The Awkward Moment

THE AWKWARD MOMENT:

There was an awkward moment at the door, one that they had never anticipated,and one that never should have been there, if they individually had thought of it. But it was there.

Maybe before going on at all, we should analyze that 'awkward moment' a bit. It seemed to be a combination of a number of factors. She was, first of all, 50, or let us say '50is'. He was in his mid 20's, exhibiting that certain eagerness in most situations that is a trait of such an age group.

She--Helen that is, was a very attractive '50ish' woman. That much about her had never changed at all. She was, he only now was taking the opportunity to realize, big breasted, wearing a tucked in white blouse, and remarkably thin waisted, once again taking into account the white blouse tucked into the dark blue skirt. The wideness of her hips, a very pleasant 'wideness' to be sure, was something that he could only guess at, since he didn't have the shallowness of manners that would let him take a step back and assess her hips and butt.

All of that certainly made a contribution to the 'awkward moment' that they were sharing. But it certainly was not merely a function of age and of a sudden and unexpected realization of her charms as a woman, an older woman by a much younger man.

No, he--Tim, had known Helen before, had known her well before. When Tim was growing, an early teen at the time, he'd first met Helen. She was the wife of the pastor at his church.

The pastor himself, Tim remembered as pompous and not easy to either know or to have much personal confidence in. But she was different. She had always been a very gentle spoken, kind woman. There was always that about her that marked her in any society as definitely a 'lady' from anyone's point of view.

It was certainly all these factors combined that made up the awkward moment that they were currently sharing.

It had been for Tim a treat, an unexpected treat to be sure, to run into Helen again. He discovered her working in a store, which he was visiting. Their meeting was accidental and fortuitous:

"Mrs. M!" he'd said with obvious pleasure and no small joy.

(She had, after all, been a favorite of his back in 'those days'.)

"Tim," she said pleased on her part also.

"You remember!" he said to her smiling.

"Of course, I remember," Helen said, "Why should I not, though you have changed, I see; quite the young man now."

He blushed, and she noticed.

"I'm sorry, dear," she said softly, "I've made you blush."

"Not at all, Mrs. M," he said right away.

At that moment they had no time. She was working, and he had only a little amount of time at the store right then.

He smiled at her, a very warming smile. She returned the smile and said to him:

"Tim, there's precious little time now but is it possible, to have a coffee or tea sometime. It's been years."

"It has, and I'd like that," he returned. Then he asked, a little more reserved in his manner:

"How's the reverend?"

Her smile faltered just a bit and she said simply:

"Oh, we've separated. I'm on my own these days."

"Sorry to have asked an awkward question," he said, sensing the sensitivity of the situation.

She put an hand then on his arm and said:

"No, dear, it's perfectly alright; I know that you're not being nosy, just polite. I also know that you never really got along with him."

"That obvious?" he asked.

"Yes, dear," she said then.

It was at that moment, in their first meeting, after such a long time, that they parted. Their determination to meet for 'coffee or tea' was left hanging in the air.

He told her that it was so pleasant to see her, and she repeated the same and she went about the work she was doing and he did his shopping and was gone.

It was about two weeks later that he did have an opportunity to go back to the store. She had not been on his mind. It was only as a vague after kind of thought that, as he approached the store, he remembered that she worked there.

He did run into her again. He was all smiles, when he did:

"Mrs. M! We meet again."

"We do indeed, and aren't we the pair for never setting a time or place for that cup of coffee or tea and chance to chat and catch up!" she answered him.

"I'm at your disposal, Mrs. M," he said then.

"Well how nice," was her answer. "How is your school schedule? What kind of time to you have?"

"It can be flexible, Mrs. M," he answered.

"Well, I'm off next Tuesday," was her answer to that, "Is that any good for you?"

"Sure," he said enthusiastically. "Just tell me when."

"Say about 2 PM?" she offered.

"Where?" he said, "We shouldn't get this far with our project to meet and go off again without getting it settled."

She gave him an address, which was quiet near the store, and some directions about how to get there. He noted the directions down and promised to be there on the following Tuesday.

