7 comments/ 25922 views/ 10 favorites Urban Renewal By: randibyrnes This is my submission for the Earth Day 2014 Contest. Thank you for reading and voting. * I should have seen it coming. But with hindsight, I realize that love and lust are blind. It was February 15th, the morning after Valentine's Day, that great marketing machine brought upon us by the florists and confectioners and restaurants of the world. I rolled over on my side and looked at Brad, my boyfriend, as he slept. His black hair was matted against his head and his dark beard needed of a shave. I leaned into him and kissed his lips. He moaned a shallow guttural sound. I kissed him again. "I can't. It's late." I rubbed his ass and grabbed it hard, and I enjoyed the feeling of the firm muscle in my hand. "Don't leave any marks that she's going to see." That wasn't his response the night before when we had come home after a night of romantic celebration and excess. It had started with Brad meeting me at my office and taking me to an Afghani restaurant near the theater district. We ate pumpkin soup and braised spinach with garlic and cumin and a thick spicy vegetarian chili. We drank wine, and a lot of it, as we touched each other under the table. We finished with a sweet yogurt based desert before making our way home. I had just closed the door when Brad pinned me against the door, his hand on my hips and his hungry mouth on mine as our tongues pushed hard against each others. He kissed my lips and neck as his hands slid up under my short skirt and over my garter and grabbed my ass as I felt his hard cock push against me as he thrust himself against me. Brad lifted me up and carried me into the bedroom and dropped me onto the bed. "Take off your blouse," he said. His voice was thick and slow from the wine. I started to unbutton the white blouse as he took off his shirt and pulled down his pants. His cock was hard, the head full and pulsing as he reached down and stroked himself as he watched me slip off the blouse. I started to remove my new white lace bra, but he stopped me and reached down and lifted it up and exposed my breasts to him. He grabbed me by the thighs and pulled me toward him, a hunger showed in his eyes, and he slid up my skirt. Brad reached down and pushed aside my thong and put his cock at the opening of my pussy. He grabbed his cock, sliding it against me, getting it slick with my juices and then he leaned in, sliding the head into me. There was urgency to his actions, as if he couldn't wait, or didn't want to wait. He grabbed my hips and started to fuck me, it wasn't making love, it was primal and urgent, and he loomed over me, sliding his thick cock into my wet, waiting cunt, pushing into me, as his hips slammed into mine. I arched my back, pushing up into him, feeling dirty and taken, my bra pushed up, my skirt scrunched up at my waist, my thong pushed aside as Brad's cock slid in and out of me. He reached down and grabbed at my breasts, pinching my nipples, rubbing them between his fingers. The whole act, the urgency, him pushing into me, the delicious tension in my nipples were too much and a wave washed over me, starting at my nipples and flooding over me, down my chest, over my tummy, and landing in my cunt, like an arc of lightening, that wracked my body, as I pushed my pelvis up against him, trying to extend the feeling as a guttural moan escaped my lips and got buried into the pillow near my head. "You like that, don't you," he said. He was breathing hard and there was sheen of sweat on his body as he slid in and out of my stretched cunt. He pulled out of me and I reached out for him, trying to grab at his cock, trying to put it back into me. He grabbed my hips and rolled me over and pulled me up onto my hands and knees. He flipped up my skirt and spread my legs. He spit into his hand and smeared it onto the head before putting it back into me. The sensation was exquisite as he stroked in and out of my wet cunt. "Fuck me," I managed to say between grunts. His fingers dug into my flesh as he pulled me hard against him as I felt his cock fill me with his cum. He leaned down, hissed me at the base on my neck and collapsed onto the bed. He fell asleep. I got out of bed and went into the bathroom to pee. During the night I had taken off my clothes and wore nothing. I put on one of Brad's robes, the silk gray black check, and tied the sash. It smelled of sweat and aftershave and testosterone and I got a shiver on my skin. I went into the living room and found his phone. There was a red asterisk on the screen, an urgent message. I stared at the screen when it asked for a password. He had told it to me once, we were driving and he wanted me to send a text, and I closed my eyes and tried to see the keys. I entered four digits, got a wrong code message and repeated it twice more. I pushed the buttons again, slowly and the phone opened. I stared at the screen and thought about what I was about to do. I believe in privacy. I don't want anyone -- my employer or Google or the NSA - reading my emails. But, I do want to know if my boyfriend is cheating on me. The late night meetings, the excuses for us not doing things on the weekends, the hint of cheap perfume on his clothes had started to accumulate during the past month. The night before had been great, but we hadn't fucked like that in over a month. My friends had told me that all couples hit a lull, but at 35 I wasn't ready for