Persuasion 3

I was driving us home from the party. Barbara was unusually quiet and pensive. She looked out the window at the streetlights, arms crossed over her chest, not talking at all. I left her alone, knowing that she would eventually say what was on her mind.

As we crossed over the river, she turned toward me and said, "Are you attracted to younger women?"

I glanced at her lovely, intense face and said, "Yes, of course. Sometimes."

She looked back out the window. "Why?" she asked, simply.

"Well," I said, turning right onto an arterial, "young women can be very beautiful. Not all of them are, of course, but youth is a great advantage. Most young people, both female and male, are attractive. It's why the species continues."

"I saw you with that girl tonight. I am not jealous. You know my principles."

"What girl?"

"The tall blonde with the large breasts."

I thought for a moment. "Emily Reese. She's the Dean's daughter."

"She liked you. I could tell. It was how she looked at you. She looked at you how I look at you."

"Is this where you tell me that I am an attractive man despite my age?"

"You

are

an attractive man," she smiled a bit, "despite your age."

"So are you," I said, "attractive. But you're a woman," my eyes flashed to her splendid legs, "obviously."

Barbara is very direct. It is a reason I love her. "Do you find me attractive

despite

my age?" she asked with some asperity.

It was like perfect timing. I pulled the car into the lot next to the park, stopped, and turned off the ignition. "Let's go for a walk," I said, opening the door.

She looked at me like I had just said

I am Jesus, returned unto this world to smite humankind

.

"C'mon," I said, "It's nice out. We can talk."

We walked through the trees and then down the long grassy bank toward the lake. The moon was very full and bright. Barbara's beautiful face glowed softly in the light. I said, "I won't begin to argue how much more attractive you are than Emily or any other young girl." We were holding hands. "That should be obvious: the emotional ties we share, your intelligence, your maturity..."

She gave me a sour look.

"Your maturity," I said again, "which should not be underrated. Have you talked to a 25 year-old hunky guy lately?"

"Well," she said.

"Exactly," I said. "Same for me. It's all packaging. Lovely wrapping paper, but when you open the box, there's nothing inside."

"Oh," she said, smiling, "there sometimes could be a pretty stiff cock inside." She glanced sidelong up at me. "Those can be quite fun to play with."

"I said

box

."

"Of course. Though you know I rather like

boxes,

too."

I stopped walking and looked at her. "Sorry," she said.

We resumed walking. "What I'm trying to say is that you are impossibly more attractive than a younger woman can be. I love the gray in your hair, those fine smile lines around the eyes—they are evidence of your life experience, of your character."

"You think I have lines around my eyes?"

"Look," I said, stopping and turning her towards me, "you are a supremely beautiful woman. You have an incredible figure. You have fabulous breasts. Perfect breasts. The best legs, I swear to God, I have ever seen. And on top of all that, I can talk to you. Both before

and

after."

She looked long into my eyes. Hers were shining—I thought, perhaps, with tears. She said, "What a load of crap."

"Not believable?" I asked.

"Not even hardly," she said and kissed me. It was a long kiss. There was some clutchy body stuff going on as well. Finally, she pulled back and said, "So, Signore Machiavelli, what are we doing here?"

I put my hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face the lake. Just in front of us was a promontory with a picnic table, which had a fine overview of the water.

I leaned close to her ear and said, "I want to bend you over that table, raise your skirt, and fuck you raw. It's all I could think about this evening. Especially," my hands moved to her supple waist, "while I was trying to carry on a conversation with that dimwitted Emily."

She looked over her shoulder at me. Her eyes showed both amusement and lust. "You old softie," she said.

I pressed my hips against her flank so she could feel my manly interest. "Not exactly," I said.