The Widow

She was the type of woman you would pass without giving her a second glance. Not that she was ugly, she was not. She was average.

A $500 day at the spa would make her pretty but not beautiful. I watched her from across the room. We had never met but I knew all about her from my friend, her husband, Bob.

Today was Bob's funeral. I had not seen him in some years but we stayed in touch via regular e-mails and occasional telephone calls. It never mattered that we did not see one another regularly, we were best friends.

Bob had confided that he and Sue were having problems and it was she who suggested trying the swinging lifestyle. I do not think that Bob would have thought of that on his own and he was not into it the way she was; she loved it. An anal accountant, Bob was not the adventurous sort. That information, the fact that she had been a swinger and had been with many men, made me look at her differently that I would had I not known that about her.

By looking at her, you would never think she was, or had been, a swinger, but what does a swinger look like? Sure, there are those who you know are swingers by the way they dress and act but, then, there are those, most swingers, who keep their sexual lives private, that is, until they are behind closed doors.

It was difficult to tell her body from the black suit she wore; it made her appear thin. The jacket was oversized and buttoned to the top making it difficult to see the outline of her breast. I felt weird checking out my best bud's widow, especially at his funeral, but he would have laughed.

The crowd dwindled leaving a few stragglers talking off to the side. I remember Bob telling me that she had four sisters and they were all there. Definitely, she was the best looking of the four, not that any of them were homely; they were all just average with nothing special about any of them. So, I guess, that made her a bit better than average. If I had to put a number on her, she was a six on a scale of ten but she could be a seven or an eight if she dolled herself up more. Then, again, this was not a glamorous occasion but the funeral of her husband.

I made my way from the back to introduce myself and offer her my condolences. It is weird that in the 25 years of their marriage that I never met my best friend's wife, but our paths always took opposite turns in direction. I was supposed to be his best man but was called to active duty just before the wedding. He sent me photos of her and that was the only time I saw her, two and a half decades ago. She aged well. I saw Bob whenever he traveled to Boston every few years to visit clients. Sue stayed home in Chicago with the kids. I never traveled, did not like to fly, especially after 911, and had no reason to leave Boston, for me, the greatest city on Earth.

I got more critical of her as I neared but for the better. She was much prettier when she smiled. Her smile lit up her face and she had the bluest eyes I have ever seen. It made me wonder if she wore colored contacts but I remember Bob told me that she had laser eye surgery, so unless they can permanently alter eye color, too, those baby blue eyes were hers.

It was unfair of me to judge her appearance at her husband's funeral. She looked like she had been up for days crying. Her sisters hovered over her picking lint off her jacket, touching her arm, hugging her, kissing her cheek, pushing an errant hair from her face, and holding her hand. I wanted to get her alone but it was now or never.

They all turned to watch my approach. Their stare made me feel naked or that I should check my fly. I smiled a little trying to stay somberly respectful given the seriousness of the day. Funny, seeing Bobby in the casket, it did not look like him but then, I had not seen him in, has it been seven years? It had.

"Hi, I'm Freddie."

"Yes, I know who you are."

"I'm so very sorry—"

She held out her finger and pressed it to my lip and then held out her hand and I took it not knowing if I should shake it or kiss it. She pulled me closer and I followed her move. She hugged me. I had never experienced this kind of hug before. Somehow, maybe because she held me so tight, it was comforting but because I could feel her breast pressed against my chest and her pubic bone pressed against my cock, it was erotic at the same time. Still, the hug transgressed any verbal communication between us and, immediately, I felt a close bond with her.

She had both arms around my back beneath my suit coat and I had one arm around her waist and the other around her back. I could feel that she had a body. She felt firm yet soft, the way a woman should feel. Then, when I looked over her shoulder at Bobby, I broke down. She started to cry, too, and we hugged one another for what seemed like forever.

Her sisters left us to talk and she asked me to ride with her in the limo to the cemetery. The rest of the morning, she never left my side, and although we did not speak again until after the services, we did not have to speak. We somehow knew one another's thoughts having Bobby's spirit guiding us and negating the need for verbal communication. Holding hands, hugging and holding one another, supporting her weight with my arm around her, touching her arm, back, and shoulder, and wiping a tear from her face, our actions communicated our feelings.

It was 11pm when the last of her sisters left for the night with a promise to return early the next morning. She asked them to give her some space and that she needed to be alone. Reluctantly, they agreed to wait until she called them to return.

It was late but I did not want to leave her. I felt so close to her. She made me feel good, like Bobby was still there in the room with us and I think she felt the same way. Normally, it takes me time to warm up to someone, but I was comfortable with her immediately. Maybe, because of the circumstances of our meeting, there were no walls to breakdown and no pretenses to overcome; I felt like I knew her all my life. Somehow, as if she read my mind, she asked me to stay.

She said that I could sleep in the guest room. She said that she hated being alone and was glad that I was there with her even if only in the next room. She promised me a pancake breakfast. We switched from coffee to wine and the alcohol did wonders for her. It animated her and she relaxed from her burden of the weeping widow for the first time, albeit for a brief time. She smiled more and even laughed. She said that I reminded her of Bob in some ways and that I was much like him in other ways. She was pretty but not just pretty, there was something mesmerizing about her, the way her emotions revealed her thoughts on her face without her having to utter them.