He kept the appointment and went to visit her. He as, of course, curious about her situation. He wasn't sure if he should bring anything but didn't bother.

"After all," he said to himself, "This is not a date."

She met him at the door. She was wearing a, for her, characteristic white blouse and a blue skirt, an 'a-line' skirt. She acted pleased to see him,and invited him in.

He caught her up with himself and his progress with school, and why he'd come to the city for grad school, instead of elsewhere.

Her own 'update' of her situation was a bit more involved. She told him quietly about her decision finally to part from her husband saying:

"It won't have come as news to you that he was a very difficult man to live with and get along with."

"No," Tim ventured to say, "I can readily imagine that, even though my dealing with him were always pretty marginal."

"He is bitter now," Helen said, "Spoke about me not wanting him and congregations not wanting him anymore. It was hard to hear."

She got weepy then, a bit. He wasn't sure what to do but she handled the situation herself, before he had to do anything.

"I'm sorry, Tim," she said, "Here I've invited you over for a cup of tea and I'm going on like a love lorn woman. You shouldn't have to put up with me being a weepy old biddy."

He laughed then.

She looked a bit surprised and said: "What?"

"Well," he admitted, blushing, "I'd call you many things before I'd ever come up with the word 'biddy', much less the word 'old'."

She smiled and put her hand on his then and said:

"Tim Frazier, you certainly haven't lost any of your kind, gentlemanly ways; that's for sure."

"But we're not going to dwell on 'his nibs' any more; that subject and any and all tears or problem are simply off the table for our discussion. Agreed?" she asked.

"Agreed," he said.

It was at that point that she asked him if he wanted any more of the cookies that she'd baked for their get together.

"Well, I've never met a cookie that I didn't like!" was his answer, grinning.

"I thought not," she said, "Students are students everywhere."

She fetched another plate of cookies, as well as a bag of those that were left over to give to him, to take with himself. He indicated his appreciation for the cookies, and got himself ready to leave.

"I've really enjoyed this, Tim," she said to him.

"Mrs. M," he answered, "It was a treat for me. Far away from home and folks here and running into you has been a true down home treat."

"Well, then maybe we should do it again," Helen said.

His eyes brightened at the thought and he allowed that he'd like that.

"Tuesdays are good for you?" she asked.

"Yes, they're fine for me this semester," he said, walking to the door.

They kept their date for the following Tuesday. On that occasion, she wanted to know all about his academics: what he was studying and all. She discovered his passion for engineering and realized in the process that he was good at what he was studying.

She spoke to him then also about her wish to travel a bit but admitted that she needed to get organized a little before she indulged that passion. It was a pleasant and rewarding time for both of them.

Then it was time for him to go; he did have a later afternoon commitment.

As he walked to the door, she had her hand on the back of his arm. It was a small, simple thing but it was also the very first time that he was aware of her physically, through that touch. It was a warm touch on his arm, and, he realized right away, a pleasurable touch.

Tim was in a state of confusion about this 'touch' thing before he actually got to her door.

"After all," the inner voice indicated, "This is Mrs. M, the pastor's wife here."

He tried to leave it go at that, and, having reached the door, turned around to thank her for the cookies, coffee and the chances he'd had these weeks to talk with her.

She was standing, when they got to the door, fairly close and he was a little startled, when he turned to thank her and saw her that close. He thought that he'd just startled her and that she'd back off a few steps but she didn't.

Then it happened: the 'awkward moment'.

They were there and he had the strange feeling that one would have at the end of a date, when it was time to see if you were going to get a kiss before the date slipped inside the door or only a hand shake or nothing at all except a 'thank you for a nice evening'.

It did, after all, feel like that just now, in this awkward moment. It felt like they'd had a 'nice evening' kind of time, and Tim flat out didn't know what to do.

Helen solved the 'awkward moment' with Tim Frazier. She tip toed up and put her lips against his.

It was no 'nice to see you again, Mrs M' kind of kiss. Her lips were soft and, what the romance writers call 'yielding'. This was obvious to Tim immediately. Her lips were slightly parted in the kiss giving him the promise of her tongue without actually having her tongue involved.

