottle, before I could think of what to say.

"Well, you've only got two prescription meds. That's pretty good for a guy your age. This one's your antidepressant, which you already told us at dinner you're not taking. I really think you need to give it a go, Mr. B. And this is, oh..." she trailed off, "Cialis. I'm sorry, Mr. B, I hadn't thought about that." 

She looked up at me standing near her with hands out in my now failed attempt to stop her. She looked sympathetic, which was painful.

I was quite embarrassed. But grief and old age had almost taken me past that. Almost. I would have died about this a year ago. But now I just didn't care as much anymore, and in a resigned and sad way, just said, "Yeah, I don't take that one either. What's the point?"

"The point is: I'm going to get you a date," She said, mischievously.

She added, "And there's probably some older church lady who is going to want some action!"

"Please," I said, smiling and wincing at the same time. 

In spite of myself, I was still slightly amused, but in a pained way.

"So this stuff really works?" She asked, seeming very curious.

"Oh yeah," I said, not knowing quite what to say. "And I don't always need it," I awkwardly added, "But sometimes, at my age...You know a man's testosterone starts declining at age 25 or so, and so at my age..." 

I trailed off, still stunned that I was even having this conversation with a pretty and very young woman (although sometimes with women nurses and doctors these days, it's almost as bad for me).

And then it got worse.

"And so you take it, and 'boing'!" she laughed, "and you've got a hard on?"

"Well," I said, feeling I had no choice but to answer, "that's the very low dose kind that you're supposed to take daily. But I only took it as needed. But generally you need a...a romantic situation for you to..."

"Boing!" She added helpfully, and giggled. And then she even held out her hands in a way that was supposed to indicate a big erect dick—bigger than mine, but more or less right.

"I can't believe I'm talking about this with you," I said, now in genuine psychological pain, but also trying to joke about it. "I didn't think I could sink any further, but..." 

I was halfway serious and halfway not. It was still, even at my age and in my situation, and especially the more I thought of it, becoming one of the more embarrassing moments of my life. But again, to a degree I'd moved past caring.

"Hey, Mr. B," Miriam smiled at me with almost whimsical expression. "I apologize. I really do. That was rude of me. You said no, and I should have backed off. But I want you to know that you can talk about almost anything with me, including sex, and I'll tell you the truth. My life ain't so hot sometimes either. Take my boyfriend, for instance."

"What's he like?" I said, really wanting to change the subject. 

"He's a cute little nerd who lives with his parents," she said. "College drop out. Plays video games most of the day when he's not at work. And I play with him sometimes too, hour after hour. And then, sometimes, he decides he wants to fuck me."

"Well," I said, laughing, and somehow not caring much at this point that I was about to go too far, "that's completely understandable!"

"Mr. B!" she said, comically raising her eyebrows, and putting her hand over her mouth in mock surprise. 

Then she added, with a sense of ironic humor that was painful, but which I still somehow appreciated: "Well, keep the meds away from this guy!" And with that she put the bottle down.

She laughed a little. But she then said in a half-mock serious and half little girlish tone:

"But I know you're a gentleman. I can trust you, right, Professor Benson?"

It was somehow flirty the way she said it. But for me, if you untwisted it, it was mostly just the truth—at least at that point.

"Yeah, unfortunately." I said, suddenly serious and quiet again.

I couldn't meet her gaze, but added in a resigned way, "You don't have much to worry about from me." 

I was trying not to feel low again, but not managing it.

"Hey, if I tried really hard I bet I could get you to make a pass at me," she said playfully, clearly trying to shock me.

And then suddenly came she came closer, hesitated a second, and then even closer, and then touched her body against mine, giving me a slow hug. She was pressing her breasts against me through her t-shirt, and looking up at me with her lovely eyes. And my cock, even without meds began to harden in my cords.

"I don't think so," I said in a whisper. But I was mesmerized, and I tried not to move because I didn't want to break contact with her. This was by far the closest I'd been to a woman in any even slightly sexual way since my wife died.

Miriam then slowly pulled herself back from me, while keeping eye contact and studying my face.

And then she said, in a slightly different tone, "Sorry about that. Well, what's next?"

I was astonished, and just said, "Do your parents know you're a flirt?"

"No," She said, only looking a little ashamed.

"Well, that's not quite true," she added, "because Mom sees me sometimes. And guess who I learned it from?"

But then suddenly she looked worried that she'd gone too far.

"Sorry, again, Mr. B.," and now she suddenly looked guilty. "I'm really trying to do a good job here and cheer you up. But now I realize I just went way too far. Please try to forget that happened. I'll fill this pill case, including your prescription meds, which I really think you should take, and then let's do the next thing on your list."

Strange as it sounds, that's what we did. We worked on this and that, and tried to pretend nothing weird or embarrassing had happened. And before we knew it, the three hours were up.

And so I got out my wallet and started counting out 20s, and said, "Is cash OK? Or would you rather have a check?"

"Cash would be great," she said, smiling.

I handed her the money and she looked at it, and seemed puzzled. 

"This is a hundred bucks, Mr. B. You miscounted. Here's a 20 back," she said, holding it out to me.

"No, that's what I meant. It's a tip, just like you get at Star-fucks."

She smiled, and then laughed a little, and then stuffed the money in her black purse. 

"Are we OK to do it again in a couple of days? Same time? All is forgiven?"

"Are you kidding?" I laughed, "You've given an old man a memory to treasure."

"Really?" She laughed, and looked a little puzzled again.

"Really," I said, matter of factly. "Thank you so much, Miriam"

"You're a sweetie," she said, "And don't take this the wrong way, but let me give you a kiss on the cheek."

She leaned up and did that, giving me a warm and slightly wet kiss on my left cheek.

"I might not wash my cheek for a few days," I said comically, and laughed at myself.

"You're twisted, Mr. B. Seriously. Take a bath—you dirty old man," and she laughed, sounding pleased.

And then she was gone for the day without looking back.

****

As you've no doubt figured out, Miriam, from almost the moment I met her, was, as the cliché goes, rocking my world. I thought about her almost all the time, thinking about both things that had happened, and fantasy things that I wanted to happen. I even had a dream about her, which not surprisingly was sexual. She was hugging me, as she had in the bathroom, pressing her breasts against me, and my cock started growing and wouldn't stop. Soon it was hard against her, and she could feel it. In the dream, she looked somewhere in-between shocked and horny, and said, "Mr. B!" And then I woke up.

And in real life, lying in bed, I had a raging hard on. This used to happen to me all the time, but as the decades passed it didn't happen as often, and I didn't want to waste it. Going into the bathroom where just several hours before Miriam had pressed herself against me, I looked in the mirror at my rumpled form covered in pajamas. I wasn't bad looking for my age. My halfway grey hair was thinning, but I still had a somewhat muscled medium-build, and a somewhat handsome if older face. I guess I did look a little bit like Snape.

"Miriam," I whispered to the mirror, imagining that she was with me in the bathroom in this waking fantasy, "See how much I want you? Look."

And then, imagining she was looking, I untied and slowly lowered my pajamas, revealing my six and a half inch circumcised cock. My reddish head was filled and pulsing, and standing up at about a forty five degree angle. 

I got a little lotion, and continued the fantasy. Rubbing it on my shaft and holding my cock over the sink, I thought of Miriam: her eyes, her lips, her perky breasts, and tried to imagine her pussy, no doubt covered in hair that, like on her head, was brownish-black.

"Miriam, please," I begged, as I held my cock firmly and rubbed myself, faster and faster. I was very bad, and imagined her giving me a blow job. 

"Please...Miriam"

"Open...Your"

Mouth..."

"Uuuuuh!!"

To my shock, after only a couple of minutes, a week's worth of my cum suddenly shot out into the sink in whitish jets. It was the most intense orgasm I'd had in a long time. And I moaned her name in a whisper one last time. I felt guilty, but it also felt really good, physically and mentally. This only happened about once a week without my meds, and so I decided to take all my meds, just as Miriam had urged.