it. I hot the message icon and started to scroll through them. I found it quickly, and unknown number, and opened it. The message was short. "Think about this tonight!" and there was a picture. I tapped the screen and was looking at a woman's pussy, the lips pink and full, a manicured hand pulled the lips apart. I felt my heart beat hard in my chest and I felt nauseous. I paused for a moment and then texted. "Can't wait to get some of that!" I felt like a fool the moment that I had sent the text. It was bad enough that I had read the text; it was another that I had sent one. The response was immediate. "I'm ready for u whenever u want me!" I replied. "Tell me what you want." Another picture arrived, this time of lips. Then another picture of her pussy in the next text. A moment later there was a shot of her ass. "I want it everywhere!" "I'll be there soon." I dropped the phone on the couch. I felt dirty, physically and emotionally, and I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. I went to the closet and grabbed the few clothes that I had left at the apartment. There was a sports bra and a sweatshirt, a pair of jeans and a pair of high top Keds. I put them on, and I covered my head with a pink cap, a gimmee from a charity run. I grabbed my clothes from last night and put them in a pillow case. I looked in my wallet to see how much cash I had; there were three crumpled singles in the wallet. I went in the kitchen, reached into the cookie jar and took out a twenty. I took the apartment key off my ring and set it on the phone. I closed the door behind me, got a cab home, and spent the next hour in the shower. The calls from Brad started an hour later. In between the fourth and fifth call I figured out how to send him directly to voicemail so I didn't have to hear the ring. Then the texts began. I finally sent one back. "Call your friend. She's waiting for you." I wasn't sure what the next steps would be. I don't like confrontations, but Brad is a lawyer and loves a debate. He also had a key to my apartment. I should have thought to take it from his key ring, but I was in a hurry to get out. I looked online, found a locksmith near me and called. Within an hour they handed me a new set of keys from my lock. It was the best $100 I had spent in a while. I deleted all of Brad's texts without reading them, put on my coat, locked my door and headed out of the apartment. Six weeks later I was still in a funk. The break-up took a harder toll on me than I had thought it would. I think it was because it had come out of the blue, but again with hindsight the late nights and missed weekends started to make sense. Brad had blamed work, he was trying to make partner, and there were always billable hours to work to show his value to the firm. On April 1st, my friend Carla came knocking at my door. "Enough is enough of this self pity," she said as she walked into my apartment. "Open the damn blinds Emily, he's gone, it's over, and time to get on with your life." Carla is my friend and mentor. Nearly 60, she looks 40 and acts like she's 30 but with wisdom of the years. Married three times, she still believes in love and relationships, just not restrictions like marriage. She's my vision of a strong woman. "Time to kick your ass into gear, sister. Get dressed." She had already gone into my closet and started throwing clothes onto the bed for me to put on. It was nearly one and I was wearing my comfy flannel PJs with bunnies on them. "I don't feel like going ..." "Save that shit for some other time. Victimhood is way over rated. You're not the first woman that dated some asshole that cheated on her. You dumped his sorry ass, so get over it. If you keep doing this shit, he wins. Is that what you want?" I had fallen into the pitiful role too easily. I've been dating since I was fifteen, some great guys, some losers. But I had never before had tied my worth into what had happened in the relationship. Carla looked at her watch and started making hurry up gesture with her hands as I stripped off the PJs and got dressed. She had an agenda for the afternoon. A volunteer group in Nashville was having a meet and greet with agencies looking for new people to work with them. Within an hour of storming into my apartment, we were walking around in the Grand Ole Opry Hotel with a notebook and bottle waters going from booth to booth finding out about the opportunities. "All right, it looks like it breaks down into kids, animals, arts, and environment. What's it going to be?" I love Carla, but there are times when she is a little to pragmatic. There were a hundred small groups in the convention center space all peddling themselves like the ugly girl at the school dance. Choose one, and the rest stay holding up the wall. "Jeez, I don't know ..." "Kids or arts?" I paused and looked at her. "Kids or arts, pick one." "Arts." "Arts or animals?" "Animals." "Animals or environment?" I paused. "Environment." She got out her folder and started circling choices on it. She started going through the choices again, reducing them to binary options, reducing it to two. "Park conservancy or inner city community garden?" I paused for a moment, mostly to make her wait. "Community garden," I said. Carla smiled and grabbed me by the hand and dragged me up an aisle, across another, and between vendor booths. We stood in front of a pair of tables with a balloon arch and a couple of sickly looking plants on