This is a work of fiction, somewhat based on true events. Names are fictional. All participants are over 18 years of age. Your comments are welcomed,
10 AM on a cold Tuesday morning, 25 degrees, and promises of afternoon snow, I'm wandering the isles of Wegmans searching for ingredients to make my ex-wife's grandmother's spaghetti sauce, about the only good thing I had to show from that marriage.
I noticed her as she took her parka off and folded it in her cart. Late twenties, longish brunette hair, tight jeans with a nice round ass, a promising looking swelling in her sweater, very light makeup, and high heels. I thought, "There's something you don't often see, good looking gal, casually dressed, with heels, very nice."
As I continued with my shopping, I was having difficulty finding the pureed tomatoes I wanted, finally finding them on a lower shelf just around the corner in the next isle. I bent over to grab a couple of cans, and was knocked to the ground by a cart crashing into me.
"Oh, my God! I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?"
I looked up into the most impossibly green eyes of the lady with heels.
"No, I'm all right, just a little surprised, that's all."
"I don't know how that even happened, I just looked the other way for an instant, and bang, you were on the ground. I'm so embarrassed."
I got up and introduced myself and stuck my hand out.
"Hi, I'm Jim."
She shook my hand saying, "Hi Jim, I'm Norma."
"How bout I let you make it up to me by letting me buy you coffee? There's a Starbucks next door in Barnes and Nobles."
"Sure, why not? That was going to be my next stop anyway."
She was a little shocked when I ordered a plain coffee. "You must not come here often, everyone orders complicated coffee here."
"Not me, I'm a traditionalist."
We got to a booth and she looked at me questionably as I slid into the seat next to her.
"It's loud in here, I wanted to be able to hear you."
The conversation flowed nicely, I found out that she was married with a seven year old in second grade and sold real estate part time with a local firm that I frequently did business with. I told her that I was in property management and was familiar with her company as they were clients. We laughed (small world) and exchanged business cards.
"On Time Property Management, I know about you guys, we use you for inspections and other services. Wait! Jim Scott, you're the owner, it says associate on your card."
"I find that 'owner' just gets me a lot of calls from people trying to sell me something."
I went on and told her I was happily divorced, three years now, no children, lived alone and wasn't interested in buying any real estate at the moment. She laughed, and I looked into those green eyes, and thought about how all the shots not taken were misses, and decided to go for it.
"Can I ask an inappropriate question?"
"You can ask, I may not answer." (laughing)
I made sure she was looking at me, put my hand on her thigh, and said, "He doesn't make you cum, does he?"
Her eyes got bigger, her nostrils flared and she started to blush.
"Wha, wha, How could you possibly know that?"
I moved my hand further up her thigh and said, "I can just tell, I've seen the look in your eyes before."
"And I suppose you're just the guy to fix that for me." Her face was now really flushed, but I noticed she hadn't removed my hand.
"It would take an element of trust on your part, but yes, I think I could help."
"Thank you for the coffee, I need to leave, let me out."
She left and I sat thinking she must think I'm an awful shit. Then, I thought there must be some truth to it, or she would have reacted differently. Oh well, nothing I can do, I took my shot.
A week went by and early one morning, she called.
"I've thought a lot about what you said, and it was totally inappropriate, but I can't help wondering just why and how do you think you could help, if I really had such an issue?"
"Let me make a few guesses and tell me if I'm right."
"OK, go ahead."
"I think you grew up in a religious atmosphere, probably quite strict, you don't have a lot of sexual experience, your husband was probably your first or second lover, you both learned about your sexuality together, and you make love in the dark."
"How can you know this?"
"Am I right?"
"Yes, my family was religious, I went to catholic school, they were rather strict, I married my high school sweetheart, he's the only lover I have had, yes we make love in the dark, and dam you, I can't cum. How do you know?"
"I've lived it. My wife and I were just about the same as you. After we split I was fortunate to have and older experienced lover and I learned a great deal. Look at it like this: young lovers are full of hormones and eager to have sex, but they have no experience. Once climax is achieved, they think they've discovered something and unless they're adventurous, they settle in, and that's as far as they go. Them learning together is like taking swimming lessons from someone who only knows how to float. That's all they can teach you and all you can learn."
"Wow! That's an interesting way of looking at it. Perhaps that's the reason young people are attracted to older lovers."
"It very well may be."
"Just how would this work? Would you become my lover? I don't want to cheat on or lose my husband."
"Not so much a lover as a teacher. It's a process. Hopefully, you would apply what you learn gradually at home, making you both better lovers, and straightening your marriage without him suspecting a thing. There's not a lot of risk of detection, as we wouldn't be dating or meeting in public. And yes, there would be sex involved, and champagne. Come over to my house, and we can discuss it further, no pressure, you can leave anytime you want."
There was dead silence for what seemed a long time, then she agreed, and we set a date and time.
"I'll be there at 10 AM, send address."
I made sure I was well stocked with champagne and hors d'oeuvres, had soft music playing low, and eagerly awaited Tuesday. She was right on time, nicely dressed in a bright white button top, stylish black slacks, and 3-inch heels. She looked delicious.
"This house is beautiful, I could have a contract on it tomorrow."
"Sorry, not for sale. Come in, have a seat, and some champagne."
"You don't need to get me drunk."
"I don't want you drunk, just relaxed, you're wound like a banjo string."
After some small talk and champagne, she said,