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Good Things Come To Those Who Wait

2/23/2012

She introduced herself as Ms. Parks to the class, but I already
knew her as Phyllis. Phyllis lived with her parents who
the year before moved into the apartment next door to my
estranged father. That was the very same summer in which
my beloved mother favored my sister to travel around the
country with her –my mother being herself a school teacher.
Phyllis completed her teaching internship my senior year
of high school, graduating to full-fledged teacher as
I graduated into becoming a full-fledged college student.
Within six months of my graduation from high school, my
parents buried the proverbial hatchet which allowed my
emasculated father to move back in with mom and sis. But
moving away and having my nose buried in books (most of the
time!) I lost contact with Phyllis as there were plenty
of college girls to eclipse the infatuation that had filled
me with lust and love for the long haired, big breasted teacher
trainee.


That was more than thirty years ago. I had attended my first
two high school reunions, ten and twenty year, but had skipped
the last, tired of the arrogant cliques that still remained
despite the years. There were two people I had always hoped
to see again, Beverly Olroyd and one Ms. Phyllis Parks.
I had sadly learnt of Bev’s recent passing, succumbing
to cancer. That alone had pretty much put the nail on the
coffin for old high school reunions. There comes that time
in a persons life when he or she finally has to come to accept
the truth that there is no such thing as a way-back machine.



And so I continued till finally retiring. Unlike my parents,
my own wife had made our trial separation final. Our daughter
and son had since married, inconveniently moving to opposite
ends of the country —daughter living in Boston while
my son headed to Phoenix with his mother. So here I found
myself after all these years, stuck in the flat lands of
the Midwest.


Retirement is an interesting phenomena. Viewed for years
as something of an idealistic panacea, its benefits hadn’t
taken long to wane. Oh, for sure I enjoyed not having to get
up every morning to shoulder the drudge of another day at
the office. I certainly enjoyed having a house to myself
after all the years of raising a family and two years of a
divorced, out of work sister who finally found her white
knight and riding off with him into the blessed sunset.
But having the house to oneself meant doing all the things
that were once shared like meals, dishes, laundry and house
cleaning itself not to mention the yard which the ex had
filled with ubiquitous gardens, i.e. weeds to pull, shrubs
to trim and train, flowers to divide and care for. Yes, I
stayed busy but seemingly accomplished little.


And so there I was, about the time that summer was putting
forth its final heat wave, when an old friend encouraged
me to volunteer at one of the local schools to read once or
twice a week to children struggling with their words. In
August I followed his lead and did just that. I was accepted
on the spot by a young principle cut just the summer before
from his final pro league team. An interesting young man
of whom all the young teachers nicknamed Clark Kent because
of his chiseled face and heavy black framed glasses.


It was a rather large grade school. Times were tough forcing
the district to consolidate three schools into one. I was
glad that my schedule only called me in twice a week as the
noise of youth was rapidly fraying the last raw nerve left
to me. Women seem to fair better than men in either ignoring
it all or just absorbing it all in a motherly fashion. I suppose
that was why of all the retirees volunteering at the school,
only women chose to drive school buses —those reverberating
yellow metal coffins of screaming mayhem.


This is how the school year passed. I met many new people,
even made a few friends, had a parent or two try to set me up
to meet either their single mother or grandmother. God,
was I getting that old? ‘Thanks, but no” I kindly declined
though I wished for a companion to add a little noise to house
every now and then. And I suppose that would have been the
end of it if were not the long haired woman who stopped one
very fine spring day at the office to pick up an ailing grandchild
as I was signing out to leave for home.


Sometimes you know them for who they were almost immediately.
Other times, even when introduced, you never really quite
place the old with the new. In this case, there was something
in the way she moved, something in the way she placed one
her hand on her hip while the other signed out poor little
sick boy, Ricky Taylor. The glossy brunette hair had now
turned gray, losing much of its velvety sheen. But it wasn’t
dry or thinning as some of the women’s hair seemed to be
after years of bleaching and coloring. I was taller than
her now. She was still relatively as thin as she had been.
On the other hand, I had put on a few pounds directly below
the expanding barrel chest. She wore glasses while I sported
newly lasered retinas. Amazingly, she still seemed gay
and alive with energy.


“Oh poor boy, ” I heard her comfort the ailing child
as she turned toward the door that I held open to them both.



“See you Monday, ” I called back to Renee at the office
desk, smiling back at me as always, waving as I stepped out
into a beautiful cloudless day. Oh if only Renee were single!



I followed the woman and child out to their car parked inappropriately
in the ‘Reserved for Staff ONLY’ parking lot. It was
one of those new German SUV’s with automated this and
automated that. Someone had money to burn!


“You take care Ricky, ” I called out as the woman closed
his door before walking to the back of the vehicle as its
rear hatch closed all on its own.