Because, as Miriam had said, I was a dirty old man.

****

"Did you miss me?" Miriam said at the door the next day, smiling and clearly knowing the answer as she petted Fluffy again.

"Yes," I said simply, and grinned.

But somehow I was then, for an instant, filled with shame, and broke eye contact and looked down. Irrationally, I was feeling like she could read my mind, and knew the intense sexual desire I had for her. 

But she seemed casual and happy, and didn't sense much of this, as far as I could tell anyway, and she walked into the house for our next session.

I was a little disappointed that she was wearing a button up cloth sweater on account of the unseasonably cool and windy weather we were having. I missed her somewhat revealing t-shirts for a second, but then she started unbuttoning her sweater.

"I'll just get this off," she said a little theatrically, as she started unbuttoning from the top.

"Okay," I said, and couldn't stop myself from watching and smiling.

She was aware that she had my attention, and smiled back at me in a flirty way, raising her eyebrows a little. She somehow made the simple act of taking off a sweater into a little tease. 

And then, underneath, I saw why. She was wearing under the sweater a low-cut peach-colored blouse of soft-looking rather sheer fabric. I could see quite a bit of tantalizing cleavage, and her nipples against the fabric made it clear that her breasts were free underneath. She was one of those women who didn't need a bra, because her breasts stayed up on their own.

I looked down so I wouldn't stare, although clearly she didn't mind showing off.

"Well," I said, trying not to look at her more than I already had, "why don't we go up to the desk and see what's in that last bottom drawer."

I managed to maintain eye contact, and she looked amused by this, clearly seeing the effort it was taking me.

"Sure," she said, in a knowing way, "let's go."

She lead the way, and I admired her shapely bum in her tight jeans as I followed her. Oh, I was a bad man. But on the other side of it, she seemed to be consciously putting on a show for me, and enjoying the attention and effect she had on me.

We got to the desk, and she sat down right away. 

I knew I could have stood behind her, and probably gotten a great view down her blouse, but suddenly I had a small stab of conscience, or was just ashamed. And so I stayed back, and just said:

"I'll leave you to it then. Thanks again, Miriam" and then I walked out 

But I said behind me as I left, "Cookies and tea later! If you want!"

"Sounds great," she replied, and I could already hear her opening the drawer and sorting papers..

****

An hour later we were enjoying tea and cookies in the breakfast nook again, as Fluffy took one of her long naps in her dog bed nearby. I couldn't help but steal a few peeks at her perky tits through that thin blouse as she ate.

"So," she suddenly asked out of nowhere, "what are you looking for in a woman?"

"Excuse me?" I said, guiltily, as if she had read my mind.

"Well, what kind of woman turns you on, in terms of personality and looks? We need to get you dating again."

"Oh," I said, "I like a lots of kinds of women. But really, I'm not sure I'm ready for the emotional entanglement of a dating relationship just yet."

"And so what are you looking for?" She asked.

"Oh, I know!" She added, ready to answer her own question.

"What?" I said, a little confused.

"You want to get laid," she said, and pursed her lips together, like a detective who had just solved a case.

"Well," I said, "Are you always this blunt? But maybe."

I flushed with embarrassment.

"Hey! Do you have any old flames you could hook up with? Any affairs you had during your marriage that you could revive?"

Miriam looked certain that she'd hit a bingo.

"No," I said to her, in a resigned but also proud way, "My wife and I were faithful to each other for 37 years."

"Really?" She said, looking utterly amazed and disbelieving. 

"Well, I know I was, in body if not in mind. And you may not believe me, but I think I can speak for my wife as well. She was progressive politically, but very conservative when it came to...I don't know how to call it. Morals?"

"Really?" Miriam said, still finding it hard to swallow, but realizing she'd need to trying something else. 

"You mean, in all those years as a professor, you never had an affair with one student?" She seemed to think she had me for sure.

"No," I laughed, "Although over the years I had a lot of pretty ones flirt with me a little. But I never..." I felt pathetic, but that was the truth. 

"How would they flirt?" she asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"Well, from my 20s in grad school until my even a couple of years ago, sometimes women would come to my office, and..." I trailed off.

"And? What would they do? I seduced a couple of profs in my day, and so I know how it's done." She looked like it was like playing a decent game of checkers—almost anyone should be able to do it, but somehow my students and I had muffed it.

"Maybe you'll tell me the stories of your lucky profs another time. But my students would just wear low cut blouses, and chat in a happy way, and then suddenly they'd need to get things out of their backpacks, or purses, and they'd bend down, and then..."

"Oh, like this?" Miriam said, and then she moved her chair aside and bent down to open her little black purse, which actually was at her feet.

I now could see her breasts and even her nipples completely, hanging down from her chest as the low-cut fabric of her loose blouse fell away from them. 

She stayed there for a couple of seconds, and I could see that she had the among the most beautiful breasts I'd ever seen. Curving, and pointed, with pale pink areolas and little pointed nipples. 

After she'd given me a good look, she slowly sat up, smiling at me as if nothing had happened. Which is actually just what dozens of women in my offices had done over 30 years.

"Wow," was all I could manage at first. And then I added, "That was actually beyond anything I ever saw in my office."

"Thanks, Professor B!" Miriam said, in spite of herself blushing a little.

"If you were trying to increase your tip today, well, then, mission accomplished. Ah, I hope that didn't just get me in trouble."

"I aim to please," she said, flirtatiously. But then she added, "But don't take that the wrong way. I'm a bit of an exhibitionist, but I'm counting on you being a gentleman."

"Yes," I said, "I do. I will! Whatever. I'd better stop talking now, or I'll make an even more of a fool of myself."

Miriam looked happy that she'd made me so flustered, but also seemed pleased she was safe from getting hit on. Although if I thought I had a chance...

"I believe you now," she said, more seriously, "that you never had an affair with one of your students. We still, however, haven't solved your problem."

"Yeah, I think my problems are unsolvable," I sighed. "But you've sure brightened my day."

"What about your problems?" I suddenly asked, and added, "What's your dream man like?—or—woman?"

"Have you been talking with my parents?" Miriam sharply asked, looking suddenly suspicious and annoyed. It was amazing how fast her countenance darkened.

"Yeah," I confessed, wincing.

"Blabber mouths," she said, still looking mad, and added, "Not that I care that you know I had a girlfriend. It's just the fact that they don't even know you that well, and I didn't know you at all when they told you, and there they were telling you intimate details of my life."




Miriam



"Yeah, but I think they thought I was so depressed that they were genuinely worried about me. I was so low I couldn't really have a conversation like we're doing now. And so they had to talk on and on about something just to prevent a truly painful silence from enveloping all of us."

"Well, now that you put it that way," she said, softening somewhat, "But I hope to hell you can keep secrets."

"Yeah," I said, "I really can. For what little that's worth."

"It's worth a lot to me," she said, seriously.

"Well, what is your dream man or woman like?" I asked again.

"I'll do the woman another time, but maybe it's not that different from the man. And I know it's not that different from a lot of women: tall, handsome, funny, successful, rich, muscled. A bit of a rogue, but has morals when it really counts. Loves me to pieces, but also gives me my independence." 

"Shit," I said, feeling a bit depressed at how high and stereotyped the standards were, especially for such an off beat and extraordinary woman. But then I quickly added, "Sorry." and then, "Well, good luck with that!"

"Yeah," she said, looking a bit moody herself, "But I'm also a realist, and go with what my choices are at the time. And often I fall for them harder than I should. Anyway, enough about me. Shall we get down to starting on your wife's clothes?"

"Yeah," I said, "Why the hell not!" Trying to muster up the energy for what was to come.

****

We opened one of the wooden sliding doors to my late wife's long closet.

"Wow, she had a lot of clothes," Miriam said.

