Dale's Women

"So who else was there?" Gloria asked while feeding Dale breakfast one Saturday morning.

"Perhaps the strangest encounter was with a woman named Miriam," Dale said reflectively. "She was an orthodox Jew—an exquisitely beautiful creature that made you think of a Renaissance painting of the Madonna and Child, one that showed the Mother of God as pensive, oval-faced, and olive-complexioned and not as a blond-haired, fair-skinned Christian. Her features were so soft and gentle that they hypnotized you, and even though she was a bit on the heavy side, her generous curves were worth more than a second look—and touch. I couldn't believe it when she later told me she was fifty-eight: I would have taken her for no more than forty-five or so."

"I thought you liked your women old," Gloria teased.

"No, no! Not at all. I just think women 'of a certain age' are actually more beautiful than younger women: they have the ripeness that comes from experience—and maybe also from a little heartbreak. Suffering can enhance a woman's attractiveness."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," Gloria said with a frown.

"Oh, I don't mean physical suffering—that's always bad. I mean the little aches and pains that just come from living."

"Okay, fine. So how was she strange?"

"It wasn't that

she

was strange; it was that the situation we got in was strange. Well, maybe she was strange too. It happened like this.

"I was strolling in a part of Greenwich I wasn't terribly familiar with—just out for a constitutional. Ahead of me I saw this woman approach me. She was a fine-looking woman, with ample bosom and wide hips. She was walking a dog—or, rather, the dog was dragging her along impatiently as she struggled to hold on to the leash.

"I was going to say something innocuous like, 'That's a cute little dog you have there.' I had no notion of 'picking her up'—had no expectation that she wanted to be picked up. But she had been so fixated on trying to rein in that dog (it was one of those yappy little things, maybe a Sheltie) that she didn't realize someone was coming up to her.

"When she saw me—we were now no more than about six feet apart—she gave a little yelp and inadvertently let go of the leash. Predictably, the dog took off for parts unknown, his mouth wide open and tongue hanging out as if saying to himself, 'Oh, boy! I'm free!' The woman—Miriam—gave another cry and said, 'Oh, my lord! Please help me!'

"Well, what could I do? I'd been at least partly responsible for the dog's bolting. So I gave chase, with Miriam following as best she could: she obviously wasn't in particularly good shape, and both her girth and her clothing—tightly fitting and utterly unrevealing blouse and a skirt that came down to her ankles—made it hard for her to run freely.

"That dog was a real pest. It knew that its hope for freedom were pretty slim. In fact, it probably just wanted to get some good exercise of a sort that it probably didn't get very often. So the chase went on for block after block, as the dog dashed in and out of people's yards, across streets (not much traffic on that lazy summer afternoon in July), and even through a church parking lot.

"It seemed like hours before we finally cornered the annoying beast, but it was probably no more than twenty minutes. I guess the dog itself got tired—or more likely it was satisfied that it had proved its superiority to us mere humans and wanted to return to the comfort and shelter of home. I could swear that, when I finally grabbed that leash and tied it firmly around my wrist, the cur looked up at me with this knowing look:

I sure caused you a lot of bother, didn't I?

"Miriam was at least a block or two behind me, huffing and puffing. When she finally caught up with me and her horrible little pet, her face was beet-red and sweat was pouring down her face. Did I mention how hot it was that day?

"She barely managed to say, 'Thank you so much,' while putting a hand to her chest.

"'No trouble,' I lied. 'It was fun.'

"She just looked down at the dog, wondering whether she could summon up the energy to chastise it. To my surprise, once she had caught her breath she said, 'May I . . . reward you somehow?'

"I'm positive she didn't mean that in any lascivious way. In fact, the words had slipped out before she was fully aware of them, and she herself dropped her eyes from my face as the possible implication of her words sunk in to her consciousness.

"I came to the rescue and said, 'Well, I wouldn't mind something cold to drink. I'm not used to this kind of exertion. Is there a coffee shop around here where we could get some iced tea or something?'

"Miriam looked around and said, 'There's really nothing close by.' But I could tell that the prospect of a cold drink appealed to her as well. That's probably why, after a pretty long pause, she said, 'You could come to my house. I don't live far from here.'

"It was obvious she was not entirely comfortable making that offer—but she seemed to feel gratitude for the effort I'd made in catching that pestiferous dog, and wanted to give me an appropriate 'reward.'

"But I wanted to give her a way out of the awkward situation. 'There's no need for that, but thanks just the same.'

"She didn't take the bait. 'No, really, it's all right. I have some lemonade at home.'

"I must say that sounded tempting indeed. So I said yes.