“Forgive me, ” I asked as I tilted my head to one side,
summoning the gray haired woman’s attention, “but
have we met? I don’t mean to be rude but there’s just
something in the way you were standing at the desk, signing
Ricky out that brought back a long forgotten memory.”
Careful, boy, I warned myself. Mustn’t be too free with
age related recognitions.


Standing upright in perfect feminine posture, the woman
turned and looked at me full in the face. Searching every
movement, I could not divine her thoughts.


“Well, I don’t know. Are you from around here?” bright
eyes inquired without any sense of resentment of being
bothered by the questioning.


“I grew up here, graduated from high school but moved
away until just a few years ago when, after my parents had
died, I moved back into their house.”


“What year did you graduate?” she asked.


“Sixty seven, ” I answered, almost ashamed at the
antiquity of it.


“Really! That was the year I interned at the old high school
that burnt down. What class were you in?”


“Yours. . . . Phyllis?” I asked leaning toward her,
cocking my head slightly seeking affirmation.


Call it what you will, but there is something I find strangely
enjoyable when I have someone lost for an answer. The licking
of her glossy red lips, the quick twinge of nose and slight
raising of her glasses begged me to reveal myself.


“I’m terribly sorry, but I. . . .” People sometimes
form sentences which are left unfinished with the express
purpose in extruding information lost to them.


“Don’t recognize me? That’s okay. It has been a long
time and I suppose I’ve put on a few misplaced pounds and
then there is this, ” I said pointing to my well-groomed
white goatee. “I suppose I could tease you and tell you
were I sat and in which class. Or I remind you about the time
when a certain Brian Biggins got caught flashing a Playboy
centerfold while you were up at the board with your back
to us as Mrs. Ryan just happened to look in through door window
checking up on how you were doing.”


I watched as the woman raised a hand to her mouth, drawing
a deep breath as she cried in her sing-song way! “Oh my
God! Yes, I remember that. Are you Brian?”


I suppose I had it coming. I had teased her memory instead
of just being mature and up front with who I was. Brian Biggins
had been a fat little turd who, now looking back on it, had
always been strangely popular. Ever and always, he was
quick with a joke or some witty sarcasm that often had even
the teachers smiling at him. Unlike myself, he had gone
on to become a prominent local land developer who’s wealth
had made him arrogant and totally suspect of even his best
of friends.


Just smiling to her, holding out my hand, I finally confessed
laughing, “No, not so fortunate. Ron. Ron. . .”


“Ronnie! Ronnie Kucera! Oh my God!” she screamed again
in apparent delight. “How are you? Do you teach here?
What have you been up to?”


“Oh I’m retired” I confessed, shaking my head no.
“No, no. I just come here a couple of times a week to read
to kids who are struggling with their words. And you? You
still live around here?” I asked, greatly desiring a
miraculous healing of little Ricky so I could scoot him
off back into the school and have this lively woman all to
myself.


With a sad face she answered me, “No, I’m just here visiting
my daughter and her husband. I live down in Florida. My husband
and I retired down there.”


“You’re married?” I asked trying desperately not
to let on my disappointment.


“I was. David died last year when a drunk teenager ran
his car up over the curb and into the table where David and
I were eating. I never even got knocked off my chair but David….”



I watched as the brightness in her face was eclipsed by the
memory of her loss.


“I sorry. I truly am. I’m so sorry for your loss.”



“Ron, it was good seeing you but I suppose I should be getting
Rickie home and in bed. Is there a way I can get in touch with
you? Are you married?”


“Not any more. Here, let me give you my cell number. I don’t
have a home phone any more. If you’re free, I’d love
to take you to lunch sometime, or better yet, a night up into
the city.”


•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••



I had driven home as giddy as a high school boy knowing his
choice of femme fatale had accepted his offer to escort
her to the junior/senior prom. These sorts of things only
ever happened in the movies, or at least to other people,
never me. And Phyllis looked great. Why had I stopped my
regiment of exercise and diet after the wife left? Genetics
had still kept me in the game but athletic was now only looking
average. Still, on those rare occasions where I actually
bothered to look at myself in the mirror, I turned away at
the thought that all the good days were just about over.



Would she call or had she merely been polite? And here it
was, Friday night. Would I have to struggle through another
weekend alone or would the gods favor me and allow me just
one more opportunity to enter the dance?


•••••••••••••••••••••••••••



I had finally given up and run out to get something to eat
before returning to the house for another brain numbing
night in front of the fifty-inch flat screen. After both
wife and sister had finally vacated the premises, for a
brief expanse of time I allowed wicked women into the house
to dance for me on that very same stage. But all were either
too young or took their clothes off too fast. They also neglected
appreciating the art of arousal via breast lust. Rather
it was one second strolling around the house, the next fucking
wildly in anything but a realistic, identifiable way.
Was I so strange to want some semblance of normalcy?


And so there I sat till I could take it no longer, turning
it all off before rising to stand in front of the window,
looking out on the world as it passed me by. The mini mall
across the street was a hive of activity between the best
BBQ in seven counties, a carry out only pizza hole-in-the-wall
and a most convenient discount liquor store. But my driveway
was dark and empty. How did one go about rekindling the fire?