the table. A man, tall, thin with short gray hair and soft blue eyes was talking to a woman and I assumed her teenage son. He gave them a brightly colored packet of paper and they walked away. "Ahh, two more volunteers," he said. His voice was deep and I detected an accent, perhaps from New England. "The last time these hands held dirt I was ten," Carla said. "Well, after twenty five years, I think its time to get them dirty again," he said. She laughed. "It'll take more than flattery to get me digging in dirt." She turned toward me. "Emily wants to volunteer." He extended his hand and I took it. He showed me pictures of the garden space and a timeline for the projects. "We've got a get started event this Saturday morning." I started to back away, to withdraw my support. "Lovely. She'll be there, won't you sweetie," Carla said. She wrapped her arm around my waist and we walked away. That weekend I arrived at the garden and there were about six people there. The man from the sign up session, Tim was there checking volunteers in and making assignments. Unfortunately, the rest of the volunteers were group of giggling teens. They grabbed some tools and headed off like a pack of animals looking for something to root. "Don't tell me," the man said. "Emily, right?" He extended his hand. "That's pretty good." "It helps that I looked at your sheet when I saw you walking up. An old parlor trick that I learned when I was in the business world, people are impressed if you remember their name." "Magicians aren't supposed to tell how their tricks are done." "I don't reveal them all." He held his hands out in front of me, palms up and then brought them about six inches in front of my face. He brought them together; his fingers just touched, and then pulled them apart to reveal a pen. He flipped it in the air, caught it and held it out for me. I stood for a moment, replaying the scene, I'm certain that I held my breath. "I'll have you sign in and we'll get to work." His name was Tim and the garden was his retirement plan. After years in the business world of sales, he had decided that he had enough of the pressure. He had found some property in the city that had fallen onto the abandoned tax rolls, bought it and then flipped it into a not for profit and had started the urban garden. The neighborhood grew their gardens there, and he had set aside some of it for a nearby middle school to teach the kids about food, nature, and farming. This would be his second year. I got a hoe and started breaking up the earth, pulling up the early spring weeds, and removed stray pieces of trash like glass and pieces of brick and mortar. After a couple of hours the five gallon paint bucket was full and I had worked up a sweat. "Youth is over rated," Tim said. He startled me and I jumped. "Sorry." I scowled at him. I guessed he was about 60 and not sure where he was going with the comment. "You've done more that those five have," he said. He pointed to the teenagers at the far end of the garden. "They're more concerned with hours than the service part and they've been farting around since they got here." I shrugged my shoulders and laughed and went back to work and started to fill my next bucket. As I finished filling it for the second time, Tim cam around with bottled water and told me it was time for lunch. I drank the water without stopping and followed him to the small building on the corner of the lot. The kids were gone. He saw me looking over the gardens. "They got their four hours and hit the road. For them, it's like a bingo card, filling in as many of the blocks as you can." He held up two wrapped sandwiches. "Your pick. Veggie or veggie, and gluten, nut, and dairy free." I took the veggie sandwich and water. "Great, I get the healthy one." He laughed. We talked some more about the gardens and the upcoming year. He had helped start a consortium of the urban gardens to help all of them try to coordinate efforts and not compete for grants and city money. Some of the groups ran the gardens as a farm, selling produce at the area farmers' markets. Others were like his, giving city dwellers a chance to have a small plot of dirt to grow some vegetables. After noon, it got warmer and I took off my sweatshirt and was working the ground in my tee shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Skin cancer be damned; I was going to get some sun. Tim came around every hour and a half or so, brought me water, and he took my bucket of trash and left me an empty. Around four o'clock he came up to me. "Quitting time!" I stood up and realized that I was exhausted. I looked at the area that I had cleared. It was 50 feet square. My shoulders ached and I was covered in sweat. "If I had three more people like you, I'd be done this weekend!" "Well, count me out for the encore." We walked back to the shed and I put on my sweatshirt. My shirt clung to me and I realized that the air had chilled. "We're here every weekend if you're ever crazy enough to want to come back." "I might, when my muscles stop aching." "Tell your boyfriend to take you out to a nice restaurant tonight; you've earned a night of rest." "No boyfriend." The moment I said it, I regretted the words. I keep my private life private, except with Carla. I didn't know this guy, and I didn't need to share personal stuff with a stranger. He sensed something. "Well, neither do I. Girlfriend that is. Ex-wife, but that's another story and a