"Yeah," I acknowledged, "She liked clothes. And we had enough money, so..."

I sighed.

Miriam was fingering through a long row of dresses of various kinds on hangers.

"Some of them are arranged by the kind of dress they are," I said, "but it's also somewhat chronological." 

"And so here, on the other side," and then I moved to the other sliding door of the closet, and started opening it, "are the dresses from decades ago. Ones she couldn't wear any more because she was a different size, or they were out of style."

Miriam came over and fingered through the oldest ones.

"Oh, look at this one!" She suddenly said, holding it out but keeping it on its hanger. It was a petite, loose, and low cut tie-dye dress my wife had last worn in the 1970s.

Almost in a dream, I said, without really thinking, "I'd like to see you in that one..."

"Ha!" Miriam laughed loudly, and with an ironic and slightly cruel edge, "I bet you would!!" And she laughed again.

Suddenly it was too much for me to be laughed at, even though I deserved it. I was ashamed and hurt, and I knew it would show on my face. I felt such a powerful upwelling of sorrow that I couldn't say a word, couldn't even apologize, but just turned and quietly walked almost like a zombie out of the room.

What a fucking pathetic jerk I was, I thought, slumping over the breakfast nook table. What a weird thing to say. And how lonely I was without my late wife. Once in a while I used to make fun of her dresses, but I really liked to see her in them, and she knew it. And now, I never would again. I was so sad, I knew I had to get rid of them as soon as possible. I didn't need Miriam to help. I just needed to take them to Goodwill in vast loads as soon as I was safe to drive. 

"Rick?" I hadn't noticed until that instant, but Miriam had silently walked up, and was now standing right next to me. I could feel her warmth. I looked up.

She was wearing the short and low cut tie-dye dress. Her long legs looked lovely, her breasts were barely concealed, and she had a sweet but sad smile. She looked like a time traveler from Woodstock—but a lot cleaner. She smiled warmly at me, but she looked pained and apologetic. 

I remained sitting, still depressed in spite of this vision of hot hippie beauty in front of me.

And then she said, "Just a sec. Wait right there!"

She walked into the living room, and I could hear the click of the power button on the antique Marantz receiver, which I sometimes turned off after she arrived. 

It was tuned to the local classical public radio station, and I could hear some soft Chopin piano playing. 

Miriam walked back over to me slowly, making an entrance. She smiled more broadly, and said, "May I have this dance?"

Emotions swelled in me as she held out her hand, inviting me to stand up.

You can't really dance to Chopin, but she pulled me close to her, and then we were pressed against each other, slowly rocking back and forth. I could smell her hair, which had been washed with some nice shampoo, and then I sensed very clearly my wife's distinctive, old-fashioned, "4711" European cologne which brought back memories of holding Helen. I suddenly froze.

I stopped, pulling back from Miriam, a questioning look in my eyes.

She said, quietly and seriously, "I found it on her dresser and put on a dab. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," I said, getting mist in my eyes, and then I whispered "In fact, thank you."

Miriam then said, very seriously, "You didn't get to say goodbye, did you?"

"No," I said, holding a hand up to my face as I choked up.

"Would you like to say goodbye now," she said, and suddenly she was almost as trembling and choked as I was.

"Oh god!" I whispered, in a quiet cry, and I started weeping.

But then, I managed to say through my tears, "Yes. Please."

I held her arms, looking at her, but because I was weeping barely able to see, and said, "Oh, Helen. I'm so sorry for the pain you had at the end. And I'm sorry for the times when I hurt your feelings. But I...loved you. Goodbye, Helen. Good bye."

Tears were dropping from my face, and I sat down again at the table, buried my head in my arms, and wept. 

Miriam hugged me from behind, and then got a few kleenex and leaned down to give them to me. 

I lifted my head to get them as she was leaning over to give them too me, and I accidentally got another view of her breasts.

I laughed, and croaked, "Again!"

She laughed too, but then stood up and concealed the view, and said, humorously again, "Now I know why you wanted me to wear this dress!"

"I'm so sorry. I apologize," I said, shaking my head, and looking down, ashamed again on top of everything else.

"It's OK, Mr. B. It's only human. And I think it's good that we could share this moment."

"Yeah," I said, almost recovered. "Thank you. I should be paying your the rates of my therapist! You're better than my therapist."

"Now there's an idea!" She grinned. And then added, in a business-like way, "But our session for the day is up. I'm going to go change, and I then I have to go."

"Yes," I said, almost matter-of-fact myself. "Let me get the money."

I was glad I'd gone to the ATM that morning to stock up. $80 her normal pay for three hours, but this was definitely worth double that. I wondered if I should go higher, but decided that might be weird. And so I kept it at $160.

Soon, she came in again, dressed back in her own clothes with her sweater on, smiling and looking pleased with herself, but clearly checking to see if I'd recovered.

"Sorry about the crying," I said, suddenly apologetic for losing it, "Pretty pathetic."

"Not pathetic at all, Rick. I think you needed that. And I have to admit I'm proud of myself for helping you through that. I've thought about going into psychology for grad school. I've been torn between that and International Relations."

"Well, psychology would be my recommendation," I said, offering my honest advice, "because I think you'd make more money! Speaking of which. Here's $160. You're worth more, no doubt, but...is that OK for now—future Dr. Ottinger?"

To my surprise, she took the money almost solemnly, "Yes, that's fine, Rick. See you next time for our next appointment. Keep working on the things we've been talking about. And, with your permission, I'll take the clothes to Goodwill as well as vintage clothing store I go to."

"Yes. Thank you again, Doc," I said with a smile, and then added, "Patient-doctor confidentiality?"

"Definitely!" She said, smiling, "And I know it goes both ways."

"Definitely," I repeated.

She leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

"Next time maybe we should get out of the house and try do something away from the memories?"

"Sure," I said, and smiled.

***

"I've got an idea of what we could do today," Miriam said, just a few seconds after she got in the door, dressed again in jeans and a t-shirt, and carrying her little black purse. Fluffy was, as always, glad to see her, and did a little wag-dance.

"Oh yeah?" I said, curious.

"You're a member of the Granite Club, right?"

The Granite Club was the private swim club a few blocks away from my house, which as you can guess was put in a former granite quarry. 

"Yeah. I try to go almost every day when the weather is good."

"I've never been," she said, enviously, and added, "My parents haven't found a sponsor yet."

"You know I would sponsor them, right?" I quickly explained, "but I don't have an ownership certificate for that. Only people living within a block of the place have those."

"Yeah, I know. But you can bring guests, right?" She looked hopeful.

"Sure. The guests tickets cost of few bucks, but...Do you actually want to be seen with some old guy at the pool?"

"If that's the price of getting in," she said with a smile, "I'll just have to grin and bear it." 

"Well," I said, thinking that it would probably be more awkward for me than for her, I stalled, and said, "Wouldn't you have to get your swimsuit?"

"Right here," she said, smiling, and waving her little black purse back and forth.

"No way," I said, "A swimsuit can't fit in there."

"Wanna bet?" she said, and opened the clasp, pulling out two white pieces of bikini that clearly wouldn't cover all that much. 

"Wow." I said.

"Wanna see me in it?"

"You got me there," I admitted, "But I'm not sure being seen with you that way is such a good idea."

"Just say I'm the daughter of a family you're trying to find a sponsor for."

"Hmmm," I replied, thinking.

"When in doubt, as Mark Twain once said," was her impossible to refute reply, "Tell the truth."

"OK," I said, "You win. Why don't you get changed in the bedroom, and I'll change in the bathroom."

A few minutes later I was in my dark blue trunks and she was in her skimpy white bikini, looking great. 

"Hey, nice chest Mr. B!" She said with genuine enthusiasm, "You've been taking care of yourself."

I smiled, looking down at my somewhat muscled and hairy pecks, flattered in spite of myself. My chest was pretty good for a man my age, and I had an almost flat stomach. 