As I was about to turn out the lights and retire to the bedroom
to turn on yet another tv to numb me into dreamland, Phyllis’s
rented SUV, or one just like it pulled deep into the drive.
I remained standing in front of the large twelve foot window
till the SUV’s lights went out and its driver side door
popped opened. Sure enough, it was my long haired, big busted,
beautiful dimple faced Ms. Phyllis Parks, only her last
name had changed over the years. Racing to the side door,
I flipped on the outside light and went out to greet my guest.



“What are you doing here? I waited for you to call but then
thought that you thought it best just to leave things be.”
Sometimes I cringed at the way I think about things and the
way I always seem to be of the habit of revealing them.


Half hanging her head, Phyllis spoke as she drew nearer,
“Well what I didn’t tell you this afternoon was that
my flight back to Florida was scheduled for tonight. And
truthfully, that was where I was and where I was headed.
And though you might think ill of me for saying this, frankly,
I was ready to leave after spending ten days with my daughter.
Don’t get me wrong, I love her to death. And her husband
is a sweetheart if there ever was one. But it was just time
to leave.”


“Does your daughter know….” I asked, not purposefully
leaving my sentence short, and yet, doing just that.


“Does my daughter know that I missed my flight? No.”
It was a pitiful ‘No’ that tapered off in a quiet sense
of lostness.


“Phyllis . . .” This time I caught myself thinking it
better to move her and the conversation inside. “Would
you like to come inside? Can I get you something to drink?”



Phyllis had pulled into my drive shortly after ten. Now
it was nearly one and that long awkward silence we had both
been starving off finally raised its ugly head. We had laughed.
We had pulled out old pictures and swapped countless stories
especially those dealing with spouses and children and
now grand children. We had even talked a little about politics
and religion before the awkward silence loomed up before
us and seemingly refused to go away.


I remember King Arthur of Camelot singing the question,
“What does a man do when a woman is thinking –for they
don’t do it often?” Then he confesses, “Oh my mind
is at war!” And so too was mine. Phyllis arrived wearing
a sharp blue-gray matching suit jacket and skirt complete
with a white, button down the front, blouse. If she had stood
with brief case in hand, she could have easily been mistaken
for some high falutin business executive or perhaps even
a higher falutin politician. To use the word, grandiose,
would not have been out of character. But after a second
glass of Italian wine, Phyllis had discarded the jacket
and loosened one more button of her blouse before relaxing
in my father’s favorite easy chair. Behind her was an
old pole lamp with a dim 60W light bulb that illuminated
her being as if being captured in some Dutch Reformation
still life.


As Phyllis talked I took the opportunity to observe and
record everything about her. That once shiny brunette
head of hair now was in fact a mixture of brown’s and grays.
Somehow it seemed to suit her perfectly now. She had arrived
with it neatly tucked up tightly behind her, again in that
professional woman’s way. I liked the new Phyllis. Her
eyebrows were thin but right for her face and the style of
glasses she wore complimented them both. The crow’s
feet which sprang out from the sides of her eyes made her
smiles more real and her tears more painful. The vertical
creases at either side of her mouth still accented every
pursing of the lips. Only the slightest increase of fullness
beneath her chin gave evidence of age, and then probably
only to me. The upper vermilion her mouth now wrinkled when
she talked. That too I found strangely appealing, pondering,
always pondering whether or not she would allow me to kiss
those lips and if and when she did, would it be as good as I
had, oh so many year ago, imagined it would be?


There were times during our conversation when Phyllis
would absentmindedly scratch the back of her neck as she
looked down and to one side in some deep contemplative ruse.
That was when I was able to assess as to whether or not the
years had been kind to her breasts. Though her blouse was
of luminescent white, I could discern no pattern of lace
beneath, no seam, not even much of an indentation from shoulder
strap. And having only the two top most buttons unfastened,
I, sad to say, could discern little cleavage. But there
was no hiding the fact that it was in there. Nor was there
much pretense to the fact that Phyllis’s breasts had
filled out, if not indeed, grown out since our meeting.
I searched the archives but drew a blank as to what had then
been previously observed other than being proportionately
large and often cloaked behind sweaters and the fashionable
blazers of that time.


“So I thought, what the hell, it wasn’t like there wasn’t
anything desperately waiting for me back home. I know,
I should have called or at least texted you. I guess my impetuous
nature hasn’t lost any of it impetuousness over the years.
I find it seriously helps me from growing old or being scared
to explore another facets of life. And that is very important
at this stage of the game, don’t you think, Ron?”


I was glad that Phyllis had dropped the familiar name of
youth, ‘Ronny.’ There were other hints subtly dropped
along the way that gave me hope that per chance this impetuous
girl might spend night! And if I played my cards right, maybe,
just maybe she’d even spend it under my sheets.