bottle of Wild Turkey." I laughed. "Well, some night we'll get a bottle and compare ex's stories; winner or really the loser can pay for the bottle." "Go home. Hot shower. Two Advil. You'll feel great." I turned and started to walk to my car. I collapsed into the seat of the car and closed my eyes. He startled me when he rapped on the window of the car. I rolled down the window. "This may sound weird, and if it is, I'm sorry, but the garden groups are getting together for dinner tonight to just talk about the first weekend of working and plans. Real informal, everybody pays their own way. If you want, join us." I said something about being tired and not knowing anyone. "That's the beauty of being young. You're flexible." Tim showed his open hand and laid it on my palm. He pressed down and pulled it away. There was a business card resting on my palm. "The address is on the back. That's my cell on the front. Hope you're able to come." He walked back to the shed and I drove home trying to figure out what had just happened. I got home and took two Advil and sat in a hot tub. I wanted to read, but I was too tired. The water felt nice and after a half an hour I felt better. I drank a quart of water and a small bowl of chips with homemade salsa. I called Carla and talked about the day. "So, you're going out tonight, right?" "No." I told her that I had plans for Netflix and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. "In forty years, you can curl up in your flannel nighty and your cat and watch movies. Tonight you're going out." She is my friend and mentor. And sometimes she thinks she is a drill sergeant. I wanted to tell her to fuck off and leave me alone, but I knew all of the arguments that she'd make why she was right. "Look, go out, meet some people, eat dinner, come home and watch your movie and get drunk then. It's time you pulled down the crepe and get back into the race." I told her that we could disagree, and she started her litany of arguments on why she was right. Carla is always right, if you listen to her side of things. "Do what you want. You're only young once." An hour later I was in my car driving to dinner. I drove by the place four times trying to find it. It was located on a side street and in the back of a bigger place. I had heard of it a couple times from co-workers. "Au Naturel" featured local food, and was a farm to table place. As I walked in the door I heard Tim yell my name and walked over to greet me. He introduced me to the eight others at the big table and I found a seat across from him. I ordered a locally brewed beer and listened to the conversation as I sipped the beer. I was still thirsty from the day in the gardens, but refrained from gulping it down. Platters of braised root vegetables, potatoes and spindly carrots and small onions and beets were brought to the table and we passed them around family style. The woman next to me, Nina, kept making an effort to bring me into the conversation. We talked about gardens and sustainable farming, pesticides, and the need for organic food standards. Three pizzas, giant pies covered in sauce and vegetables appeared and they too were passed around. There were three different kinds and they were fabulous. The crust was perfect and the cheese a gooey mess and I licked my fingers. We ate and drank for nearly two hours and finished the meal with poached pears. Urban Renewal We split the check and we were walking out the door when Nina suggested that we go to a dance club. "They've got free Salsa lessons every Saturday night. Come on, it'll be fun!" "Have you been before," I asked. "Never. I just think I would be fun if we were in a group." Four of the people left and it was Nina and another man, Tim and me. I was tired, but I heard Carla's voice in my head telling me to join them. We drove the couple of miles to the club and found a table. I'm not a dancer and as soon as I saw the people on the dance floor, I started to get cold feet. The music started and Nina grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the floor. At first the two guys stayed at the table until Nina went and got them. There were a dozen of us out on the floor and the man with the microphone started to walk us through the steps. He came up to me and led me onto the center of the dance floor. After a few missteps he had me dancing back and forth with him. He kissed my hand and walked me back to Tim. The music continued and we danced. I started dancing with Tim who obviously knew how to dance. We moved out to the center and for a few minutes all eyes were on us. At first I was self conscious but with Tim leading me I was very comfortable. Before I knew it was 2 AM and it was last call. Tim walked me to my car and I drove home. I slept like the dead. It was ten o'clock when the phone woke me. "Hello," I said. My throat was dry and I croaked out the greeting. Every muscle in my body ached. "Well, you're alive." It was Carla. "I've been calling for hours." "We stayed out late." ""I'll say. I called you all night. I was getting worried." I told her about the day, the garden work, dinner, and dancing. "So ...." "So what?" "So, I was right. It did you good to get out of the house." "Well, right now I ache all over, I have a headache, and my mouth feels like a heard of mountain goats tapped danced all night. But, yes, you were right." "Get your cute ass out of bed and I'll be there is a few minutes and I'll buy