"I'd try to say that same to you, but somehow it doesn't work that way. Plus I think you might slap me."

"I might," she said, but added playfully, "You like?" and swiveled her hips back and forth in a kind dancing rhythm.

"Stop that!" I laughed and looked away, "You're too much."

"See, I've taken ten years off your age already."

"Or ten years off of my life," I said, incredulously, rolling my eyes theatrically, "But either way, we're good to go."

"No way, Mr. B. What about sunblock?"

"OK," I said, although usually I skipped that because I always just went for a quick swim and then came back. 

And so, we started rubbing in sunblock, and inevitably she said, "Hey, would you get my back?"

I rubbed sunblock into her lovely back. I was trying to be efficient, but I was entranced her beautiful skin, freckles, and small moles, as well as her side boob. My cock started lengthening a little.

"Enjoying yourself there, Rick?"

"Um, as your father surely advises some of his clients, 'I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may...'"

"OK, your turn," she said, and she got behind me and started giving me a wonderful massage as she put in the lotion.

"Mmm," I said, not daring to say more, but in fact it felt delicious as she rubbed the lotion into my skin, and I now had half of a hard on. Thankfully, however, my baggy swimsuit, at least when it was dry, hid a multitude of sins.

"Feels good, doesn't it? I took a massage class in college."

"Thanks," I said.

I won't bore you with much about the trip to the Granite Club, which is quite deluxe, but is basically the equivalent of two Olympic size pools housed in a converted rock quarry. There's also a separate kiddie pool, a lap pool, a work out room, and a snack shop. Plus a dozen of the most attractive lifeguards of both sexes you could imagine. The clientele was similarly upscale and good-looking, even some of the older ones. 

We swam, and sunned. I discretely admired a few of the other women of various ages and shapes from under my sunglasses, and Miriam chatted up quite a few handsome young men, several of whom seemed almost as smitten with her as I was (and, yet again, I felt a very silly pang of jealously), before she found a sponsor for her family. Actually, I'd never heard of anyone getting a sponsor that quickly, but she was clearly a go-getter.

A few hours later, we were back home, and my time with her was almost up. 

We were still in our swimsuits, and she was clearly in a good mood. Me, not so much.

"Hey, Rick, what did you think of all the women at the Club today? Several of the older ones were rather fine, I thought. Jeeze there were a lot of nice tits on display, didn't you think?"

"Yeah," I admitted.

"But you're not cheered up?" She looked puzzled and annoyed.

"Well," I said, and I admit this was pathetic and self-pitying, "seeing all of those almost naked women just emphasized to me that I might never again kiss a woman's breasts."

"Shit," Miriam said, and she seemed genuinely annoyed, "If you are all that desperate to kiss a woman's tits, why don't you hire a professional. I'm sure there are plenty in this city you could find. Or, I could even help you find one. Have you ever used the services of a professional woman like that?"

One look at my expression told her the answer, which seemed to annoy her even more. I tried to explain.

"Well, once, many decades ago, when I was in Amsterdam, before I met my wife, I thought about it. I looked at some pretty dancing women through the windows. But, at the last minute, I chickened out. Or, at least another guy got there first for the one I liked. Anyway, that's just not for me."

"Really?" She said, but suddenly she seemed more forgiving. She was clearly thinking about something. Then she slowly smiled, looked at me, and said, 

"Listen. I gotta go, Mr. B. But give me a hug."

That seemed a like a risk, but I assumed it would be a light and quick hug.

But Miriam pressed her bikini-clad breasts against my bare chest, and her bikini-clad pussy against my already somewhat engorged dick in my swim trunks, holding me against her and not letting go, as she brushed her face against mine and clearly was getting ready to whisper something in my ear.

My dick twitched and started hardening against her. I was sure she could feel this and tried to pull away.

But she held me against her as my cock grew, and then slowly whispered,

"Next time, Mr. B., for an extra hundred, I'll let you kiss my titties." She paused for a second, "And I'll give you a hand job."

My dick throbbed against her with a sudden jerk, and was now completely hard against her fabric-covered cunt.

"Yeah!" she said, smiling and laughing as she separated finally, "that's what I'm talking about!"

She looked down at the tent my dick had made in my trunks, and addressed my cock, saying,

"I'm trying to make an appointment to get you some special attention. But right now I really gotta go."

I started to say something, I don't know what, but Miriam in her bikini was already walking quickly toward the door, showing much of her lovely ass, saying behind her:

"Think about it!"

****

The next day, as I let her in my house, she was wearing a cute yellow sundress with small blue flowers on it, which showed her lovely legs and a modest bit of cleavage. She was also, I noticed, wearing a small but noticeable amount of make-up.

I'd practiced my speech, and as she came in she read my face and did a subtle double take, going from looking confident, to suddenly somewhat vulnerable. 

As she followed me into the kitchen, she could tell I'd been cooking and sniffed to try to sense what it was. 

"Vegetarian curried split pea soup," I said, stirring it up and serving it into bowls, "I made it just for you—and for me too, of course."

"Ahh, Rick!" She said, looking at the pot and smelling it with pleasure, "you do care!"

"Yeah, Miriam, I think I 'care' too much," I said, setting the bowls down at the breakfast nook, "and we really need to talk."

"OK," she said simply, but didn't look entirely pleased. She sat down with me, and looked at the late lunch all laid out, with cheese, bread, fruit, and even flowers on the table.

"A date?" She said, suddenly sly, "Before the main event?"

"Um, I wanted to talk with you about that. But let's sit down and start eating."

"Sure. I'm hungry. Smells really good."

She sat down, and, blowing on her soup spoon with the complex, rich, and spicy soup, took a delicate sip.

"Oh my god, Rick, that is really good. You *have* to give me the recipe."

She took another spoonful.

"Yep," She said, "That is without doubt the best pea soup I've had in my life. Is that fresh ginger I'm tasting?"

"Yes, fresh ginger, fresh lemon juice, cumin, a little bit of ground cloves, and all sorts of other things. It's basically from the Greens cookbook," I said, pleased, "but I've added a couple of extra spices—and some extra butter."

"Delish, Mr. B, really yum."

I let her finish her soup. And then she went on to some cheese, the rye bread from the bakery, and the fresh sliced peaches from the farmer's market. She had a good appetite. And then I tried to start my speech.

"Miriam?" I finally said, as she was getting the last bit from her soup bowl with a scraping sound of her spoon.

"Yes, Professor?" Miriam said, looking up at me, warily, "I feel like I'm about to get a lecture. Is this class pass/non pass or for a letter grade?"

At that I winced, and my speech mostly crumbled. Instead I blurted out:

"I think what happened was my fault, Miriam. I corrupted you."

At this she held her head back, exposing her lovely neck, and laughed a long laugh and couldn't seem to stop.

Finally, she said, still giggling a little, "*You* corrupted me?"

I was a little mystified by her response, but said, "Well, as you figured out, I'm desperate to get laid. And, not just with anyone—you know I've been lusting after you. Although you have to admit," I added, "that you are one of the worst flirts and exhibitionists to ever grow up in an upper middle class Jewish home."

She smiled and said, "Got me there, Mr. B. Although I have some friends who are pretty much just as bad. We tend to goad each other on."

"Well," I said, trying to continue, "Anyway, obviously you...your charms...have overwhelmed...or I allowed..."

"Obviously," she said, smiling and looking sexy while raising her eyebrows.

"And obviously I'm lonely, and have more money than I can spend,"

"That was clear to me too, Mr. B," She said, smiling.

"And so I corrupted you...?" I trailed off lamely, feeling puzzled. And then added, "And, I'm sorry...?"

"Are you done?" She said, wryly, "Can I talk now?"

"OK," I said, but added, "It's a special occasion to have someone over for lunch, and I got a bottle of good Merlot. Would you like a glass? I really could use one."

"Sure, Rick," she said, "Pour away."