“I couldn’t agree more. However, in admitting that,
I will have to confess that I haven’t been very impetuous
of late.” I laughed a sad sack laugh before adding, “There
hasn’t been any reason to.” I looked up at two bright
eyes that were leaning forward in my father’s old chair.
Was this an invitation?


“Maybe you just need to look around a little harder to
find something new to get excited about!” There it was
again. Surely this was an invitation.


Standing to my feet, Phyllis rocked forward with two arms
wrapped about herself as I drew close to her. Smiling a queer
little mischievous smile, turning her head ever so slightly
as she looked up at me, I leaned down and slowly brought my
lips close to hers. “I’ve always been attracted to
you, ” I heard myself confess.


“I know, ” she replied, this time with a widening of
that mischievous little smile. “Why do you think I took
the chance and came back?”


My eyes widened as I looked breathlessly within her own.
Slowly she closed them and pressed her lips on mine.


There are times when two pair of lips are just made for each
other. I’ve kissed countless women over the course of
my life but only three of them perfectly matched my own in
a way that no others had ever achieved. One was a summer fling
just out of high school. The other was at the end of a three
days stay at an old college friends home after which she
kindly drove me to the airport to see me off. The third now
had her hand behind my head, tenderly injecting her passion
into me. The kiss lingered forever, long enough to make
the position uncomfortable. We parted slowly as eyes opened
just as slowly before beginning their searching for answers.
Only centimeters apart, our breath mingled as head positions
began randomizing, seeking both optimization of placement
and permission.


I suppose if I had been younger, I would have pushed her back
in her chair or dragged her off on to the floor and had my way
with her. Perhaps if she had been younger I still might have
done it. But there was a maturity about all of this that told
us both that there was no need to rush. This was no affair
of youth. This required neither of its participants to
be home before midnight. Besides, that hour had come and
gone. Nor was there any conflicting thought of explaining
the lateness to an awaiting spouse. We were both consenting
adults. We were both, for-gods-sake, consenting senior
citizens. We were both free. For the first time in my life,
I knew what it meant to feel absolutely free; to be free with
a woman who was so ardently there for me —just me; a woman
who had dared to change the direction of her life, without
any selfish manipulation on my part, just to take a chance
on me. The mere realization of it made me stumble back away
from her. “What?” she begged before the mischievousness
of her demeanor exuded a shy smile.


“ I, I, I…” I stuttered. “I guess I’m just having
a hard time taking all this in. I stopped looking for you
a life time ago. I just gave up. It was too hard to keep looking.
Too many disappointments. So many hurts. Hope became a
dangerous thing for me. But it was always you. I have been
waiting for you all my life.”


At this Phyllis reached out with extended finger tips and
took one of my hands as she looked down at the floor as if to
make confession.


“David and I met at a school parents-teacher conference.
He was a widower, fatherly, caring, handsome, employed,
seemingly having his act together. It wasn’t one of those
instant connections. It was gradual for both of us. Well
really, it was a desperation on my part. Perhaps you’ve
never thought about it but once a woman graduates from college
and begins a career in a local community school system,
she has pretty much locked herself in to a very small room
of opportunity. I mean, I never was one to shop at some local
bar. I never did that even in college. I suppose I was never
really that lonely. I loved my job. My desperation was different
than that. I wanted a family of my own. Some find their mates
within the system but men who become teachers are, more
often than not, nerdy, though often nice. I guess, at least
for me, if you work in a bakery all your life the last thing
you want on your plate is another donut. So David was a convenience.
. . and, as it turned out, he felt that way as well. He never
fell out of love with his first wife. I don’t fault him
for that. Though he never betrayed it, I do think, ” Phyllis
stopped confessing long enough to admit the reality out
loud, “-no, I know there were times when he made love to
me that he was really closing his eyes in an attempt to make
himself believe that I was her. I tried. I honestly tried
to be her for him. But we’re all unique and in the end we
are all who we are. So our marriage became more a brother-sister
affair, friendly but not true lovers. We were just two people
sharing the same house while struggling to raise our family.
I still loved him as a husband. Don’t get me wrong. I guess
it’s complicated. And when I lost him, I thought the world
had ended for me. Have you ever been on one of those single
dating sites for seniors? The female to male ratio is like
a thousand to one. You men are either all married or dead.
So I guess, like you, I had stopped looking. I have grown
content just to enjoy my life to its natural end. Financially
I’ve never been more secure. Freedom? All my kids are
married and living their own separate lives though we are
close and stay in touch. Elizabeth, my youngest and most
dear to me, lives the closest and she lives in Georgia.”