"She seemed pleased that she could do something for me. She went on to say, 'Could you please carry Izzie? I don't think I could hold him.'"

"The dog was named Izzie?" Gloria said incredulously.

"Well," Dale said, "I figure it's slang for Isaac. Perfectly good name for a dog."

"If you say so."

"Anyway, we sauntered over to Miriam's house, which was indeed not far away. It was an impressive two-story structure in a good neighborhood, with an expansive and well-tended lawn. After she let me in and closed the door firmly, she said, 'You can put Izzie down now.' I have no great fondness for animals, so I was happy to comply. With a sharp bark, he ran off to some obscure corner of the house.

"She led me to the kitchen and sat me down at a little table in what I guess would be called a breakfast nook. Only now did she introduce herself, as she reached into the fridge to get that wonderful lemonade. It was one of the most refreshing drinks I'd ever had—tart but not too sweet, and very cold.

"Miriam had gone to a little bathroom off of the kitchen to wash up: she was obviously mortified at the sweat that had drenched her face. When she came back, she looked as fresh as if she had stepped out of the shower. She gazed down benignly at me, and her gentle smile was something to flip any man's heart.

"'Would you like some more?' she said, seeing that I'd already drained the tall glass.

"'Yes, please,' I said at once, cursing myself inwardly for sounding like a little boy.

"Her smile broadened just a tad as she poured more lemonade for me.

"She sipped her glass demurely, looking only fleetingly at me, as if it was improper for a staid matron like herself to do anything more provocative. As it was, I could tell that she was both excited and alarmed at having this strange young man in her kitchen. What would her rabbi say?

"And yet, she was surprisingly free with information about herself. She was married, with three grown children. Two of them were already married, and she had good hopes for the third. Her husband was a lawyer in New York. She had never worked at a job—but she had worked plenty hard raising her family.

"The very fact that she spun out the story of her life so readily to a stranger suggested to me that she was pretty lonely. Now that all her children had left, she seemed at loose ends. She couldn't even fill up her time with household drudgery, for her husband arranged for a cleaning crew to come in twice a month, and a gardener took care of the yard. So she had a lot of time on her hands. She tried to fill it up with volunteer work, but that only went so far.

"There was a pervasive air of melancholy in her face that I found both inexpressibly sad and also stimulating. In some ways she was the most quintessentially feminine creature I'd ever met, and her mere presence was a tonic.

"But after about half an hour I felt I'd stayed long enough, and Miriam herself was obviously uncomfortable with my continued presence. So I got up and said, 'It's been wonderful chatting with you. Maybe we could do this again sometime.'

"'Maybe,' she said absently, as if knowing that would be an impossibility.

"But she had really touched my heart. That was why, as she opened the door to let me out, I turned and faced her, then took her gently in my arms and gave her a soft but prolonged kiss on her mouth.

"Believe it or not, I wasn't trying to seduce her. I was repaying

her

for the 'reward' she had given me—not just the lemonade, but the pleasure of her company.

"She naturally resisted at first, but in a surprisingly short time she relented and let me continue to kiss her. She didn't make any effort to put her arms around me: they hung at her sides the whole time. Her lips fluttered a little under my own, but she did kiss back.

"When I drew back, I saw that her whole face was flushed, and she was licking her lips as if she couldn't believe that someone other than her husband had kissed her like that—probably for the first time in decades. There was just a hint of alarm in her eyes, but also (I think) a soupçon of excitement. All she said was:

"'You shouldn't have done that. I'm a married woman.'

"'I'm sorry if I've upset you,' I said humbly. 'I guess I couldn't help it.'

"She looked away from me, still blushing. My arms were holding her lightly at the shoulders, and she gently pulled my hands away and said, 'You'd better go.'

"I barely managed to stop myself from saying, 'Yes, ma'am.' I wasn't going to press the point. I don't like making women uncomfortable."

"Don't you?" Gloria said sharply.

"I don't!" Dale protested earnestly. "Really I don't. Women have it tough enough in this world without men bullying them."

"That's the main reason

why

women have it tough in this world!"

"Granted. So I don't want to contribute to that. Anyway, I just gave her a half-smile and walked away. But then, somewhat to my surprise, she called after me, 'Thank you.'

"I wasn't absolutely sure what she was thanking me for. Mostly, I guess, for rescuing her silly little dog—but maybe also for breaking up the monotony of her day, and even for that highly inappropriate kiss? I don't know.

"Since we hadn't exchanged phone numbers, I had no way of getting in touch with her. But I noted down her address, and two days later, late in the morning, I was at her doorstep again.

