I tapped lightly on the door of Maureen’s suite late the following afternoon. She opened the door immediately and I sucked in my breath at her loveliness. As always, her auburn hair was perfectly coiffed and her makeup flawless. Her radiant smile, with the whitest of teeth, was complimented by green eyes that shone like moist emeralds. She pulled me inside and embraced me tightly as my backpack slid to the floor. Her lips brushed my neck and a shard of passion shot to my groin as I smelled her honey-like breath. “Come sit down,” she whispered. “Are you tired? Want a drink? Want to take off your boots? Scotch okay?”
I gave her a quizzical look and she realized she’d asked four questions. She laughed a bit too forcefully as I responded, “No, yes, no and yes!”
“I’m sorry, honey…Nick…I’m so nervous! First the drink!” she said, trotting quickly to the sideboard. I watched her from the back and my groin started pulsing. She was wearing a snug, jersey, off-the-shoulder floral top that stopped just above her breasts and showed half of her deeply-tanned upper back. Her full cotton skirt flared from her small waist, ending at the knee, and was obviously buoyed underneath by petticoats of some sort. Her luscious tan legs were without stockings…just the way I’d remembered from our first night. On her tiny feet were three-inch heels with ankle straps. She finished pouring drinks and corked the bottle, only to stand there with her back to me. She placed both hands on the sideboard, almost to brace herself against it, and said, “Nicky…I can feel your eyes on me. When that happens, I lose all self-control. I forget who I am…a middle-aged mother of two college-age daughters. A lonely divorcee who’s…who’s…oh, fuck it!” she said, then turned to walk slowly to me with our drinks. The look in her eyes had changed from one of radiance to a dull, almost-narcotic stare.
She handed me my Scotch and sat hers on a small coffee table which she moved away from in front of the sofa. She stood between my feet, standing and looking down at me for a few seconds, then sank to the floor, perched between my knees, laying her head on my thigh. “A divorcee who’s what?” I asked, a bit surprised at her outburst. It was 1961. I’d led a relatively sheltered life and had never before heard a woman use the “F” word.
“One who’s made a fool of herself…with her daughter’s boy friend!” she murmured.
“I am not Lindy’s boy friend!” I exclaimed. “I mean, I feel a lot closer to you than I do to her!”
The dull look vanished from her eyes. “Do you really?” she asked, grasping both of my thighs and rising to her knees. I nodded quickly as her hands spread flat and moved toward my crotch. “Then it’s okay if I undress you?” she asked, somewhat timidly. I nodded again and a slight smile split her lips, then a look of purpose knitted her face as she struggled to unbuckle my belt and open my pants. “Then you like me,” she gasped as she wrestled my pants and shorts down over my butt. “I’m not just an old slut, chasing after a kid half her age!” I was about to respond but she interrupted me, with almost a squeal of joy, as my rising cock snapped out of my briefs, right in her face. She grasped it by the root and muttered salaciously, “Mmmmnn…you want me too…dontcha’,” as her tongue flicked out to wet the dark red crown repeatedly. I stiffened and threw back my head ecstatically as she murmured several lewd things, the one I most remember being, “Thas’ good, baby, ‘cuz I’ve had days to think about what I’m gonna do to you. We’re gonna have so much fun!”