And so I spent a few minutes opening the wine and pouring us each generous glasses.

We clinked our glasses, and then each took long sips. I took two, in fact.

On her second sip, which was almost a gulp, Miriam savored some of it on her tongue, and then swallowed it, and said,




Miriam Ch. 02



I'm now picking up the story of how my beautiful 22-year old neighbor Miriam offered to trade me, a 63-year old widower, sex for money...

After Miriam gave me her amazing hand job, she walked away toward my bathroom. She closed the bathroom door behind her, and, I noticed, locked it.

I could hear the sounds of the bathtub being filled up with water. I was still longing to see, kiss, touch, and lick her pussy, to try to give her some of same pleasures she'd given me with her amazing hand job. But she'd said no for this time, and I respected her words, and respect her. 

I'm not quite a neat freak, but spilling my sperm on the carpet definitely called for some clean up. And so I did that quickly, getting wipes for the purpose and trying to be thorough. 

Before I was done I could hear Miriam, as she'd said she would, getting off in the bath:

"aaaaahh. Aaaah!"

I smiled, and hoped some of her thoughts might be of me. But in any case I wanted to get myself cleaned up too, and strangely felt, even after what happened, and even though it was my house, like maybe I shouldn't eavesdrop. And so I grabbed a change of clothes, and went upstairs for a quick shower and change. 

By the time I came downstairs, she was in the kitchen, tidying up the lunch things that we'd left well over an hour ago. I admired her for just a second from the back—her willowy form, her medium-length almost black hair, and her lovely face.

"Oh, Miriam," I said, "You don't need to do that."

"That's supposed to be part of what you're paying me for, silly," she said in a friendly and relaxed way (after all, she was now post-orgasmic too).

"I guess so," I said, laughing a little, and then joined her in the clean up. But I now felt a little unsure what about what our relationship was at this point, as I realized with a pang that her time with me was almost up.

I went to get her money, counting out $200, which didn't seem like enough to me, but I felt that going beyond what she'd asked might not be right, and that it might tip my hand too far—not financially, but emotionally and sexually.

Somewhat awkwardly, I waited by the front door with the money, and she came out and smiled at me. 

Without a word, she took the money with a smile, without counting it, and put it in her little black purse. Then she put the purse down on top of the piano, and came over to me. 

Sauntered was more like it.

What she did next was simple, but amazing: she slowly pressed her body against mine, so naturally and so sensually that it was like we were long-time lovers. Her body was was slender but soft, and fit so well against my relatively slender but somewhat muscled 5' 10" frame. And she was affectionate and playful, hugging me while tickling my ear a little with her fingers, while looking up at me with her liquid brown eyes and smiling.

I responded with a sigh of contentment and a big smile, as I reached my strong arms around her and squeezed her gently but firmly, which she responded to with a sensual "Mmmmm."

I must have looked almost giddy, because her smile, reflecting mine, was overflowing too as she leaned up to kiss me. Our lips met and our mouths opened, with another sweet butterfly kiss. And then, as she was leaning against me my cock began to grow against her, and as we kept kissing it was soon hard and throbbing against her waist.

She pulled back a little, looking slightly surprised, and said, "Again! You *really* like me, don't you? You know, Rick, I've never seen you this happy. And I've been thinking about what I said about you thinking about my pussy as you get yourself off. And I've decided that I'm going to expand my menu, just for you."

She had told me before that she'd give me a hand job for $100, but that that was as far as she went. I looked at her, questioningly and hoping she meant what I thought.

She read my mind that I wanted to make love to her, and be inside her pussy, and quickly said, "Oh, not quite that far. Not yet, anyway. But I'd like you to save yourself tomorrow so that I can take your load...in my mouth. Your whole load."

And then she slowly and theatrically licked around her lips, and my cock twitched against her as she was still pressing herself against me there. She smiled.

"Well," I said, only half joking, "It might be difficult to wait, because in the mornings..."

"You have morning wood? I'm familiar. If you can get up early, at about 5:20, before my shift begins at Star-fucks, I can swallow you as part of my breakfast."

"Yes," I breathed, as my hard on twitched again against her.

"You haven't even heard the price," She laughed.

"You're priceless," I said, even though I realized it was saying too much.

"True," she said, but seemed happy rather than offended, "But in your case it's $150."

"Yes," I said.

"Ok, sweets," she said, and then whispered in my ear something that surprised me:

"I like it when a man holds my head as I do it. And fucks my face hard, while telling me that I'm a 'good girl.' Can you do that?" 

She pulled away from me with knowing smile, and said, "See you then," not waiting for an answer.

And then she was gone. I was a bit shocked. I'd never had a woman ask me to do that before. But it made my cock throb. I was tempted to jack off right then, but I decided I wanted to build up as big a load for her as possible. I could almost feel it swirling in my balls.

****

I'm an early riser anyway, and that morning in anticipation I was awake at 4:30, and had a hard-on that wouldn't go away. I made a nice breakfast that I hoped we'd have time to share, and then waited for her in my PJs and robe.

When she entered I realized I hadn't seen her before when she went to work, which was usually from 6 to 11 am. Anyway, she was dressed up in a professional outfit—black skirt, white blouse with bra, a medium amount of make-up on, including deep red lipstick, and her hair had been fixed up a bit, making her look almost like a woman from Mad Men.

"Hey, Mr. B," She said, and then she smelled my breakfast, and added, "Did you cook for me again?"

"Yes," I said, walking her into the kitchen, "we've got scrambled eggs, fruit, and oatmeal with maple syrup."

She laughed, "I'm not sure I'll have time for all that, especially when I'm going to..." and then she looked down at the obvious bulge that was poking my robe out like a little tent, and got a big smile. 

She said, "Do already you have something in there for me, Rick? I like a man whose been thinking about me that way."

"Yes," I breathed, nervous and horny.

"Good!" she said, suddenly matter-of-fact, "Get it out. Let's do it right here."

And then she got on her knees in front of me, and started taking off her white blouse.

Knowing the time factor with her work, I didn't delay, and quickly dropped my robe to the floor, and then untied my PJs and let them drop too, revealing my hard six and a half inch cock with its slightly reddish head, pointing up.

"Oh yeah, Mr. B, you are completely ready," she said, looking at my hard dick in a hungry and horny way.

She then added, looking up at me, "I think this is going to be good for you. I know it's been many months since a woman's given you a blow job."

"38 years, actually," was my trembling reply, as my cock twitched in anticipation right in front of Miriam's mouth, almost touching her.

"38 years?!" she said, as she now removed her bra, revealing her perky medium-small breasts, which were a little pointed, and had lovely pinkish areolas and little nipples.

"Yeah, my wife never liked to do that. And I never insisted," I said, as I stared in awe at her amazing breasts.

"Well" she said, "Let's make up for lost time!"

And she then came right next to me, and she put her deep red lips just lightly against the head of my cock, touching my sensitive head. But she didn't yet open her mouth. Instead she gently kissed my pulsing head which already had a little bit of precum on it. I could feel her breath through her nose on my hard penis, which twitched again, making her giggle. I could smell her slight hint of sweet perfume drifting up toward me.

She moved back just an inch from my desperate cock, and then looked up at me again with her sparking brown eyes, and said, flirtatiously, "Help me with your hands. Show me what you want me to do."

And so, as she'd told me to do the previous night, I gently took hold of the back of her head with both hands, and slowly pulled her mouth onto my hard cock. She opened her mouth, and I pushed my throbbing shaft first into her red lips, and then into her mouth.

She kept looking up at me as my dick slid all the way into her wet, warm, and sweet mouth. She started nursing on me as soon I entered her, and the feelings were intense.

"Ahhh!" I gasped

And then, I remembered what she'd wanted me to say, and added, "Good...mmm...girl."

Suddenly, and almost involuntarily, I thrust deeper into her mouth while holding the back of her head with her soft hair. 