The very moment her lips met his, she put her arms around his neck. And there were other revelations that joined his sudden awareness of the fact that Mrs. M had lips that could produce such a wonderful kiss.

She was pressed against him, and, his next 'first' with her was his realization that her breasts were large. They pushed into his chest, and, he realized, were large enough not to be flattened but simply kind of bore their way into his chest.

And more:

His hands were around her, resting on her back, near her waist. It was a sly secret thrill for him, in those fleeting seconds, to not only be aware of her, for the first time, as a woman, but to be able to feel, with one upper hand, her back bra strap and with the other, at her waist, just above her waist, the upper edge of a pair of panties.

The awkward moment led to flashes of discovery for him that turned his view of her entirely around. She was no longer only Mrs. M, she was a soft lipped woman, with an alluringly small waist, and large, soft breasts.

She was, what was more, a woman whom he could now think of in her underwear.That had certainly not been the case before. He just didn't think of women that way, unless he was 'involved' with them. And now, at least in some way, on some level, he was 'involved' with Mrs. M, and had felt the back of her bra and the top of her panties, and these were really, really intimate things for him.

And all this happened in the seconds that the kiss lasted. When they broke apart from the kiss, he said nothing. He just stared at her and smiled.

Helen broke the kiss with a soft "ohhhhhh my!" and answered the smile.

The impetus to overcome the awkward moment had been hers; he would never have had the nerve to try to kiss Mrs M, the preacher's wife. But she had moved into it and kissed him, setting off those world changing events that produced the series of new and marvelous thoughts of discovery.

She was a little breathless, after the kiss, as she stepped back from him and said softly:

"Tim, next Tuesday?"

"You're on, Mrs. M," he said and then added a:

"And thank you for everything."

He blushed then, realizing what it sounded like and she giggled as she shut the door.

"She giggled," he said to himself, as he walked away,"She actually giggled, Mrs. M giggled!"

It had turned out to be a fairly overwhelming event, with piles of new sensations for him. He thought about it, turned it over and over in his mind all the way back to his small apartment by the school.

The thing that kept coming back to him, more and more strongly was that this was not any kind of casual encounter with a young woman. The sum and substance of what had happened with Mrs. M, a 'woman of age', he guessed she should be called, was that he'd been, for those fleeting seconds, in the embrace of a lovely, mature, and very exciting woman. It was the basic impression that was left on him, in his mind, and the one that stayed with him for the whole week.

He thought about it in different ways, from different points of view for the entire succeeding week. He realized above all that he should be thankful to her that she had taken the initiative, an initiative that he never would have had the nerve to take.

'Their kiss'----it was the almost enshrined way that he thought about it all week long----was probably the most exciting physical, sexual thing that had happened to him, he guessed: ever!

There were also parts of it that he wondered about. He knew that he'd gotten an erection, almost as soon as her arms went around his neck and she began that wonderful kiss. He didn't know if she noticed or it bothered her or anything. He did know that even if she had no idea of anything beyond the kiss, his erection poking at her would certainly have proclaimed to her what was on his mind.

"Nice going, Tim!" he said to himself, trying in the end to not be too chagrined about it all.

These thoughts were what his week was made up of. He still didn't have her phone number and couldn't get in touch with her, except to go visit her but was determined to 'be cool' and not go charging there to see what was the reality of the situation. He hoped, hope upon hope, that he'd know what to do, when he saw her next week, for he wasn't sure what her reaction was going to be, when he got there.

"Unless," he reasoned, "She decides not to see me at all, and lets me know that somehow."

And that thought was a panic producing one all by itself.

Tim occupied himself for the rest of that week, up to the weekend, with such an endless round of speculation produced by that one kiss. He had himself fairly tied up in knots and wasn't sure what to do.

He was always fond of running and working out, and he now sunk his anxiety into his running, pushing himself harder and harder than he had before. It worked for him. It allowed him to get his mind off of the kiss and back on his school work and other issues in general. So that, by the time Monday rolled around he was fine with it and wasn't going to let it spook him so much any more.