brunch and Mimosas and you can tell me everything." The next weekend I was at the garden again, working the soil, adding manure and evening out the planting surfaces. There were a lot of people there, most from the neighborhood, and we worked together to get everything done. Tim was busy, directing groups on specifics of what needed to be done. He stopped a couple of times to check on me, brought me water, and a sandwich later in the morning. It was almost 5 pm when I brought my tools back to the shed and was walking back to the car. "Emily," he called after me. I turned and he jogged up to me. He looked nervous. "Did I do something wrong?" "Um, no, no, not at all." He looked down at his boots and scuffed at the dirt. ""I was wondering if you'd like to go out to dinner?" "The same group as last week?" "Um, no, not really. Just me." "You?" "Yeah." I felt my brow scrunch up. "Like a date?" "Yeah. I mean if you want to. Or not a date, just two people going out to dinner. Together. If it's not too weird for you. I understand completely if you say no." "Yes, I'd like that." I went home and got in the shower and washed the dirt and grime and soreness from my muscles away with hot water and a loofah. I had to think when the last time I had been on a first date, more than two years, because I was never sure when Brad and I had started dating. We had run together in the same group, and things had just evolved. I pulled my hair back and put on some light makeup. I hadn't asked what level of dress to where and it took a while to find the right combination from the closet. I found a red silk top and a pair of black dress slacks with flats. I added the pearls my parents gave me for graduation. I checked out the look in the mirror and decided it was appropriate for anything but the most serious restaurant. We had agreed to meet downtown on 4th Street. I parked the car and walked toward the restaurant. Someone called my name. I looked around but didn't see anyone and continued walking. "So it's going to be like that?" I turned and saw Brad walking toward me. It had been two months since I had left his apartment. "I didn't know who was calling," I said. He had stopped a few feet away from me. He looked different from when I had last seen him. Perhaps a little heavier, his hair was longer and slicked back on his head. He was dressed in slacks, a white dress shirt open at the collar, and a sport coat. His hands were in his pockets and he seemed to rock slightly on his feet. "Like you didn't know who was calling when I left all those messages." "Oh, I knew who had called," I said. My temples had started to pound and I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest. "And you couldn't give me the decency of a call back?" Carla always preaches that it is important to stay cool when stressed. It's a lesson that I have trouble remembering. "No, because every time I picked up the phone, all I could see were images of your fuck buddy and remembering what she wanted you to do to her." He started to respond, almost yelling, when Tim came running across the street toward us. "Hey Emily, sorry I'm late." He stopped next to me when he looked at Brad; Brad had stopped talking. Tim started to extend his hand to introduce himself, but I took it and lead him away. Brad stayed there on the street and did not follow us. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt ..." "Angry ex-boyfriend. You got here just in time." We went to an Italian restaurant, City House, and were seated immediately. We started out with cocktails and I had a Kubric which has a Tennessee whiskey and pear brandy. Before I knew it, I was on my third and we had only started with our salads. "Enough for me or otherwise you'll just be talking to someone with drool on their bib," I said. I slid the glass away from me." "You're only young once," Tim said. "That's what Carla tells me." We talked about Carla and that she was the reason why I had signed up for the garden work. Tim talked about the garden and the journey that had gotten him there. His first wife had died when she was forty, and six months later he was involved with a woman fifteen years younger. He said that he was lonely, had no kids, and made a bad decision and they were married three months later. "She ran around on me, but it took me ten years to figure it all out. The divorce was ugly, but the best thing, no the second best thing I've done. I got rid of her, and then decided that I needed to do something good for me, for the community other than worry about how much money I made each year. That's when I started getting the property for the gardens." We opened a bottle of wine and I worked on tomato soup. I was eating and drinking like a lumber jack, and then realized I had worked in the garden all day. I figured I deserved it. Dinner was bread gnocchi and tomato ragu. It was delicious. The waiter, sensing that we liked to drink tried to bring sherry, but we shared a chocolate butterscotch panna cotta instead. I wanted to lick out the bowl, but decided that was poor behavior for a first date. Five hours after we walked into the restaurant we left and stood outside on the sidewalk. "I had a good time," he said. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. He made sure I was safe to drive home and he walked me to my car. He offered to call a cab, but I assured him that with all of the food and the time I was sober. The coffee with desert, although not sobering, certainly had me awake and alert and would certainly keep me awake. "Call me when you get home." I waved from the car and was home a few minutes later. I stood outside in the parking lot and looked up at the quarter moon. The night sky was clear, the air was crisp and fresh, and I felt better than I had in months. I called Tim, thanked him for the evening, and got into bed. An hour later, I was still awake. I cursed the coffee. Or the evening. I thought about our conversation, dinner, holding Tim's hand. It was fun, and like I said the first first date I had had in a long time. I'm not sure if it was because I was awake or because I was thinking about the evening, but I started to feel horny. It had been a long time; the last time had been with Brad. In that two months I felt so down, the thoughts never crossed my mind. I tried to ignore the feeling, and tossed and turned for another sleepless hour until I finally gave in. I reached into my night side table and got my vibrator. I was wearing my soft flannel gown and I pulled it up around my waist. My fingers went to my left breast and I started making circles around my nipple, through the fabric, so the soft flannel lining caressed my skin. I pushed slight harder and started to flick my finger back and forth across my nipple and a gasp left my lips. It felt wonderful. I pinched at the nipple, taking it between my fingers and rolling it, gently at first, then harder, increasing the pressure in degrees, until an ache started in my chest and rushed to my pussy. I turned on my vibrator and started to rub lightly against my lips. I removed the vibrator, brought it my mouth, and spit on it, covering it with saliva, and then I lowered it to my pussy again. The warm hum against the outer lips felt nice, and then I slid it into me, an inch at a time, and savored the fullness as it stretched me. I turned up the speed. I brought it up higher and let it touch my clit. The jolt was intense, I had not touched my clit in so long it was very sensitive, and I slid the wand against me, up and down as the vibrations stimulated me. For me sex and masturbation are like riding a bicycle. It is all rhythms and patterns and pure magic and joy when it all works. I started to get a fullness deep in my cunt, and ache that needed to be filled and then suddenly a rush of warmth washed from me, from my cunt and spread all along my bottom and up into my chest. I threw my head back and arched my pelvis into the air. I tried to push my clit against the vibrator. I let out a groan like an animal guarding its food and collapsed into the softness of my bed. I was relaxed and exhausted. I turned off the vibrator and dropped it to the floor, too weak to even want to put it up. I pulled the covers to my neck and fell into a deep dreamless sleep. The next weekend was Earth Day and the season opening of the gardens. Tim had an elaborate schedule planned and I signed up to help doing whatever needed to be done. The threatened rain never happened; it stayed cloudy until noon and then the sun filled the sky it became a great spring day. Tim got the Mayor to make an appearance and the band from the school played for a couple of hours. There were food trucks and face painters. People from the neighborhood were there signing up for their garden plots and staking out the space. He was busy all day, talking to the news crews that stopped by for a few minutes of footage, meeting with politicians who working the event. I took him water and handed him a sandwich at noon. It seemed like he never left a ten square foot area for the entire day. By 4 PM the crowds were gone and the paper banners had seen a better day. A few helium filled balloons still tugged at their strings from poles set up in the garden. I helped him put up the tools and supplies and it was nearly 5:30 when we were done. "Do you have plans for the evening," I asked. We leaned against the shed and drank the last two bottles of water. "As a wise man once said 'Two Advils and a hot shower'." "I think you said that," I said as I punched him in the arm. "I said it was a wise man, didn't I?" "I was going to go home and make dinner and just chill for the evening." I paused for a moment. "Would you like to come to my place for dinner?" "Well, I would but ..." "It's okay, sorry, shouldn't have been so forward." Tim held up his hand to stop me. "Well, I would, but I really need to take a shower and change my shoes. My feet are killing me." I started to laugh. "I should have waited, right?" "Yeah." I gave him my address and stopped at a grocery store. I know how to cook three things, and the last time I checked my refrigerator and pantry, I didn't have the ingredients for any of them. I made a mental shopping list and nearly ran up one aisle and down the next, and threw produce and baked goods and cheese into the cart. I got home and started dinner while taking a shower between cooking sessions. For part of the preparation, I stood at my stove, my dark brown hair wrapped in a towel and my red microfiber robe cinched at the waist. The bell rang and I slid on my shoes and ran to the door. I stopped for a moment, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I opened the door. "Wow!" Tim said. I felt a flush run across me. "I'm sorry. I just have to say it. I thought you were pretty. But you look gorgeous tonight." "So, you're saying that I clean up pretty good." He laughed and