Dales Women Ch 05

"So was it the experience with Paula that led you to go after us well-seasoned broads?" Gloria said during a break in their next session.

Dale scowled at that description, but said, "Yes, I guess so. It just made me realize how stupid men are for leaving such wonderful creatures as her—and you!"

"That's nice of you." She had said it in her usual cynical way, but Dale could sense that she was touched by his flattery.

"So if I could step into the breach and help them out, why shouldn't I? And by 'helping out' I don't mean just providing sexual gratification—"

"But that's a big part of it, isn't it?"

"Maybe, but there's a lot more to it than that. Young women, especially attractive young women, don't need the attention: they get it all the time, from men of all ages. The older ladies are either bogged down in a boring marriage with someone who no longer excites them, or feel ignored or abandoned by a culture that overemphasizes youth and beauty. Many of these women are in fact quite beautiful—like you and Paula—but don't feel it because no one pays them the attention they deserve. So I figured I'd go on a one-man quest to remedy all that."

"Quite an ambitious goal."

"Naturally I can't solve the whole problem all by myself—but if I could make a few women happy, I'd have done something worth doing."

"Yes, yes," Gloria said impatiently, "very noble of you. Just tell me who else there was."

"Well, the next one was someone I met at a grocery store in Greenwich. Since I didn't have a job, I tended to go to the grocery store at all hours, whenever it suited me; and I found that during the early afternoons the store was frequented almost exclusively by either older people or middle-aged women—presumably stay-at-home mothers who weren't quite wealthy enough to have maids or housekeepers to do the shopping for them. And that's how I met Rose.

"What struck me at first was that she looked so

tired.

I later found out that she was only in her late forties, but she looked a full decade older. She was ahead of me in the cashier's line, and she had quite a lot of groceries to buy—which led me to suspect she was buying for a family rather than just for herself."

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock."

"It was, wasn't it? The cashier mechanically asked if she would 'like some help' in loading up her purchases in her car, and she just as routinely said no. But she had a large cart full of at least five bags bursting with all manner of things, and she seemed crestfallen about the amount of effort it would take to stuff them into her car and unload them at her house. I only had a few items to purchase, so I managed to trail along after her into the parking lot.

"Predictably enough, she had opened up the back end of a large black SUV and was preparing to put the bags in there. But then, all of a sudden, her shoulders just sagged and she seemed almost overwhelmed with the enormity of the task. Even if I hadn't found her appealing, I would have lent her assistance just out of pity.

"So I calmly walked up to her and said, 'Can I lend you a hand? Looks like you need it.'

"She peered up at me—she was only about five foot two—and, understandably, looked at me warily. 'Thanks, but I'll manage.'

"'You sure?' I said. 'I just want to help.'

It seemed that the effort to ward me off—I'm sure she was not in the habit of talking with strangers in the parking lot of a grocery store—was too much for her, and with a careless toss of her hand she said, 'Go ahead—be my guest.'

"I jumped to the task, and in a matter of seconds I had all five bags of groceries loaded neatly into the back of the SUV.

"'There!' I said, with some pride. 'All done. I hope you have someone at the other end to help you put away all this stuff.'

"She smiled out of the side of her mouth and said, 'I wish. No one home but me at the moment.'

"Then she gave me a look of alarm, and we both realized what was going through her mind.

I've just told this stranger that I'm alone at home. What if he decides to follow me and . . .?

"There was no way I was going to make her more alarmed than she already was, so I said blandly, 'Well, I hope you can take a long nap afterwards.'

"I was worried that she might think even that remark was a

double entendre,

even though it was meant innocently. With a genial smile, I began walking away to my own car. But then she said:

"'Um—you could help me.'

"All I can say is that I take some pride in not looking like a serial killer. I think that on that occasion I happened to be wearing a bowtie and a sweater, so I was utterly unthreatening. And the woman really did seem very tired.

"It was clear she had never done anything like this before. I think she was amazed—and a bit alarmed—at her boldness, uncertain whether she'd made a huge mistake that might cost her dearly.

"I sensed her discomfort and said, 'I'd love to, but I have some work to do.'