Phyllis continued to finger my hand as I looked down at her,
reaching out and caressing the top of her head. How quickly
and thoroughly she was becoming precious to me all over
again. I knew not what the future had in store for us –if
it had anything at all. I only knew that she was here and for
the mean time, all other cares and concerned had ceased
to exist. Within me raged a mixture of emotions. I felt the
protector. Here was a delicate flower that had been long
neglected. It needed a bit of cultivation, a little nurturing
to make it strong enough to once again shoot forth a dazzling
array of blossoms. I also felt a strange sense of calm with
her. No need to rush it. No need to secure, claim, mark her
as my own. She was here because she wanted to be. But there
was still a strong desire to just tear her clothes off and
fuck her like she had never been fucked before. So utterly
fucked that she would curl up next to me after it was all over,
just like a little girl and beg servanthood. So utterly
fucked that every other encounter would be like just so
much dross. So utterly fucked that the rising sun would
no longer mean a new day for her but a new era in her life. I
pulled her to her feet, tightly drawing her near to me, squeezing
the life our of her elbows, screaming at her without words
as her eyes turned into big question marks, searching desperately
to discern the answer as to whether or not I had, after all,
turned out to be something altogether wrong for her. Me?
I suppose I was having one of those “It’s a Wonderful
Life” episodes where Jimmy Stewart grabs Donna Reed
at the bottom of the stair, letting the phone of life drop
to the floor as you grabbed another life so as never to let
it get away ever again.


“Look here, Phyllis. I’m not a carpetbagger. I’m
not a looser who sits every night like a fungus in front of
the tv. I’m a man who . . . who cannot be played with. I must
know the truth now. Are you playing me? Am I just a convenience
to you like David was back then? I don’t want that. I never
want that again.”


Phyllis’s answer was probably the best. She tore herself
away from me with fire in her eyes. I’d never seen that
flame before. I’d never been ready to. As if to emphasize
her resolve, she threw herself back into my arms. As tender
and slow as had been the first kiss, the second was heated,
each of us desperately searching for that little crevasse
into which to hide ourselves; that vehicle which allowed
two souls to become as one. My search had ended. Letting
go of self, I wrapped her in my arms. It felt so right. It felt
so amazingly right.


Phyllis was now a head shorter than myself. With two hands
I pulled it back and looked once again into her eyes. Not
allowing me to linger there long, she stood up on tippy-toe
as she brought my mouth down to her own, performing CPR on
my soul. Her kisses overflowed with a hunger that caused
me to fear my inability to match it. My freedom wasn’t
use to this sort of attention. Perhaps, in part, it was due
to her being such the aggressor. All of life’s experiences
prior to this moment had been ever and only the woman giving
in to my own aggression. But here, at life’s last light,
came a woman unlooked for, hungry for every bit me as much
as I for her.


My house was clean. The cat boxes had been changed that morning
and all the dishes had been washed and put away that night.
Clean sheets had been placed on the bed. I had showered
and shaved just the hour before her arrival. Windows were
open while the unobservant whole house fan silently sucked
in the refreshing late spring air.


Phyllis excused herself to clean up. By then we both new
her rented SUV was going to spend the night parked in my drive.
The two bedroom bungalow had but a single bathroom in it
though both attic and basement were finished. To the latter
I retreated while she ‘tidied up a bit.’ In the laundry
room, next the washer and dryer were two oversized concrete
sinks, large enough to bathe the dog in. But on this night,
it offered a quick chance to freshen up a bit myself before
returning to await my guest.


Phyllis had retrieved a small garment bag from her vehicle
before locking herself into the bathroom. I could hear
the running water and the flushing of the toilet. In arranging
the house for her re-entrance, I left a single dim light
on in the kitchen that washed out across the dining room
floor while opposite facing security lights from the mall
across the street dimly filtered their way through the
front hedge of holly, privet and two sentinels of arborvitae.
It was all enough to set the mood. Candle lights couldn’t
have done it better though I had lit two of them in bedroom.
The door handle sounded; then a clicking off of the bathroom
light. Like a cat out of the darkness, silently she stole
back into the room.


Had I died and gone to heaven? Had I won the largest lottery
in the nations history, garnering me femme fatales at my
doorstep desperately wanting –now- into my life? I had
not anticipated the woman who stood before me. Where had
she acquired the garment? And more puzzling still, why
had it been packed only to visit her daughter?


“Do you like it, ” Phyllis enquired, performing pirouette
for me to see all of it. “As I sat at the airport, trying
to decide whether or not to chance finding you here tonight,
I spied it in the front window of one of the little, overly
expensive boutiques —and it just spoke to me. So I took
the chance. Is it to your tastes?”


With a mouth hanging open, my answer was an unconscious
licking of the lips and a nearly inaudible, “Oh my god,
yes!”


Phyllis had clothed herself in an antique whale boned bustier.
It was black as the night with horizontal rows of widely
spaced stars. The garment made her breasts appear even
larger than first imagined while revealing shapely thighs
that were anything but fat. It’s hem gathered in tight,
short ruffles, ending just where her black bikini panties
began. Phyllis worn nothing else. Myself, only dressed
in a pair of well weathered shorts and an emblematic polo
shirt, stood up to meet her.