stepped into my apartment. He had a bouquet of daffodils and two bottles of wine. I put the flowers in a vase and chilled the bottle of Pinot Grigio. I opened the Shiraz and put the brie and crackers on a plate. We walked into the living room and drank the wine and ate the appetizer. He remembered that the news casts were on, and we channel surfed until we saw two of the spots shot earlier in the afternoon. We ate dinner. I had assembled a pasta dish with pesto and ricotta smothered in a marinara sauce. We finished both bottles of wine and almost the entire loaf of whole wheat French bread. I was in the kitchen putting dishes in the sink when Tim came behind me and wrapped his arms around me. I turned and rested my hands on his waist. I looked at him. He was tall, just a little over six feet and about a half a foot taller than me. His hair was gray and short. His light blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the kitchen light. "How old are you?" "Does it matter?" "Well, you're the one that has made the age statements. And then your second wife was younger than you." "I'm 62. Does that bother you?" I shook my head. "Age is just a number. I'm 35. Carla is 60 and she is my best friend. Some days I feel older than she acts." "Carla is 60?" "If you tell her that I told you, I'll hurt you. That's secret." "Yes, but information is power. You never know when it might be needed." "And what might you need? "Maybe," he paused and smiled. "Maybe, I need you to kiss me." "Oh really. Like this?" I reached up and took his hand in my hands and pulled him toward me. His lips touched mine, warm and soft, wet and full. I closed my eyes and savored the embrace. He pulled back. "Maybe," he said. "But maybe more urgent." He took my face in his hands and turned his head. This time the kiss was harder, pressing, like time was running away. Our lips parted and I felt his tongue slip into my mouth and a jolt seemed to spark my tongue when it touched his. I took a breath, deep and fast, trying to catch my breath for just an instant. He broke away and I still felt the imprint of his lips on mine. I leaned into him and felt the heat in his body. He felt and smelled good. It had been a long time since I had been held and touched and my body wanted more. I took his hand and lead him from the kitchen and into my bedroom. The night light from the bathroom cast a faint glow into the room. I stood in front of him and slipped his jacket off and tossed it onto the chair near the bed. Then his shirt was removed next. I ran my hands across his chest and savored the sensation of his flesh beneath my hands. Tim reached behind me and unzipped my dress. I gave my shoulders a shake and it fell off me and puddled at my feet. I stood in front of him in my bra and bikini panties. He sat on the bed and grabbed my hips and pulled me closer. His tongue licked at my tummy and my navel and he nipped at my flesh. My pussy ached at his touch. I pushed him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him. My mouth and tongue and lips licked at his chest and nipped at his nipples. He groaned as I kept him pinned on the bed. I reached down and could feel his hard cock strain against his pants and I rubbed it with my hand. It could wait. I scooted my body up until my ass rested on his chest. "I want something," I said. My voice was low and deep in my throat. It was guttural. It didn't sound like me. "What do you want?" "I want you to eat me." "What do you want?" "I want you to eat my pussy." Tim put his hands on my hips and slid me forward to his mouth. My pink cotton panties were all that separated me and his lips. He pushed his tongue against my panties, they quickly got wet with my juices and his spit, and he lapped against it. The sensation was intense, but strange. I could feel his tongue push against me, but there was the cushion of the fabric that blunted it. I rolled off of him and slid them off and moved to his face again. He shifted me slightly and my pussy was against his lips and I felt the wonderful sensation of his tongue against me. I lifted up on my knees slightly and reached forward and held his head in my hands. He probed me with his tongue, like a small piston, pulsing in and out of me, occasionally lapping forward and rubbing against my clit. "Right there, right there. That feels so good." He concentrated on that golden spot, where the nub of my clit peeked out and begged to be licked and kissed and sucked. And he did all three. The shock started fast and hard, from deep inside of me and it felt like scalding hot water was splashed onto my pussy and lips and onto my chest. I took deep breaths, trying to quench my hunger for air, and I held his head hard and rocked against him, grinding myself along his face until the waves leveled to a ripple. I slid off his body and stood again, holding out to the bed to steady myself. I undid his belt and loosened his pants and pulled them off. His cock strained against his blue cotton briefs and I pulled them off too. I grabbed his cock and held it in my hand and felt it throb. There was no sense of foreplay, no teasing or cooing. I spit on his cock and stroked it. It was hard and thick and it felt good in my hand. "I. Want. This." I climbed on top of him again and rubbed his cock against my lips. I lowered myself, sliding the head into me, getting stretched by it as it filled me. It felt great. I pushed down, taking it into me until I