"She looked down at her feet and said, 'Of course. I understand.'

"And that seemed to be that. She slammed the back door of the SUV and was about to get into the driver's seat when I said, 'Well, I guess it won't take long to unload those groceries with the two of us working together.'

"You should have seen the radiant smile she gave me! It utterly transformed her face, and I could now see that she was really a beautiful creature—light blond hair (probably dyed, but who cares?), soft, gentle features, and at least a suggestion of some curves underneath the loose blouse and slacks that she was wearing.

"'How nice of you!' she said. She went on quickly, as if to make me commit myself before I could change my mind: 'You can follow me in your car. I don't live far away.'

"In fact, that turned out to be not entirely true. As I trailed her on the crowded streets, she led me to a part of Greenwich that I was not at all familiar with. It was a nice, quiet, shady suburban area of modest houses and well-kept lawns. Her house, in fact, was one of the larger ones—a two-story affair with a double garage.

"She had backed into the driveway, to make it easier for us to unload the groceries through the back door, which led directly to the kitchen. I parked on the street in front of her house and hastened to help her, as she had already opened the back door and brought in one bag. I insisted on bringing in all the others as she started putting stuff away in cabinets or the refrigerator.

"The job was done in a matter of minutes: we worked pretty efficiently! Afterwards, I stood there rather foolishly. All I could think of saying was, 'Well, that was quick work!' I dusted off my hands to illustrate the point.

"'You're a good helper,' she said tranquilly.

"It wasn't at all clear that she was going to do or say anything further, so I was about to leave—but then she said, 'Maybe you'd like some coffee? It's the least I could offer for your help.'

"'Do you have tea?' I said.

"'I do,' she said. 'Many different kinds. I actually prefer it myself.'

"'Do you?' I said enthusiastically. 'That's wonderful! Let's see what you have.' (There definitely wasn't a

double entendre

there!)

"She opened the door to one of the kitchen cabinets and pointed to the highest shelf. 'There are all manner of teas up there. I'm not even sure I can reach them, but you can take a look for yourself.'

"To my delight, she had my favorite tea—Darjeeling, a fine, strong Indian tea. I took the tin of loose tea down and handed it to her. She at once began preparing a pot, using a cute little tea kettle that had red and yellow flowers all over it. She opened another cabinet and fished out some tea biscuits.

"And so we had a proper English tea—a little early in the day (it was only about 2 p.m.), but it suited us fine. We introduced ourselves and told each other a little bit about our lives and situations. Rose was married (I knew that—I'd seen her wedding and engagement rings on her left hand), with two teenage children, a boy and a girl, aged sixteen and fourteen. No wonder she was tired! Those children were a bit on the unruly side, she said, and she was constantly chiding her husband, Larry, for not disciplining them enough. He was one of those many men who think that throwing a little sperm into his wife's vagina was the sole extent of his paternal obligations. His work as an investment banker took all his time—including time that he should have been spending with his wife and offspring.

"I let her chatter on without interruption, for it was obvious she needed someone to talk to. I'm sure she had her share of women friends, but perhaps she didn't have very many friends of the male persuasion. She liked and needed the attention of men, and I was not shy about giving it to her. I gazed right into her face, listening with rapt attention as I sipped my tea and nibbled those biscuits. Every now and then I contributed a few words of my own, mostly to chide her absent husband and unruly children for not appreciating how much she was doing for them. It was an obvious ploy, but she appreciated it. Her face was suffused with blushes from time to time—and that just made her look prettier.

"And so we talked and talked—she did most of it. Then, without warning, she uttered a little yelp and got up from the table. 'Omigod!' she exclaimed. 'Look at the time!'

"It was a little after three. I wasn't sure what she was so alarmed about and gave her a puzzled frown.

"'My kids are going to be back from school in about fifteen minutes. You're going to have to leave!'

"I wasn't going to make trouble for her: this was obviously not the time or place to press my case. So I calmly got up and headed toward the back door. I turned around and said, 'I've had a wonderful time. You're so . . . refreshing.'