Phyllis was definitely one of those, rare in my life, cup-half-full
sort of people. She was confident about herself and her
choices without being arrogant or demanding. Normally,
all things being equal, I would have romanced a woman of
this caliber. But this woman on this night, dressed in this
garment purchased while making this decision begged forgoing
any and all genteel indulgements.


We met and kissed as her body movements directed me toward
the back of the house and onto my bed. “Lay down, ” was
her command after removing my shirt and pushing me playfully
back onto the bed. “I want you to just lay there, ” she
again commanded me as she drew off my shorts as my cock sprung
out at rigid attention as she did so. “Hmmm, ” she sighed
at the sight of it. Confessing but not inviting him into
the room, Phyllis stood over me, “David never let me suck
his. He said a wife didn’t do those sort of things.”
In the dim candle light, the buxom shadow wraith towered
over me.


“You’ll never get that sort of thinking from me!”
I surprised myself at the levity it was stated in for my mind
was all too serious about recording her every word and every
movement.


“Turn around and lay up close to the edge of the bed, ”
my dominatrix ordered me as she bent over to feather my rigid
manhood in her cascading fingers.


“Dear god, tell me you are real!” I begged her. Releasing
my fingered manhood, I watched attentively as Phyllis
stood back up, withdrawing a single breast from the form-quenching
bodice. It was massive, capped by a large dark aureola just
slightly above center with a thick and long nipple at the
center of it. “Pinch this to see if it’s real or not!”
she teased me.


I was fighting every emotion, every notion to rise up and
capture this woman, ripping her panties from her and just
brutally fucking her until we both melted into one nirvanic
existence. Instead, I reached out and began to gently thumb
the hardening nipple. She cooed before ordering me to pull
it, “Harder. Harder!” If the baton between my legs
hadn’t been rigid before, now it was granite. “Bite
it, ” she directed me, leaning over, offering the delectable
nodule as I lay there like a slug. “Ooooh, yes. Use your
teeth.”


All that I had imagined of Phyllis Parks was evaporating
with any hope of repair. Pulling herself backup as my teeth
remained clenched to that mother’s nipple, I allowed
it to spring free as I watched its breast contort by the motion.
Smiling back at me, never indicating that my teeth had just
about severed the nipple from her breast, Phyllis slowly
withdrew the second breast. Even larger than the first
with the same umber sand dollar pasted on the end of it with
an equally large yet not quite as taut, nipple sitting dead
center. “Are you a breast man, Ron?” Like she had to
ask.


“Oh god yes! Of the likes you’ve never seen before!”



Phyllis leaned over and placed the head of my cock in her
warm wet slobbering mouth, satisfied for now just to suck
on it, tickling it with her tongue before deep throating
its length a time or two without so much as a quiver. Briefly
standing back up for air, she confessed, “Oh, you have
no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this again! I hope
you don’t think ill of me after all these years and me now
being the respectable grandmamma, but there is just something
about having a man inside my mouth.”


I must confess, it was shocking to hear not only the confession,
but expression of such a thing in hungered fashion. Yet
remaining standing beside the bed, I watched as the woman
looked down at me as she sucked on first one and then the other
breast. Juggling their girth in her hands, Phyllis seemed
briefly content to tease me and each of her nipples with
her tongue before returning to take my dancing Doric column
deep within her mouth.


The position offered her right breast to me as it dangled
freely, gravity performing its best effort to elongate
them. At first I merely tugged on her nipple giving her further
cause to moan. But her breasts were too magnificent to ignore.
With both hands, I tried vainly to enclose it with finger
tips and thumbs, pulling and squeezing as valiantly as
possible before resting my right hand back at my side as
the left began a routine of swaying the heavy weight in one
direction, slapping it as it swung back in the other. Only
mumbled, I thought I heard my master of the night cry, “Harder!”



Working first the length of it, then sucking and licking
just the head, my aged angel lost herself in the enjoyment
of circumcised man flesh. Slurping, mouthing, swallowing,
gasping for air, she never resorted to handling it. Turning
her head, first this way and then that, she continued to
take all of me then only part of me. With mouth open she would
slither down one side before skillfully twisting and sliding
back the other only to then swallow me whole over and over
again. Truly this woman loved having a man’s cock at her
disposal. And it felt good! It felt like I had never imagined
it could ever feel.


Suddenly and without warning, Phyllis stood back up as
I watched attentively the freed breasts swaying first
one way then the other. Grasping her panties at the corner
of her womanly hips, Phyllis removed the lacy article,
but not without first patting her kitty in a delightful
and playful patter. “Move over, ” she instructed
me as I slide to the center of the large bed.


I wasn’t sure what to expect next from this unimagined
woman in heat. Crawling up onto the bed beside me, she straddled
one leg before again setting about consuming my manhood
with her mouth, only this time she now collared my shaved
balls with thumb and index finger of one hand while the other
circled the base of my shaft all the while her mouth sucked
me deeper and deeper into the back of her.