was all the way onto it. I started to shift my hips, stretching myself, and then I lift up and pushed down hard. "That feels great," he said, his voice slightly louder than a whisper. "You're so tight." "Fill me up. Fill up my cunt. Please. Please. I need this." After a few minutes I had a rhythm and I rode him. He reached up and grabbed my breasts, pinching my nipples through the thin fabric of my bra. The pleasure was too great and another orgasm wracked through me, making me convulse as I tried to ride him. I continue to move up and down, but it was if the last orgasm had short circuited my muscles and left me as an uncoordinated mess on top of him. Tim took control and pushed me off of him. He wrapped his arms around my thighs and slid my ass to the edge of the bed. "Put it in you," he said. His voice was thick. "Put my cock into your pussy." I took him and put it against my lips and pulled it toward me. He slid forward and pushed in. He lifted my legs up and rested them on his shoulders as he rhythmically pounded in and out of me. I don't remember much of the pleasure other than I threw my head back and forth, savoring the sensation of his cock in my cunt. His pace quickened, he started thrusting deeper and he groaned as he slapped into me three, four, five times and filled my cunt with his cum. Urban Renewal It was 5:15 AM when I woke. I was under the sheets, naked, and alone. I got out of bed and saw our clothes on the floor. I walked into the living room and saw Tim at the window looking to the east. The early morning sky was starting to lighten on the horizon. "Anything wrong?" "Just thinking." His voice was soft. I suddenly felt bad. I started to shake. "I'm sorry about last night," I said. "What?" "If that's what bothering you and you're trying to figure an exit strategy." Tim turned and stepped toward me and wrapped his arms around me. We were both naked and the warmth from his body felt good. He kissed the top of my head. "I have not been able to think about anything else but you for the past two weeks," he said. "Last night was incredible." "So the problem is ..." "I'm old enough to be your father!" "I don't have a daddy thing, if that's what you're worried about." "You're young; you've got the world at your feet." "So this is an age thing?" "I get to say this stuff. After I got divorced, it took me years to get straightened around." "Time out, okay. First, let's just take it a day at a time, okay. Second, the age thing isn't a thing, all right, unless in a couple years you decide you want a younger model. Third, it's cold in here and if we're going to have this talk I either want a robe or to snuggle in the bed while we talk." He bent over and picked me up, something no one had ever done before, and carried me to the bedroom. We got under the covers and cuddled and talked for a bit. I reached down and grabbed his cock and held it. He started to laugh. "Okay, age maybe just a number, but physiology is science, and unfortunately, it is going to take a bit before that works again." "Let me show you a magic trick," I said. I kissed him on the lips. I took his soft cock in my mouth and swirled my tongue around the head. I could taste myself on him, the sweet tart flavor of my pussy made my mouth water. I stroked his shaft, working it from the base to the tip as I held the head in my mouth. After a few minutes he was hard. My cunt ached and wanted to be filled and I crawled up his body and lowered myself onto him. He felt good and I was filled up. I leaned back and rode him and enjoyed the sensation in me. He threw his head back and forth, his eyes were closed, and he moaned softly as I slammed down onto him. I got off of him and took him in my mouth. It was wet and slick with my juice and I stroked the shaft as my tongue lapped the nectar from his balls. "I want your cum," I said in a voice that I didn't recognize. He thrust his hips into the air as I stroked his cock. It was hard and thick and felt good in my hand. I put the head in my mouth again, and sped up the stroking. His cock swelled in my hand and he thrust up sending three spurts of thick cum into my mouth. I climbed up in the bed and rested my head on his chest. He pulled the covers over us and we fell asleep. The phone rang at 10 AM. "Hello Carla," I said without waiting for her to identify herself. "Something's different!" She paused. "You had sex!" "Is your mind always in the gutter?" "Yes, but consider the evidence. There is a smile in your voice. You haven't smiled in two months, Emily, and I suspect that you got laid last night." I looked over at Tim. He had moved slightly when the phone rang, but was back asleep. "And this morning!" "Twice?" I swear I thought I heard her squeal into the phone. "I want to hear all about it." "I'm not that kind of girl." "Sure you are. Wait, he's still there, isn't he? Oh great. I'll be there in an hour. Brunch is on me and you both can tell me all about it." I hung up the phone and snuggled up to Tim. "Tim." "Yeah." His voice was thick with sleep. "Remember when I told you I'd like for us to do something with Carla, like lunch." "Yeah." He rolled over onto his back and blinked his eyes and then rolled and faced me. He kissed my nose. "Well, she'll be here in less than an hour." We went out to brunch and had a great time. We laughed and joked. And we never discussed sex once. But when the two of us got back to my place, well that's a different story.