You could tell she loved life and loved Bob very much. She was special, suddenly becoming alive with energy that revealed an inner passion, which gave her a beautiful aura. She intoxicated me with her being and I felt like I was falling for her.

We sat across from one another, she in a Queen Anne chair and me on the sofa. It was then that I noticed her legs. She had very shapely legs and after I complimented her about her legs, she told me that when she hurt her shoulder years ago, she gave up gymnastics for ice skating and still staked regularly.

The alcohol warmed more than her personality.

"I hope you do not mind," she said, as she unbuttoned her jacket exposing her lacy, ivory bra over a definite C cup.

"Please, this is your house, make yourself comfortable."

We talked like that for another hour with her inner feelings opened as much as her jacket. It was late, past one when I excused myself for bed. It was a long day and although I was tired, I knew between her and the couple glasses of wine, I could not sleep. I was wired.

I lay there staring at the ceiling from the light of the full moon listening to the sounds of the house settling for the night when I heard a knock. I propped myself up, covered myself with the sheet, and switched on the light.

"Come in."

"I hoped you were still awake," she said opening the door and entering the room. She wore a short, sheer white nightgown that became transparent in the light. Clearly, I could see her nipples and a dark patch of pubic hair. She looked deliciously hot and my pecker awakened with the sight of her.

"I'm too wound up to sleep." She played with a handkerchief that she was never without. "Every night, Bobby and I talked in bed before we fell off to sleep. It was the only time we had sometimes to rehash our day. Already, I miss that as much as I miss him."

I moved the sheet back and she took my cue and got in bed beside me.

"I feel so—"

"Don't. May I hold you?"

"Yes," she said in an exhale and I felt her relax to my touch. She felt good in my arms like she belonged and I took the liberty to gently rub her shoulders, neck, and back down to just above her buttocks. I so wanted to feel her ass, cup her breasts, and put a hand between her thighs. I could tell she had a great body. God, what is wrong with me wanting to take advantage of my best friend's widow?

With her head on my chest, she snuggled beneath my arm; she fit perfectly. She rested her hand on my stomach with her forearm in contact with my penis and it did not take long before I had an erection.

We talked for what seemed like hours but it was only a few minutes before we kissed. I do not remember if she kissed me or if I kissed her; I think we kissed simultaneously. She was a wonderful kisser. She had these full lips and as soon as our tongues touched, her hand fondled my penis through my briefs. At first, her touch was ever so gentle, teasing and erotic but soon she grabbed the entire length of me and squeezed gently before reaching her hand down to cup my testicles. From there she moved her hand up my cock, teasing my head before repeating the process. She made me harder than I have ever been. My cock pulsated at the thought of making love to her.

"I'm sorry but Bob was sick for such a long time and—"

"Shh...it's okay."

She slid down, reached her hand in my underwear and took control of me. I watched her staring at my erection as she stroked me a bit before taking me in her mouth. Never have I experienced such pleasure. She was a wonderful cocksucker and I mean that only in the best way. Just as it was obvious that it had been a long time since she had sex, it was obvious that she was very skilled at performing fellatio. I so wanted to cum in her mouth to release all the tension that had built up with the death of Bobby and even though it felt so wrong to be intimate with his widow, it felt so right to be intimate with her.

She stopped suddenly, sat up, and removed her nightgown. Seeing her naked form in the moonlight, her silhouette was amazingly beautiful. I pulled her forward and took her magnificent tits in my mouth, first one then the other. She had big nipples, the kind that makes a noise when release from your mouth. I loved sucking her tits. I reached my hand between her legs feeling her trimmed patch of pubic hair along the way before fingering her. She was already very wet and my slightest touch made her gasp and quiver with delight.

"Make love to me," she said in a surreal whisper. "I need to feel you inside me."

I rolled her over as I mounted her; she was so wet, so willing, and so ready. I kissed her while feeling her tits and took each one of her nipples between my fingers before sucking them, again. She inserted me inside guiding me with her fingers.

So wet, so warm, and so tight, she felt incredible. At first we made love very slowly with careful movements, then we made love like clumsy teenagers with hard and deep banging thrusts that made her tense her body, arch her back, and scream. She made me sweat and my muscles ache until I could no longer hold back and exploded deep inside of her. We fell asleep, finally, around 3:30 and slept like that, holding one another, until the alarm went off at 9.

The next morning, when I appeared, finally, in the kitchen, the coffee was ready and Sue stood at the stove flipping pancakes, as promised. She wore this sheer, yellow robe that hid nothing. She had a wonderfully proud ass that any man would covet and her tits gently swayed with her every movement. She had a fabulous body making me wonder if it was too late to take up ice skating.

I turned her around to kiss her and her hair and makeup was already done; she was beautiful, and I had not even shaved or showered, yet.

We discussed over coffee what had happened between us realizing that it was nothing more than grief that brought us together. She thanked me for my comfort. I left later that day with mixed emotions and a heavy heart. In the months that followed I called her a few times and e-mailed her but not as regularly as I e-mailed Bob. Even though we lost contact, she still haunts my dreams and my desire. I heard through a mutual friend that she married a man she grew up with a year after Bob's funeral.