I suppose it wasn’t something that had to be taught. A
woman merely had to want it. The rest just came naturally.
And without a moments consideration, this woman definitely
wanted to suck cock.


Only once before had a woman performed it to such a degree
as to succeed in bringing me off insider her mouth. That
had been my little Margie, on our honeymoon night. She hadn’t
wanted to suck it but I coerced her into it just the same.
It was what wives did. It was as much required as my fingering
her wet clit into climax before ramming my cock into her
virginal womb. But for whatever reason, perhaps the stress
of wedding day, perhaps the long anticipation, I climaxed
almost immediately after she began timidly mouthing the
dirty object. Coughing, spitting, swearing, never again
did she trust me, refusing every and all encouragements
and enticements till at long last she walked out my life
forever.


“Whoa there horse!” I signaled the laboring locomotive
breath. “Not yet. I don’t want to come yet.”


As I said before, this was a confident woman. Sliding back,
she grabbed both my ankles and pulled me down toward the
end of the bed such that my head was no longer able to rest
on any my pillows. And before I could retrieve a pillow to
slide it back under my head, my gameful playmate maneuvered
herself to the head of the bed. Taking a position directly
above me, straddling my head, looking down as she bent her
knees, she asked, “Do you mind?”


Grabbing her by her hips, I pulled her sex down on top of my
mouth. Though she had shag carpet upon top, beneath she
was a clean as a new born baby. In the glow of the soft scented
candle light, I viewed her. No longer sporting taut childhood
lips, there was a swollenness about her. I kissed her offering
to me while looking up at her looking down. I hesitated a
guess that dear David wasn’t in favor of doing this either.



With a simple touching of the tongue, like a magic button,
they unfolded for me. Though her outer lips were swollen
and puffy, her inner lips were long and sinewy. They begged
me to handle them, but not before once sucking the length
and fullness of them fully with my mouth. Two cock roster’s
combs could not have compared, nor had I ever imagine having
a woman with both, large beautiful breast and a perinanth
so long and sinewy. Willing to let me pay, I fingered her
wetness before clasping each lip between thumb and fore
finger, pulling them apart as my tongue sought out the wet
pea hiding within. She cried, “Oh, right there.” Lightning
striking once was note worthy, twice was story telling,
but for a third time? I heard of them but never truly understood
all that was involved in being a hermaphrodite. Obviously
she was fully female, having sired three children of her
own. And she enjoyed being a woman. Stimulated, I watched
as her clit grew as hard as my own cock had in her mouth. Was
I a latent homosexual for enjoying this discovery so completely?
Deeply I drew her into my mouth, its length as long as the
last segment of my little pinkie. Her legs quivered as I
heard a moan deep within her bowels. Lifting her slightly
up off me to better focus on this amazing discovery, her
sex remained cavernously open as her dark lips hung down
and her clit erect for the teasing.


As she had done to me, so I returned the favor, sucking, licking,
nibbling on her fever as her legs began spread wider, pressing
itch hard down onto my scratch. Soon her fever broke out
in an unrestrainted jerk and cry. “Oh yes, Ron. Don’t
stop! Don’t stop!” she breathed, gasping for air.



Why hadn’t she seen fit to warn me? Only surprised by it’s
profligacy, not by its nature, I briefly pushed her up off
of me before returning my tongue to push deeper within her
as an opaque rash of fluid flushed over my face.


Without warning, Phyllis pulled herself off of me, producing
a wet face cloth from God knows were. “Wipe yourself off, ”
was her only command as she lay down next to me before pulling
me on top of her. She didn’t have to tell me what to do next.



Wet as any woman ever was, a stream of white wonder still
escaping as I slid my cock deep with her crack, she arched
her back and pressed her head deep within the bed as each
hand grabbed a handful of sheet. With breast coursing every
which way, I buried my shaft repeatedly within her till
at last her final door opened to me. Like a flood gate on a
swollen river damn, her excitement was exceeded only by
my own.


“Oh God in heaven, ” I cried as my thrust stopped deep
within her, extruding every ounce of long denied orgasm
as her cunt fingers grabbed me and refused to let go. Again
she came, spraying her hair haphazardly across her now
hidden face as it thrust itself first to one side then another.
At this coming, Phyllis screamed without reserved. At
long last, for her too, a long denied completely accepted
orgasm came to life. Wrapping her arms around me, crushing
my chest against her breasts, her hips began to fuck uncontrollably.



I couldn’t make out the words exactly, but they were course,
extruded by yet another orgasmic explosion. How many did
she have within her, this being her third, or was it her fourth?



Thanks to the little packet of trial offer pills given to
me at my last doctors exam, I remained rigid to the last.
Eventually her tide stopped coming in allowing me to fall
off to one side of her as each of us tried catching our breath.
Old fogies indeed! I dare say few people younger than us
had ever come so many time or with such volatility. Whatever
laid in store for us in the future, one of them was not the
demur spousal relations we each had once put up with.