And now I started fucking her beautiful mouth and face. Most of the time I didn't go all the way to the back of her mouth, but once in a while I went deeper, almost touching her throat with my cock head.

She somehow smiled even with her mouth now filled almost to her throat with my man meat.

Over and over again, I thrust into her while holding her head, as she nursed on me.

I said every few thrusts, "Good girl!"

Then suddenly I thrust once far back, into her throat, while holding her head, and she started choking a little.

I stopped, worried, and pulled out, looking at her questioningly. My cock was wet with her saliva.

"Don't stop!" She said, breathing hard, "Sometimes I love to choke a little on a man's dick—while he does what he wants with me. In fact, you can do it even faster and deeper. I'd like that."

I still wasn't sure, and hesitated.

She smiled, and then she unfastened her skirt. Since she was still kneeling in front of me the skirt didn't fall down all the way, but now it was loose around her waist, showing a little of her tanned tummy, and then under that some white underwear.

"I'm going to let you in on a secret. Even though I'm charging you, you're really turning me on, especially when you go hard and deep. And so—"

With this she spread her legs a little, and reached her left hand down inside of her undies and started fingering her pussy.

She almost immediately started to sigh and moan.

"Uhhh. Ahhh! Mmmmuhh!" Her face started contorting as she masterbated in front of me.

Then she said, urgently, still fingering herself the whole time, "OK Rick. uh. Fuck my face. Right now. Uhh! I don't have much time. Do it even harder! Shoot your load deep into me. ah. I'm your good girl, right?"

"Yes," I said, watching her with fascination and lust, "You're my good girl. So open your pretty mouth—wide—so that I can fuck you."

She looked startled, and yet happy, as I talked dirty to her.

She opened her mouth wide, saying another "Ahh!" and she seemed already close to orgasm, and stuck her tongue out so that I could see where my cock would go, deep into her mouth and even to her throat, past her white teeth.

I held her head again, and slid my cock into her quickly, thrusting slowly at first, and then harder and harder, alternating between shallow and deep, so that she could breathe and didn't gag too much.

She was nursing on my cock even harder, and once in a while gagging a little at the same time, while still fingering her cunt.

Even if I was paying for it, it was one of the greatest sexual moments of my life. Here was the most beautiful woman I'd ever been with sexually, taking my cock deep into her mouth and throat, and nursing on it as I humped her face, while at the same time fingering herself.

Suddenly she flushed, and then closed her eyes. With shocking suddenness her whole body shivered as she came, even as I kept fucking her mouth.

She looked up at me again, looking as surprised as I was that she'd come, just as I felt own my load begin its unstoppable escape. I grimaced and tried to hold it in.

And then I tried say it one last time.

"Goood—UHHHH! HUHHH! UHHH!"

Her eyes bulged as I came, bucking my hips against her face and, just for a second, I thrust my cock all the way into her throat, burying my hard penis all the way into her, and holding her there with my hands as the first jets of my hot cum shot out of my swollen head and into her.

"Mmmuh!" She choked and squirmed a little as she took my cock and the first spurts of my cum at the same time.

"Miriam! Oh god!" I said, quickly starting to pull out halfway so that she could breathe. But my cock kept spasming cum in spurts into her.

She gagged a little again, but was smiling now, as she struggled to keep all of it in her mouth without spilling.

She gasped and managed to swallow some of my load, while the tip of my cock was still in her mouth.

And then she nursed one more drop from my cock head gently, while holding my shaft with her right hand, squeezing the last of the juice from it.

Then she released my cock, which was now standing out rather than up, and she looked at this thing that had been fucking her as it slowly drooped, and licked her lips.

She looked up at me and opened her mouth, showing me the last of my whitish cock snot on her tongue. And then she swallowed that down too, and showed me that her tongue was clean.

"Ahhhh," she said, breathing hard.

She added, "Wow!" still breathing hard, "That was really intense, Rick."

"Thank you," was all I could manage to say, breathing hard myself. 

Getting up, she said,"Fuck yeah! What a way to start the morning. Now let's have that other breakfast."

****

After feeding her my cock, I did indeed feed her breakfast too—and she was a hearty eater. In just a few minutes she slurped up and swallowed some scrambled eggs, oatmeal, juice and coffee. 

At one point, she took a small glob of white oatmeal and put it on her bottom lip, smearing it slightly, and then she looked over at me with a flirty expression. It looked almost like one of the bits of sperm I'd sprayed on her face the other day, and had pumped into her mouth just minutes ago, and she knew it. She made a sexy show of using her finger to put the white goo into her mouth. Then she theatrically licked her finger, sticking it deep into her mouth where I'd just had my dick a few minutes before, and sucked on it. She swallowed, and then opened her mouth, as she'd already done for me that morning, sticking out her tongue to show me that she'd swallowed it all down. 

And then she laughed. 

"You should see your expression, Mr. B. You're so funny!"

I was mesmerized by Miriam, but I also cracked up because of her erotic and yet comic persona. 

"Well, Mr. B, thanks for breakfast," she added, clearly being courteous, as she had been brought up to be.

"Thank you!" I said, in a heartfelt way, but since I was thanking her for sex, I was not sure of what else to say after something so raw, intimate and revealing between us.

"Yeah, I know, it was one of the best mornings of your life. I seriously undercharged you for your first BJ in 38 years, but maybe I'll make up for it in repeat business."

My eyes widened as I realized she was offering to suck my dick again—maybe several times—as long as I was willing to pay.

She laughed again at my expression, "You look like a happy puppy dog. Seriously, Mr. B!" 

But then she added in a lower, and more erotic tone, "But earlier you were a bit rougher. That was one of the fastest times ever for me making myself cum. And you really helped. I didn't know a gentle guy like you had it in you—until you shoved it down my throat."

She raised her eyebrows, and gave me a knowing look, wanting me to acknowledge how I'd used her sexually. 

But I was suddenly ashamed, and looked down.

She laughed yet again at that, and I looked back up at her, blushing.

Then she looked at her phone, saw the time and was startled, and got up to go to work.

I got up too, reaching for my wallet that I'd put on the kitchen counter earlier, preparing for this moment. 

"No need right now, Rick," she said, graciously, "You can pay me later. I trust you. Remember, I'm still coming for our regular session tomorrow at 3:00."

"Miriam," I said, "Thanks again, I don't know what to say. You were—you are amazing. But I just wish I could make you feel good—the way you've done for me."

But she was already heading out the door.

"Gotta run, Mr. B. But I'll think about it!"

And with that she was gone to Star-fucks.

****

Just in case she would give me another blow job, or let me fuck her face, as she called it, I didn't jack off that night or the next morning, saving my cum for her. 

The more I thought about it, the more I was almost shocked about what we'd done. She'd brought something out in me that I didn't even know was there, a raw sexuality that I didn't know either of us had. But I sensed that she was much more experienced with rough sex than I had ever known before now. On the one hand, I was ashamed that I had thrust my erection into her young mouth and throat, while holding her head, letting her suck on me until she gagged. 

I had to admit it to myself: I was an older man who had fucked a young woman's face, and had paid for the privilege.

But, on the other hand, she said she liked it and wanted it. And she did have an orgasm while I was doing it to her—although most of that I knew was because she was touching herself at the same time. 

And I was pretty careful, I thought, in not to go too far. But still, it was much more down that road of being (could I even say the word in my mind, I wondered? and I finally did) "dominant" than I'd ever been before. I mean, I'd been forward with women, and even fucked them hard, but somehow this was different. And I wondered what might be next.

Most of all I was desperate to see, touch, taste, and enter her. Although she'd let me look up her skirt that one day, and I'd seen the outlines of her pussy beneath her blue undies, and even a wet spot and a little bit of cunt hair peeking out, I longed more than ever before to see her pussy, spread her legs, lick her opening, and then her clit, and finally shove my cock deep into her vagina. I wanted so badly to thrust into the core of her, and put my seed into her. I wanted to hump her, and watch her breasts move as I fucked her brains out.