He didn't know if it was a sign of maturity or just giving his entire life up to desperation that he wasn't as nervous as he thought that he should be, when he went to see Mrs M on Tuesday. He brought even some flowers with him this time.

She was smiling from ear to ear, when she opened the door for him and he presented her with the flowers. She took them and set them aside.

While she was doing that, he took her all in:

The white blouse, buttoned to the neck, the straight dark skirt but he saw her differently now. Now he knew of the lines of the underwear beneath her clothes; he'd felt those lines and that was a kind of intimate connection with Mrs. M that he'd never had before.

Then the moment of crisis was there. It was the immediate successor to the awkward moment of the previous week.

Helen spoke:

"Tim, I owe you an apology for my infamous actions, when you were leaving last week."

It was all the farther that she got. For although last week it was she that had jumped into to retrieve the 'awkward moment', this week, when she was being as wavering and weak, and anxious as he had the previous week, he was certain and acted. He kiss her, pulling her to himself. He didn't know if it meant that he be sent away in disgrace or such a thing but he did it.

Helen reacted immediately, and fully. Her arms were around his neck instantly. She was making noises in her throat, little moans, as she kissed him and this time, this time her mouth was not only open but from between those soft, soft lips emerged her tongue slowly making contact with his lips.

Immediately he realized that it was all there; everything that he'd had contact with before: bra strap, top band of a pair of panties. Only now he had the mental nerve to wonder what kind and color the panties were. Now he was able to think those intimate thoughts about her.

The kiss broke and they talked at the same time:

"Oh, Mrs. M . . ."he said.

"Tim . . ." she began and then, as he hesitated, she said:

"It's Helen."

"Helen," he said softly to her, and then she kissed him back.

The kisses remained soft with both give and take on both of their parts. They were now enhanced by the soft slow slipping of Helen's tongue into Tim's mouth and then him doing the same, where his tongue was received passionately by her, with her sucking on his tongue. As she kissed him, she had her hand entwined in his hair at the back of his head. His hands were still separated with one resting on the broad back strap of her bra and the other at her waist, again with a hand resting on the top band of her skirt.

"Come in," she said.

He let her lead him in, as she held him by the hand and drew her into the apartment.

"That was very nice, Tim," she said.

"Wonderful is the word for it," he replied.

"It's funny," she went on, "I had decided that I was too brazen and totally out of line last week, when I kissed you at the door. We have history, you know, and there's this huge gap in our ages."

Tim held up a hand at that point and said:

"Helen, the history we can deal with, talk about, discuss but the age difference is never to be mentioned again."

"You wonderful man," she said, and she was clinging to him again and rewarding him with another soft and vibrant kiss.

At that point, Tim was living for those kisses; eating them almost as sustenance.

"Tea or coffee?" she asked him, as they broke from the most recent kiss.

"Uh, coffee, please, Mrs. . . .I mean, Helen," he replied.

She smiled at him and ran her hand over his cheek:

"It takes some getting used to doesn't it?"

"Oh, I guess," he said. "You mentioned the history and it's all still there."And shaking his head, he added: "You used to teach me Sunday school."

"Yes," she said, "Those were, I guess, good days, although the days weren't often that good with the Rev, you see."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said.

"But you're maybe not surprised," she went on.

"Not terribly," was his answer.

"Well, it's as you said, that's one that we don't need to talk about any more," she said next.

"Not at all," he said.

He watched her with a different kind of eye, as she went into the kitchen for the coffee. He watched now the swell of her buttocks, as she walked away from him. He could see, through the somewhat transparent blouse, the imprint of her bra from the back. He was looking differently at Mrs. M; he knew that. He was taking her for, accepting her for and kind of sizing her up as a woman, and at that particular moment, as his woman.

The thought shocked him and set him thinking.

She came back with the coffee and they sat and talked. It was a totally different kind of conversation than they'd had the week before. That had been pleasant, the kind of talk, when old friends catch up. Now they were good, close friends talking about things that mattered to them, laughing at times and generally just enjoying themselves.