Sometimes it's right under your nose...
Anne was one of those women who oozed sex from every pore. She certainly made enough references to it, but it was more than that - it was evident in the way she talked, the way she dressed, and the way she carried herself that she liked men and everything that went with that. There were the little touches, the shaded references, the not so subtle come-ons. She was quite striking and much taller than the average woman, with long, dark red hair, dangerous curves, and a sultry voice. She had managed to hang onto much of her youth, but proudly wore the label of MILF. She reveled in being adored, and was adored by many.
Jack was a few years older than her, in his mid-fifties. Although he had passed the half-century mark, he was in decent shape and maintained his condition through regular exercise and an active lifestyle. He was one of those men blessed with a good head of hair just tinged with silver, and hadn't started losing it yet.
After her marriage ended he had taken on the role of helper when she needed it, fixing little things around her house and feeding her pets when she made her frequent out of town trips to visit family. She watched out for his place too, as his job had him on the road a lot. There was mutual affection and caring between them and they occasionally exchanged small gifts as tokens of their appreciation for each other.
They had recently been spending time in the evening sitting on her deck, just talking and drinking wine, sharing their thoughts and opinions. They just enjoyed each other's company and were both dating other people - she often asked him to judge how she looked before she went on a date, and was comfortable enough with him that he could touch pretty much any part of her to help "adjust" things.
They were well beyond tipsy this evening, and as was usually the case, inhibitions were fading away. "Do you think you'll ever marry again?" she asked.
"Ever?" he answered. "That's a long time. I'm enjoying life as it is right now, and three divorces don't exactly make me a good candidate for another marriage."
"Oh, stop," she replied. "You're a nice guy with a good job, and fine looking too. Eminently fuckable." The last statement almost caused him to choke on his wine, and he looked straight at her.
Did she really just say that, or is that the wine talking?
he thought.
"Mmmm?" he said through his glass.
"You heard me. You're a catch."
"Well, thanks for that. I don't think of myself in those terms."
"I do, and you are." She drank the last of her wine, and reaching for more found that the bottle was empty. She excused herself and went in for more. She came back and said, "I'm out of the cabernet. Unless you have some at home, we'll have to switch to the Pinot Grigio someone left here after a party." At that point he wouldn't have known the difference between a '59 Chateau Lafitte and MD 20/20, so he drunkenly nodded his assent.
She was standing behind his shoulder and holding the bottle in front of him, and was close enough for him to take in all of her intoxicating fragrance. Her breasts were right at his head level. Without a word or nary a thought, he simultaneously turned his head toward her, looped his arm around her waist, and pulled her close enough to bury his face between them. Nothing more than that, no groping or grunting, just his face between her surprisingly firm boobs.
He immediately sensed through his stupor that he had probably gone too far, and had in fact risked their entire friendship. Her own actions belied that, though, as she set the bottle on the table and put both of her arms around his head, drawing him tighter to her chest. For a moment they lingered like that, both aware that something was happening, something very different. He tilted his head back to look up at her at the same instant she looked down. Their lips met.
Neither one of them was a stranger to lovemaking, but that first kiss was as passionate as any they had experienced. Lips pressing, tongues exploring, years of pent up passions struggling to break those final limiting bonds. Her mouth tasted of wine and tobacco - she was a smoker - and that enhanced the sensation. She finally drew her head back.
"Well, well," she said with a smile. You can kiss, too. I had wondered about that." With that, she took his hands, drew him to his feet, and guided him inside without a word. It was such a natural act that no further words were necessary.
They made it as far as the couch, falling onto the cushions in an intertwined mass of arms and legs. Their mouths sought the other, their hands stroked and slid and felt every inch as they rolled and kissed and tongued and their breathing grew heavy. His hands ran over her breasts, felt her neck, slid under her shirt, grabbed the cheeks of her quite amazing ass. Her hands were under his shirt, her fingernails scraping lightly over the skin of his chest and abdomen. His knee parted her legs and pressed against her crotch; she responded with a moan and a slight thrust of her hips, then pushed him backwards into a seated position.
Swinging her leg over him, she straddled his lap facing him. More kissing, more groping, their bodies as close as two clothed bodies could be. She wanted more.
Sitting back momentarily, she smiled and pulled her shirt over her head in one fluid movement. She expertly reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, casting it across the room. Her boobs were lovely, well shaped and sized, with small pink nipples graced with metal studs.