And then I got a horrible pang as I thought of what my late wife would have thought about all this, if she could somehow see it. She would be so shocked. What a dirty old man I was, paying the beautiful daughter of our neighbors, neighbors who trusted me, for sex. 

But, as guilty as I felt, I also felt happy. My wife was gone, and even though I still loved Helen, I had to move on with my life—and I'd been stuck in a serious depressive rut until I'd met Miriam. 

I knew this was not the moral way to get out of what I had been in, but Miriam was drawing me to her like a moth to flame. Or maybe I was corrupting her with my money and lust? 

It seemed to be all of that, and yet also more. 

For Miriam had her own lusts and desires too, it was clear. And some of them were on the kinky side, and she seemed to be able to use me for release just as I used her. What if one of her desires was let an older man fuck her, repeatedly, with minimal complications, for money? I got a weird memory of how one of my grandmothers, for a small town parade, had dressed up as a prostitute when she was at least 70. My grandmother was a "proper" woman, but maybe part of her wanted to be a wanton woman, just as Miriam was, in a sense, with me? It seemed like a twisted part of Miriam really liked doing what we were doing.

Maybe I could give her not just money, and release, but perhaps even something more. I didn't quite fool myself that we'd become a couple. I knew that wouldn't happen, but maybe I could drag out this money for sex thing with Miriam for quite a while, and see where it took us...




Miriam Ch. 02



****

The next day, she arrived fifteen minutes late, as I was just starting to get worried about her. She came in breathless, letting herself in without even knocking, using a key I'd shown her that was under a rock ten feet from my front door. 

"Sorry, I'm late, Mr. B!" She said breathlessly, as she stode into the kitchen and breakfast nook where I was having tea, putting down the key and her purse on the table. I'd have to put the key back later, but for Miriam...I realized with a shock that I was getting pussy-whipped at the same time that I was becoming more dominant.

She was looking extra tanned, and I wondered if she'd been to the pool the day before. She was wearing a black t-shirt, and very short and ragged cut off jeans that looked like they were almost painted on her curving ass. They were so short they showed a little bit of her luscious butt cheeks.

Her face, with her whisps of dark hair framing it, was freckled, and her nose, which I loved, was slightly long. As I mentioned, she looked like a taller and less perfect version of Natalie Portman when she was in her early 20s.

"You missed me," she said, "I can tell by the way you're looking at me—like I'm a chocolate sundae that you'd like to eat or something," and she laughed her musical and self-amused laugh that I heard so often.

"Yeah," I said, looking at her with longing, "You got me again. Hello beauty."

She looked at me as I said this with a tolerant and yet affectionate smile, but she seemed antsy.

And then she suddenly stood on one leg, and then the other, and said, "Hold that thought, Mr. B, I really gotta pee!"

"Can I watch?" I blurted out.

"You want to watch me pee?" She said, and laughed again.

"Yes," I said, looking down at her cut off jeans, and trying to imagine her pussy underneath spraying pee.

"Well, it'll cost you," she said, and then paused, seemingly trying to calculate how much she could get out of me for it.

"A hundred bucks to watch me pee," she said, looking like she wasn't sure I'd go that high.

That did seem like a lot for just pee, even to me. 

But I said, "Sure! But I get to take down your shorts and undies."

"For a hundred, Mr. B, you can wipe my cunt if you want to. But let's go, I really need to tinkle!"

We walked into my bathroom, and she turned around and stood with the toilet behind her. Thank goodness I was in the habit of putting the toilet seat down and keeping my bathroom clean.

"You must want to see a real pussy bad, Rick, to pay a hundred bucks for this. Doesn't porn do it for you?"

"Not the same," I mumbled, as I bent down in front of her, now facing her short cut offs with her cunt right behind that I was about too see and touch, however briefly. I knew I was going to take her up on her offer to wipe, whether she was joking or not. 

It seemed weird having the bathroom door open, but there was no one to close it for.

"Do it! Goddamn it!" she said, laughing and going from one foot to another again, "I'm about to pee in my shorts!"

"Ok," I said, "Let me get this unbuttoned," I said, as I tried to gently unbutton her shorts without pinching her in any way. Finally, I managing by sticking one hand deep into her shorts and into her underwear to help. I could feel her cunt hair.

"That's the way, Rick," she almost whispered, looking down at me, "I like having your hand in my pants. What you want is right behind door number one."

After the button, her shorts unzipped pretty easily, and I slid them down her legs slowly, feeling her legs as I went.

"Mmmm," she said, smiling, "that feels nice."

She gracefully stepped out of her shorts, and now I was inches away from her pussy. 

Her underwear was light purple today, and already had a little wet spot on them, from excitement, or pee, or both—I couldn't tell. But without asking I gently pressed my nose and face against and into her cloth covered cunt, breathing in and out. It had been so long since I'd smelled the sweet and musky smell of a pussy, and it was amazing to sense that as I pressed against her mounds. Miriam's also did have a little smell of what seemed like pee.

"Well, this is a role reversal," Miriam said, looking down at me with amusement, "I'll throw in the panty sniffing free of charge, as long as I also get to press your head against my crotch, while saying, 'Good Man!'"

"Deal!" I said, looking up briefly at her.

"I just knew you'd say that," she said, rolling her eyes and sighing.

Then she added, "Well, get on with it. Or are you afraid to see my bearded clam squirt water?"

I'd extended this all I could, and so I put my hands on each side of her violet underwear and slowly pulled them down to her knees, revealing Miriam's cunt.

I already knew she didn't shave much, just enough to wear a bikini, and now I saw that she had a lush and hairy pussy—but peeking through her black bush were largish cunt lips, and just the hint of her clit.

I started in awe at my first cunt in many months, and the youngest one I'd seen since I was close to Miriam's age.

"Alright! Enough, you perv—prepare to see some pee!"

And she sat down on the toilet, spreading her legs extra wide. Now I could see her moist labia, and even the opening of her vagina—but then, with a whizzing sound her piss shot out at high speed, even spraying the toilet seat slightly.

It was a beautiful sight to me, raw and elemental. As she said, her bearded clam was spraying water just inches from my face. 

Suddenly she took my right hand, and said, "Here, Rick, feel!" and she placed my palm and fingers over her cunt as her spray hit it with surprising warmth and force, and then drained down into the toilet

"I just want you to get your money's worth," she said with a smirk, as she kept peeing on my hand for another 20 seconds or so.

"Did you ever do that with your wife?" She then asked, seemingly curious, as the stream slowed to a trickle and then became drops.

"Never," I said, taking my hand away so that I could look at her meaty and hairy cunt again. 

I added as I stared, "We'd each pee once in a while when the other was in the bathroom, but I never got down an looked at her they way I'm looking at you."

I looked up at her face to say, "Your pussy is so beautiful."

"Thanks, Professor," she said, smiling, and then added, "By any chance do you have a hard tool with which want to do some in depth research on me?"

"Yes. Very hard," I said, looking down at the lippy opening, surrounded by black hair that now had drops of pee. 

My cock was indeed throbbing.

But I added, "But before that I want to kiss and lick your cunt, stick my fingers inside you, and lick your clit until you come."

Then she said, "Mmm. Sounds nice!" But then quickly added, "OK, Professor, here's your lesson on wiping a woman's pussy, because I bet you never did that before either, did you?"

"No," I said, trembling slightly and looking up again at her face.

She got a bit of tissue, and handed it to me, saying, "Why don't you first dry your hand off, you perv."

I laughed, and did that, tossing the slightly damp bit of tissue in the trashcan next to the toilet.

"Now here's another nice bit of tissue," she said, and she handed me a triple layer of tp, but carefully folded to the size of one square.

Then she said, "Just gently and slowly wipe from front to back."

