She Is Bac in the Game

It had been so many months since she had exercised at the park. Deborah was finally beginning to feel like a person again.

The settlement from the airline for her late husband's plane crash came in, and she would probably never have to work again in her life. Deborah had been a good and faithful wife and lover. But she needed fresh air, or her life would be over.

On this crisp spring day, the park was teeming with activity. Kids, kites, moms, pets, and life in general. Here would be a good place to ease back into the world. Weary of the only conversation people wanted to have with her, their offers of condolences for her loss, she had picked a secluded spot. She selected a place by the lake with some ducks for an audience and a couple of young men a distance away, offering bait samples to the fish. She prayed that she didn't see anyone she knew.

Her depression caused her not to eat well for months; she had lost some weight and looked good but wasn't in shape; her tai chi activities had always kept her toned. It was time to get back to living.

She started with some stretching exercises, damn that hurt! It got better the longer she held it. Her gyrations caught the attention of the young men fishing. They were polite in their gaze; they didn't want to ruin it and make her leave. She enjoyed the energy it gave her; she put on a good show for them. They gained a new appreciation for the flexibility of an older woman. When she thought they had had enough and she was feeling the pain, she took up her meditation stance, neglected for so long.

This was cool and all, but the fish weren't biting, and they had to get back to their dorm. As they left, they waved, and she acknowledged with a tip of her head, not missing a single pose.

She continued to try to regain her skills; it would be a long road. Her earbuds were jamming to some stretching music, so she never heard the approaching machine or the screaming.

The next thing she knew, one of her earbuds and sunglasses were gone; she had been scooped up into some guy's arms and was blazing across the open field at twenty miles an hour on some powered off-road skateboard! He slowed the thing down and executed a graceful running dismount with her in his arms. He was very athletic. When he put her down, she wasn't sure if she should punch him or kiss him. She snatched her other bud out and stood there, with her hands on her hips, giving him a split second to start explaining before she blurted out, "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

After our surfer dude got cussed out, he shot right back at her. He had the good sense and people skills to not address her, "Hey lady," or, "ma'am."

He said, "Hey, girl! I come over the blind hill, and you're standing in the middle of the trail! You could have died! I saved your life!

"You owe me dinner. I'll see you at the sushi bar at seven tonight."

Proud of himself, he didn't give her a chance to say no. With a wink and a devilish smile, he took off in a cloud of Texas dust, his surfer-style, longish hair blowing behind him. His shirtless, ripped abs glistened with sweat under the sun while he caught some rays darkening his supple skin.

She was still in shock, dumbfounded by what had just taken place. A bit shaken, she looked around for her lost possessions. She plopped down in the grass, her hands shaking at the unexpected excitement. Her ladylike demeanor told her she should be mad at him, but she just couldn't. This little forty-five-second interlude was the most exciting thing to happen to her in months. She didn't even know his name but couldn't forget that face or body.

She gathered herself and went home with plenty of time to decide if she was actually going to the sushi bar. She knew the place well; it had been one of their favorite quick dinner date spots.

Dropping a trail of clothes on her way to the shower, she made it hair-wash day. She took extra time to enjoy the hot water and suds. Her skin was warm, maybe from too much sun for her first time out in a while. A little extra lotion would take care of that.

She couldn't stop thinking about him. Like they had spent the afternoon together, but it was only a few brief seconds. Then, she would shake it off, telling herself she would not go. She was just old enough to be his mother! Then, she would convince herself that it was OK. As she dried herself in front of the full-length mirror, she was comfortable looking at her own body. She had nothing to be ashamed of. One would have to look hard to tell that she had an adult child. Her breasts, while not perky, stood well on their own and were firm with an excellent swing and nipples that would announce themselves with little more than a gentle breeze.

She worked on her hair, naked, and enjoyed the view. This was the most sexual she had felt in a long time. She gazed upon herself and thought about the men she had known and some of the adventures she had enjoyed. It had been a long time. She felt sorry for the first man to attempt to take her after this long hiatus; she hoped she wouldn't scare him too severely, appear too needy, or injure him.

She tried on ten outfits! She was way more excited than she should have been for this, whatever you want to call it. It was not even an official date! One outfit looked like a banker's pantsuit, another resembled a tramp, and the leopard print screamed desperate cougar!

Finally, a nice form-fitting sundress that did a beautiful job accentuating her top without a bra, and just long enough that she could confidently operate commando; the slit up the side let everyone appreciate her great legs. Some heels, not too tall and not too spiked, but just right. A couple of hats and then opted for no hat! Parfums! What a dilemma! She didn't want to smell like his mom, but she didn't want to smell like a 14-year-old boy covering his body odor with drug store body spray. A little citrus would go well with her yellow dress. She had worn black for so long that it almost felt weird to have on a color. A schmeer of lipstick, and she was nearly ready.