"I wasn't lying, either. But I had a feeling she was thinking the same thing about me.

"She was fidgeting a bit, rubbing her hands at her sides as if her palms were sweaty. I'm sure she was wanting to make sure I left the house before her children came home—but at the same time she really didn't want me to go.

"And so I took her gently in my arms and gave her a soft but gentle and prolonged kiss on the mouth.

"At first she wanted to pull away, but within seconds all resistance faded from her and she draped her arms around my neck and kissed me back. She pressed her body against mine, and I could feel her breasts pressing against my chest just as she could feel my burgeoning erection against her belly.

"We must have kissed for a full minute or more. That's a really long time to hold a kiss, as I'm sure you know. In many ways that was an even more intimate act than actual intercourse would have been. At one point

I

wanted to pull away, but it was she who held me closer until finally our lips parted wetly and we both gasped for breath.

"She sighed heavily—almost exactly the way Paula sighed at the moment of her climax. I don't know that Rose was actually having an orgasm, but I think she was close. She was just giving way, in a fractional way, to a passion she probably hadn't felt for her husband in a long, long time.

"Suddenly she broke from me, rushed back to the kitchen table, grabbed a pen, and used the long receipt from her grocery trip to scribble down a phone number.

"She stuffed it into my pocket and said, 'Please call me sometime.'

"'I will,' I promised.

"With that, she gave me a quick kiss and bundled me out the door.

"Well, I wasted in no in calling her: I rang her up around 11 a.m. the next day. She sounded a bit agitated, as if she had someone not expected me to call so soon—or ever. When I suggested that I drop by later in the day, she got even more agitated: she well knew what would happen if she invited me over, and she wasn't quite ready to take the plunge just yet. She put me off and arranged for me to come for lunch the next day, and even then said that she might be 'too busy or tired' to do anything beyond sharing a meal. I understood exactly what she meant.

"When I got to her house around noon on that day, I found her wearing a cute little apron over her knee-length skirt. She gave me a hasty little kiss on the mouth before rushing back to the kitchen to finish her preparations. I wasn't sure what she had in store for me, but she far exceeded my expectations: she'd made wonderful croque-monsieur sandwiches and what looked like homemade vegetable soup, served on elegant place settings on a small table in the kitchen. I almost wondered if she was going to pop some white wine, but she didn't: she probably wasn't used to alcohol so early in the day, and she may have been afraid she wouldn't be able to . . . control herself.

"We had the splendid meal while chatting about this and that. I was curious about whether she might talk about her marriage or family life, but she stayed off that subject—beyond saying that her husband worked very hard and was pretty tired when he came home (I didn't have to guess what

that

meant!), and that her children, Janice and Kevin, had reached the age where they were pretty hard to control. She had worked earlier in her career, but as her husband made more and more money he insisted that she just keep house and tend to the children. At first she had thought this was a welcome relief from the stress of both working

and

running a household—but she now found that she wasn't really working much less than she was before, and somehow the 'work' of tending to house, husband, and children wasn't as satisfying as she'd hoped. She felt, in other words, a bit of a drudge.

"So in the end she did tell me quite a bit about her life and, more significantly, about her state of mind as she found herself caught in this middle-aged rut. I let her talk largely without interruption, as she clearly wanted and needed a sounding-board for her pent-up frustrations and dissatisfactions.

"After lunch was over, she began to get nervous—she knew the moment of truth had come. Either she would say, 'Well, Dale, it's been wonderful to have you here, but I think it's time for you to go,' or she would—

"We had some tea and a small pastry for dessert, taking it on the sofa in the living room. As she sipped her tea, she eyed me with a strange mixture of desire and alarm. Almost the moment we had finished, she seemed about to say something—and I suspect she was going to tell me to leave. So I preempted her and said:

"'May I hold you?'

"For some reason that took her aback, and she didn't know what to say. A little shiver passed through her, and she said almost inaudibly, 'Okay.'

"She made no move to approach me, so I slid over to her side of the sofa and wrapped my arms around her. It wasn't a terribly comfortable position, and was made less so by the fact that she held her body rigid as a board. In the course of time, however, she managed to relax a bit—and I like to think that the simple human contact I was providing was gratifying and comforting to her.