Cupping my hand with the tissue in it, I pressed it gently against Miriam's damp twat, holding it there until I felt the dampness just touch my fingers.

I held it for just a couple of seconds, and then, very slowly, wiped back, dropping the moist tissue in the toilet.

"Nicely done," she said, and then added, in a matter-of-fact tone, "Alright, we're finished."

With this she stood up, and I had a last look at her as her pussy lips folded together, but were still sticking out between her hairy cleft. But then she quickly pulled up her undies, and then got back into her shorts, zipped them and buttoned them.

"You enjoyed that even more than I thought you would," Miriam said.

And then she suddenly seemed to get an idea, but actually it seemed like a pre-planned and not entirely spontaneous idea, as she said, "Hey, I've got an idea, Rick—let's make pot cookies!"



Miriam - I Love You



"So, what would you like to do?" You asked as you sauntered out through the bedroom door, in a tight fitting pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater hugging your breasts.

I looked up from the computer as I heard the question. The sight of you in those clothes made my lips dry and I involuntarily licked them. You were so beautiful and I felt my heart swell as I watched you walk towards me. My cock started to swell with lust and longing as I stared.

"Ugh….I'm easy" I replied.

"I know" You replied as you walked up and ran your fingers through my hair and leant down to kiss me on the lips.

The kiss ignited the lust that had been building as I crushed my lips to yours.

You felt the passion as well as you kissed me back and staddled my legs, to sit on my lap.

You ran your hands through my hair as our tongues explored each others mouths and our noses rubbed together.

My hands roamed over the sweater front and then back as I felt your body.

You pulled back from me smiling as your hands went into the air.

I lifted my hands to the bottom of your sweater and lifted it up and over your head, letting you pull it off your hands as I went back to kneading your breasts through the black lacy bra that you wore.

I could feel the goose bumps on your skin as I ran my hands over your breasts and kneaded your nice mounds of flesh.

As I ran my hands over your lovely breasts you reached behind your back and unhooked the bra allowing it to fall forward, freeing those two delights of flesh, the nipples elongated and hard.

I lent down and took one in my mouth, pulling at it with my teeth and sucking on it so that you too could feel the pleasure that you were giving me.

"Yes" You said as you held my head to your bosom.

I moved from one nipple to the other, licking and sucking like there was no tomorrow, as I buried my head within your breasts.

You slowly gyrated on my lap as you enjoyed the feel of my tongue and lips on your body.

I moved my hands down to rub the outside of your legs, up and down, feeling the strong muscles that came from a well toned body beneath those tight jeans.

The fingers moved to the button holding them together and undid it, forcing the top of the jeans to part.

You stood up over my legs, moving back slightly and proceeded to slide your jeans off, down to your feet. You stepped out of them and I could see the bludge and wetness on the front of your knickers as you once more sat down on my lap.

The feel of your bare legs was driving me crazy with wanton desire and passion. I ran my hands over your legs feeling the smoothness there and the tremors that your body was experiencing as my hands slid over your body.

You kissed me again, harder than before meshing our lips together as your sense of need came to you.

Your lips were on fire as we kissed, your need was transferred to mine as we forced our faces into each others.

My groin was on fire and my erection was straining against my jeans as it sought freedom from its imprisonment and confinement.

You stood up and pulled me up by the hand.

We kissed again as your hands this time searched all over my chest, slowly undoing some of the buttons there. As you pulled the shirt over my head, I undid my belt and jeans, allowing them to fall towards the floor. My erection evident as it strained against my jocks, showing a small wet patch where the head rested against the fabric.

We kissed again as I stepped out of the jeans and as you threw the shirt to the side, our bodies tight against each other, feeling each others erection against the others body.

I kissed your lips and started to kiss your neck and upper body as I slowly kissed my way down to your genitals.

I kissed both breasts and bite down on the nipples slightly, knowing that you loved this feeling.

Your belly button came into its own as my tongue entered it and I sucked on the depression there, taking it into my mouth as I sucked hard on the ring.

Leaving there my eyes came face to face with your black lacy knickers and the wet patch I could see there. Your cock was erect and I could make out the shape of the bulge beneath the blackness.

I positioned my lips over the fabric as I licked the outside tasting the pre-cum that was there as it seeped through to feed my taste buds.

Again I felt you move your hands to the back of my head as you thrust ever so gently outwards with your hips, to crush my mouth to your groin.

I needed no other encouragement as I slowly pulled down your knickers, freeing you erection so that I could like and slide my tongue up and down its shaft.

The knickers fell the last remaining distance to the floor, allowing you to move your legs freely. So now that they were either side of my head.

I buried my head within your groin, licking and running my lips over your shaft and then taking the end between my lips.

I could taste and smell your sexual wanting as I took you fully into my mouth, letting you fuck my lips as you glided in and out between my lips.

"Don't stop" You purred as you held my head to your cock.

I had no intention of stopping, the feel of you in me, the taste of your lust and the feel of your smooth cheeks as I held your bum with my hands so that you humped my face harder than would normally happen.

I could feel you tense in your legs and buttocks as you humped my face harder, forcing your cock deep within my mouth.

I felt you cum, hot cum into the back of my throat as I swallowed your sweet juice and tasted your life seed.

Your body convulsed and shuddered with your orgasm.

I moved my fingers so that I could pull your cheeks apart. Slowly I rubbed your love hole as you still finished cumming in my mouth. Your hole felt tight as I rubbed the rim.

You tried to ease out of my mouth as you wanted to feel my finger up your arse, but I still held you between my lips, I did not want to lose that taste that was you, in my mouth.

Slowly I released you after a couple of minutes as I slid my finger around your rim and felt you begin to grow small in my mouth.

You pulled out from my lips and your cock had shrunk in size, but it was still covered in both my saliva and your cum, glistening in the light through the window.

I stood and kissed you on the lips, as your tongue darted between mine as you tasted yourself there. Pulling your head back you licked your lips and smiled that seductive smile, that one I loved so well.

Your hands reached for my erection and felt the pre-cum that was coating the outside of my cock.

"Hmm…we need to do something about that" You intoned as you stroked its length.

You kissed me quickly and turned around spreading your legs and pushing your bum into the air.

I needed no other invitation as I knelt behind you and licked your love hole, letting my tongue dart between the two lips, to taste your forbidden fruit. I could feel you push back as you felt my tongue enter you. I knew that you would like a good tongue fucking, but that would have to wait.

I slowly stood up, letting my erection graze the outside of your cheeks, leaving a wet trail as it slid over those sweet mounds of delight.

I gripped the two cheeks and gently pulled them apart as I positioned my cock at your rear entrance. It seemed to want to stay there, so with one hand to guide it slowly entered your hole, the pre-cum and my saliva doing the trick, giving you just the right amount of lubrication.

I pushed in, not slowing as I felt you tense around my cock. You were like a hungry bun, waiting for that wiener to be put in along with the mustard and ketchup.

You pushed onto the desk with your arms, so that I would go in deep.

I slid the full length into you, enjoying that feel that only you can give.

With gentle strokes I proceeded to slide backwards and forwards letting my erection feel the glorious confines that you were subjecting it to.

I reached around to feel your breasts and take your nipples between my thumbs and fingers, tweaking them and feeling them grow rigid.

I pushed faster now as I held onto your hips, the rhythm building as I neared orgasm.

Faster and harder I pushed, pulling you back onto my pole.

You gripped the desk hard and your knuckles turned white, as you pushed hard back.

I pulled you to my hips as I came with an explosive burst, deep within your bowels. I stopped as I came allowing the juice to flow deep.

My fingers were leaving marks on your hips as I held you to me. Slowly I started to move again, moving backwards and forwards as I let my cock slowly please you and ease the tension that your hole felt.

I lent down over your back and kissed your neck and the small hairs there.

"I love you" I said.

"I love you too" You replied as you felt me slide up and back within your hole.



End of Part One