Houston, having gotten more Chicago and less Texas, made her start carrying a weapon. This dress was not very conducive to packing a firearm, so she decided this would be an excellent opportunity to try her garter-mounted dagger. She had been training with the fighting knife. Mounted high on the thigh and just outside the crease of the hip, it allowed total discretion and perfect accessibility. With her ID and a credit card tucked away, car keys in hand, she hoped to get there first.

She entered the restaurant, and in the moment it took her eyes to adjust, he had her by the arm; he leaned in close and whispered, "Benvenuta," with a thick, natural Mediterranean accent. That one word was the only Latin she could remember from school and her vacation to Italy- 'welcome' (in the feminine). He led her back to the moderately lit table he had occupied for thirty minutes, wondering if she would show.

He wanted a table with enough light to assess one another, like art pieces at a gallery, but not so bright as to ruin the moment. His manners didn't just come from watching old movies; he had obviously been formally educated at a reputable finishing school. He seated her and pushed her chair in before seating himself, but he didn't waste the opportunity to get a glimpse down her top. He moved around the table at a leisurely stride, allowing her to look him over. She thought he was a bit casual for a first meeting, then remembered that this was their second one. He looked very comfortable in a tropical, white-linen, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. Also, white linen pants secured with a drawstring, rolled at the cuffs. His ensemble was finished off with woven leather shoes that looked like an artisan in a remote village custom-made them for him. He had a straw hat hanging on the post of his chair. The two of them screamed hot summer evening.

Not knowing what direction the evening would take, neither wanted to load up with a heavy meal. A few refreshing hors d'oeuvres, a drink, and some safe small talk.

She did learn that he was born Italian and perfectly mastered his American accent, which he had demonstrated in the park. She was more intrigued by his natural, exotic speech.

She thanked him for a nice time and attempted to wrap up the date to see his reaction. As they approached the register, he did not try to stop her from paying. He thanked her for dinner as the bounty for not killing her. Then he announced that since they had completed their second date, he already had their third date planned out.

As Nicholas escorted Deborah to the passenger side of his typically Italian cliché Alfa Romeo, it was running. Inside was cool, and the door opened as they approached. He took her hand and lowered her into the sports car in a most elegant manner. He thought he caught a glimpse inside the slit of her dress, but he could not be sure. She inquired what the evening might hold; all he would say was to promise a memorable time. They continued to chat about travel and cuisine, all still very safe subjects.

In a few short minutes, they were at a park by the river where a carnival had been erected. She had not been to such a venue in years; she was tickled to be here. A stroll through the midway, a trip on the Ferris wheel, some cotton candy, and a giant stuffed animal later, and they were ready to leave. She was wondering what to do with this stupid stuffed bear. HELL, it wouldn't fit in his fancy sports car!

God mercifully provided an answer to her problem. They saw a little girl whose balloon had gotten away. The family looked like they had little money to spare but were trying to allow their daughter some fun. As the couple approached, she looked at him, and without a word, the two of them knew what should be done. She gave the little girl the giant stuffed bear, and the entire family almost broke into tears and thanked the couple profusely.

They left the park and felt incredibly close; he pulled her in tightly and put his arm around her waist. When they got to the car, it was cooled and the doors were open, an interesting bit of technological sorcery; she never noticed him toying with his keys or an app on his phone. Nonetheless, impressive. He announced the end of their third date and introduced her to their fourth date.

Dancing and drinks- this was not Latin or country, but kind of a pop-music thing. She was not uncomfortable with this crowd. Her adult daughter's friends thought she was her sister, and she enjoyed the limelight, often mistaken for a woman younger than her paperwork and odometer would indicate.

The alcohol and vigorous dance moves were taking a toll on her; they stepped outside for some air. Her vice of choice was Devil's salad; she just happened to have a nice pre-rolled. She asked him if he cared and if he had a light. He deployed his Zippo like a switchblade. She could see him in a different light as the evening turned into morning. Everything he did was with expert dexterity, polished precision, and complete confidence.

Date number four came to an end, and they were rushing headlong into date five. There was a bountiful stable of food trucks in a courtyard across from the club. Several breakfast tacos later, some Mexican Coca-Cola, and date number five was drawing to a close. She couldn't take the suspense any longer. She had to ask him why the fractured and much-accelerated timetable for completing a certain number of dates in one night.

He finished his tacos and rinsed his mouth with the imported Coca-Cola. He leaned forward, cupping her neck in his strong hand, pulled her close, and kissed her hard on the mouth for a period much longer than would have been customary on a first date. He told her that after several dates, there are some expectations of milestones that would indicate the progression of a relationship.