“God, ” she called out as the woman next to me woke.
“I do seriously believe, Ronnie, I have never been so
completely and thoroughly fucked before! And please,
do forgive. I so wanted to cum while you were sucking on me.
I know I shouldn’t have just cum like that but just once….”
I ended her little apology with a finger on her lips.


“It was perfect! Well almost. You certainly surprised
me but please, don’t ever think it puts me off. God damn
woman, what a fuck’n wild piece of goods you are! Have
you always been like this?”


“What, liking sex? I suppose. But you were still in high
school back then. I was in my last year of getting my teachers
certificate and what, four years, three? your senior.
Back then that was a lot. Back then I had to maintain that
teacher/student barrier. Back then there were a lot of
you boys staring at my chest, imagining me to be your play
thing. You were simply one of them though living next to
you somehow always separated you from the pack. We were
both young then. Young and foolish.” Phyllis sighed
as a curtain of silence drew itself across the stage as we
fell asleep in each others arms still covered with the cum
of our excitement.


Come morning we showered together, laughing, talking,
enjoying the wonderment of a suddenly realize companionship
that would this time truly last ‘till death do us part.’
It wasn’t a movie and it wasn’t a one-time occurrence.
Phyllis’s nature was as imaginative as it was impetuous.
Instead of flying, I drove her back down to her home in Florida,
sometimes with her seated next to me with nothing on but
a smile. No one else in the world mattered to her. She loved
me fingering her excitement in public places as much as
she love having me in her mouth out in the boat as others flew
past us. Phyllis Kucera was the love of my life.


(this was originally posted under the title 'Phyllis
Parks")

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Member Responses Post Your Comment

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Very very well written. Had me captivated and enjoying
every thought. Well done. dont stop now.

2/24/2012

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Bloody hell! At last a fantastic , well written story that
keeps you reading and wanting more.

2/24/2012

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Question to the readership- as I get older, I feel that I
should be less explicit in the description of the sexual.
I didn't re-edit this short story to clean that up but
would like to. I think it is better to allow the reader's
imagination to color in the outline presented by the writer.
However, I do not write for others. I write for myself as
a benign way of dealing with the frustration of these things
never being the reality. Most of your better writers write
because of the void in their lives. What does that say about
me? So would you rather see greater description, less description
or is this somewhere about right?

2/24/2012

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well written..you have a flair for a penmanship..Keep
up.

2/24/2012

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An extraordinary story for this venue, well done and well
said. You have captured the essence of a later in life connection
between two people who match perfectly. It has only happened to me once, at 63, and I will never forget
her. We did not marry because of problems with her children,
but person to person she and I were perfect for each other.
I would be blessed if I ever find another perfect match without
the family problems.

2/24/2012

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I agree: incredibly written, deliciously descriptive, absolutely
accurate in introducing and revealing the characters.
This is paced very well, enticing the expectations. You
have an excellent way of presenting passion without being
crass, so your instincts in writing are good.


The only other author on this site to present this quality
of work is Classygal1000. The difference between you is
she presents the woman's view, you present the man's.



Yes, I hope to see more.

2/24/2012

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One of the best stories I have read on this site. Very well
written and suspenseful. Outstanding!!

2/24/2012

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This is the best story I have read on this site to date. It
held me captive right until the end. Great job, I will look
forward to the next one by you. Again thanks

2/24/2012

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Ric, just bought an '09 Dyna with 1300 miles on it! Can't
wait for warmer weather. My last harley I rode from Key West
to Anchorage. Those days are long over!

2/24/2012

twosharp2 73 M
Score 0.2
Quote

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Exquisite...no other superlatives needed. I disagree
with your premise you should use less detail; i.e., as the
intensity builds, let the verbiage follow.

2/24/2012

cjg045 65 M
Score 3.3
Quote

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OUTSTANDING, very erotic writing !!!!!!!!!!!!! I wouldn't
change anything. I'll be looking for your next installment
on this story.

2/24/2012

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Fantastic short erotic story. I say give the next great
story more description in maybe the third person. bravo
for making this tops in 73, 000 stories

2/24/2012

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Fantastic! As a 71 yr old I apreciate the notion that we can
still be passionate. I hope I can find even half of what you
did. Please give us more!



rarewine

2/25/2012

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BTW, this is just a story that came from my imagination.
All characters are fictitious and, unfortunately, only
coincidentally resemble anyone you or I happen to know.
I like JRRT explanation of where stories of fiction come
from. He said they were like leaves on a great tree. THe writer
merely unfolds one and reads the story and then recounts
it through his own imagination and verbage. It would be
a great reality, however! I think that is why so many like
the story.

2/25/2012

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Greart writting, enjoyed reading it even thogh it was
fictional, well done keep it up.......

2/27/2012

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AWESOME ! I met a lady at Mcdonalds yesterday !That was had
my interest beyond all else , delightful!

4/12/2012

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This is excellent! It guides, captivates, evokes future
memories.

4/13/2012