"After a little while I persuaded her to sit on my lap. At first she laughed nervously at the idea ('I'm not your little girl!'), but eventually I persuaded her to go along. She kept her legs demurely closed while sitting on my thighs, and she tentatively wrapped one arm around my neck to balance herself.

"My head was now strategically placed at the top of her chest, just under her chin, and I nestled against the plain white blouse she was wearing. The top button was undone, affording me a partial glimpse of her cleavage. As I encircled her waist with one arm, I slowly reached up to undo another button. She shivered and seemed about to stop me, but did nothing. So I undid another button, and yet another.

"Soon the blouse was completely open, and I peeled it off of her. I got a fine glimpse of her creamy breasts as they were encased in her white bra, and placed a kiss in the space between them. That made her let out a little whine—half in protest and half in pleasure—and so I reached around and effortlessly unclasped her bra.

"As it slid off of her, I saw those breasts uncovered for the first time. They were not large, but perfectly proportioned to her body, and they had that exquisite balance between softness and firmness that drives men wild. I delicately placed my lips on one of the erect nipples, and she uttered another whine that turned into a heavy groan as I worked my tongue around the flesh of that protuberance.

"I now took both breasts in my hands and squeezed, licked, and kissed them with all the fervor that a man can summon when faced with such a splendid example of female beauty. She held my head close to her chest as I paid homage to her breasts. She was so fixated on watching me nuzzle her that she seemed initially unaware that I had slipped one hand between her legs and, pushing aside the thin strip of cotton at her crotch, found her sex dripping with the juices of her arousal.

"She started letting out these little high-pitched cries as I stimulated her with tongue, mouth, and fingers. She held my head so tight between her breasts that I had trouble breathing, but I continued my work until her cries suddenly shifted to a harsh groan and a bone-shaking shudder went through her. She abruptly pulled my hand away from her sex but continued to sit in my lap, weak as a kitten as the final waves of her orgasm subsided.

"I looked up at her, and she had this extraordinary gleam in her eyes as she gave me a shy but somehow naughty smile. I don't think she ever looked more beautiful than at that moment. Then her smile broadened, and she giggled like a schoolgirl. Lifting my head up, she pasted a sloppy, wet kiss on my mouth.

"Without a word she got up and, taking my hand in hers, led me upstairs. I was wondering whether she would be prepared to take me into the master bedroom, but she didn't seem to have a problem with that. Even though there was no one else in the house, she demurely closed the door and, giving me a significant look, stepped over to a far corner of the room and began to undress.

"I didn't waste time doffing my own clothes, and I was naked before she was—she was taking her time draping her clothes neatly onto an easy chair, as she no doubt intended to wear them again when her family came home. When she turned around and saw my nakedness, her eyes bulged a bit—just as yours did, Gloria—when she saw my erection."

"I'm sure you know you're bigger than average."

"Thank you. Without my saying anything, she fell to her knees in front of me and took as much of my cock into her mouth as she could manage—which, I was impressed to note, was quite a lot. I have to say she was pretty skilled at oral sex, however little practice she was getting at it lately. She used tongue and lips to get me even harder than I was already, and I almost burst into her mouth before I pulled her away and made her stand up.

"Seeing her now in front of me, naked as the day she was born, I felt renewed wonder at her beauty. She had the most exquisitely pink skin I'd ever seen, and her gently curving hips, bottom, thighs, and calves were the very definition of desirable womanhood. I think she knew in her heart of hearts that she was lovely, for she accepted my awed gaze with the tranquility of a queen accepting the devotion of a servant. I brought her close to me and hugged her, feeling her all over—especially that gorgeous bottom—before leading her to the bed.

"As she had already come once, I didn't waste time in additional foreplay, but plunged right into her. She gasped as she worked to take in as much of me as she could manage, raising her legs and bending her knees to make the job easier. As I pumped her, I kissed her face and squeezed her breasts and stroked her bottom, and within minutes I exploded into her.