He said, "I don't want to wait weeks to find out."

As they returned to the car, it was not running. He faced and kissed her again, backing her against the car door. She was not resisting him. He was holding her so tightly, crushing her against the car.

Having been on a few dates, but not lately, she knew what she wanted.

His hands were everywhere at the same time. In seconds, he had touched every part of her! She dug her nails into his firm ass through the gauze-like material of his cotton pants. Her other hand was pawing at the front of his pants, tightly gripping his throbbing member. The harder he pressed her against the car, the tighter she crushed his tool. He was pleased to confirm his suspicion about what was under her dress. He resisted the urge to dig his fingers inside her; that he would save for later. He was content to drive her around the lake from outside the gondola. He pressed and pushed, pinched and rubbed, and drew circles around the man in the boat. Her breathing quickened, and her knees began to shake. He thought she was getting close, she was crushing his bone and frantically rubbing the head.

He abruptly stopped and whispered in Italian, "Non ancora," not yet. "Soon. Not here, not now."

She was so close! He was good and read her well. A few agonizing convulsions and it passed. He eased her into the car. While he moved to the driver's side, she used her trembling hand to wipe a tear from her eye. She had no idea where this was coming from; it felt oddly good.

The eastern sky was brightening, and bird activity on the power lines was a buzz. The donut shop drive-thru was open, and some kolaches were ordered. They were in front of her empty, lonely depressing house. They ate the breakfast pastries, drank coffee, and chatted about more safe subjects.

She could not nurse her cup of coffee any longer; she had to make a move.

"Please come inside for a while... I don't want to be alone."

She just made herself very vulnerable, and he was expert enough to exploit her. He thought she wouldn't even know what happened. The truth was that sometimes age, experience, and cunning were more valuable than pure youthful exuberance—he was the one who had been had.

Once inside, she tried to head for the kitchen, but he grabbed her! He pulled her to him and kissed her hard, plunging his tongue into her mouth and touching every tooth in her head. He held her tightly, her feet just off the floor. He pushed her into the living room and flipped her backward over the back of the couch. Her legs were ungracefully in the air, and her head was on the seat. He locked her in and put his hands on her thighs, pulling them apart.

With a maniacal grin, he looked like a wolf about to devour a rabbit.

He dove in, all teeth and tongue. Deborah yelped and jumped! It had been so long! He sucked, and chewed, and bit, and flicked with his tongue. She was already halfway to the goal and started to twitch and pull his hair.

He stopped! THE SON OF A BITCH STOPPED! She involuntarily growled like an animal!

He lifted her, holding her closely; he turned, resting against the back of the couch, and put her legs over the front. He lowered her onto his turgid shaft. She was so sloppy wet, but he took his time and made her anticipate and pray for every agonizingly slowly revealed inch. She was spurring him with her legs like a rodeo rider trying to gain more of him faster! She was not embarrassed! She wanted all of him right then! The time was right. He thrust himself into her, crushing her swollen button! She gasped and cried! Thrashing and convulsing, she had the most thunderous orgasm in what felt like forever. She could tell she had scratched him in a few places but didn't care. It was so good and lasted so long.

He had the good manners not to disturb her in her moment. He just held his position, his back arched, head thrown back, grimace on his face. It didn't look like he was enjoying himself. He knew he was there on a mission for her pleasure. His large hands grasped around her hips, pulling her down tightly onto him; like Excalibur buried to the hilt in stone, only to be released by the gifted one. His tip planted firmly against her womb; he enjoyed the feeling of the spasms from within her body clenched tightly around his rapier. A few more twitches and she collapsed, her face falling hard against his anvil-like pectorals.

She began to sob. He was determined to be her rock; he just held her. It was part of the process. The day had turned into night, night had turned into morning, and morning into day, and they both fell into a much-needed nap right there on the couch.

When they awakened a short while later, they were literally bonded together in the cement of bodily fluids and the remnants of their passion. After carefully uncoupling, they went for what they thought would just be a quick shower. It turned into another all-out, pin-your-ass-to-the-wall, gut-pounding, back-scratching, breast-biting, get-back-here-I-think-you-missed-a-spot, standing sixty-nine marathon. Primarily, since he did not deliver the goods in the living room, all that mess was from her, and this was his turn.

As they carefully dried, she noticed certain parts of her anatomy were out of condition. She was quite tender, but she would not let that stop her from making every moment with her new friend count. It was too early for dancing, too late, and too hot for the park. An early movie and late dinner would be the order of the evening.

Finito per ora.