"When she opened the door, she had a quick intake of breath, and her face again took on that faint look of alarm—which, mingled with the melancholy that seemed to be habitually there, touched my heart so keenly that I just wanted to crush her in my arms and squeeze all that sadness away. Instead, I just said:

"'Hi, Miriam. I just wondered how you were doing.'

"She seemed literally stunned by my presence. Maybe she thought our previous encounter was some kind of happy dream that was dissipated by the brilliant sun of a warm summer day. Now she was confronting the fact that I was a real, flesh-and-blood guy who had embraced her and kissed her—and she didn't know what to do or say.

"I said, 'I'm sorry. I don't wish to trouble you. Maybe I should leave.'

"She still said nothing, so I figured mine was a lost cause. I turned around and began walking away—but she seized my elbow and said, 'No, wait! You don't have to go.'

"I stopped and said, 'Really? Are you sure?'

"'Yes,' she said with emphasis, stepping back to let me in.

"And so I went in.

"I had no idea what she'd been doing: the place looked spic and span, and it was at least an hour before she would have her solitary lunch, so I couldn't imagine how she was filling up her time. She had me sit on the couch in the living room while she sat hesitantly down on an easy chair nearby. She just gazed at me, as if I were a ghost.

"Desperate to make some conversation to loosen her up, I said, 'How are things going with you?'

"'Fine,' she said. Not much help!

"'How about your husband?' I asked. I probably shouldn't have said that, but I wanted to galvanize her into some sort of action, either by speech or deed.

"She colored and said, 'He's fine. Off at work.'

"'Of course he is,' I said inanely.

"And then it happened.

"Her face took on a strange expression, as if she was giving deep thought to some insoluble problem. Then, almost as if she were sleepwalking, she strode stiffly toward me, fell to her knees in front of me, and unzipped my pants. She fished out my cock and was about to put it in her mouth when she noticed something that startled her.

"I'm uncircumcised, you see."

"Mmmm," Gloria said, "I know. How awkward for her."

"Yes. It really seemed to take her aback. I suddenly wondered if she had ever seen an uncircumcised cock before in her whole life—at least at such close range. She blushed again and, closing her eyes as if that might make the task easier (or maybe less blasphemous), she plunged it into her mouth.

"Of course, she could only get about half of it into her mouth without choking. But she worked that part vigorously, with almost mechanical precision. She used her tongue and lips with gusto, making it stiff as a ramrod. Since I was not even remotely expecting this sudden move, my cock was fairly limp when she started her work; and as it got bigger while actually in her mouth, her eyes began to widen as if she couldn't believe what was happening.

"After a while she stopped, got up, and looked down at me as if I were some sort of scientific experiment she was working on. I felt pretty foolish, my erect cock hanging out of my shorts, but she didn't leave me idle for long. Without a word she hitched up her long, ankle-length skirt, moved aside her panties from her crotch, and put me in her.

"This position allowed me to have direct access to her large, heavy breasts. They were of course encased in a tightly buttoned blouse and bra, and I started to undo the buttons on the blouse so I could see and feel her breasts uncovered. I was yearning to place my lips around her nipples, which I could see forcing their way through the thin fabric of her blouse.

"But she slapped my hand away from her chest. I looked up at her, startled, and saw that she was frowning at me in disapproval. She merely shook her head while she continued to ride me. I shrugged inwardly and just placed my hands on her breasts over her clothes. I hoped she wouldn't mind at least that much contact. Once I made an effort to slip my hands under her skirt to touch her bottom, but she again slapped my hand away.

"She knew exactly what she was doing—knew just how much to squeeze my cock within her sex to produce the maximum amount of pleasure for me, and for her. Even in that first copulation, she developed an intuitive sense of when I might come—and she deliberately eased up to prolong my sensation. Once I cried out in frustration as I begged her to let me come—and then she rode me with almost animalistic vigor until I shot my seed deep into her with a harsh groan that for me mingled the height of pleasure with not a little agony.

"She let me stay in her for a while, until I got quite soft. Then she pulled out of me, straightened up her disarranged clothes, and returned to the easy chair.

"All this time she had not said a word. And she still said nothing, even as her face was red with exertion and her eyes glinting with unholy excitement. I could also sense a certain discomfort in her as my copious emission was making a mess between her legs."

"Yes," Gloria said, "I know the feeling."

"I felt very strange. I have to confess that I'm accustomed to being in charge in these matters, even—or perhaps especially—with older women. I—"

"Why?" Gloria probed. "Because they're so grateful that a strapping young man like yourself has deigned to service them?"

"I wouldn't put it quite so crudely as that," Dale said with a frown. "But let's be honest: men generally run the show in bed, don't they?"

"Maybe they do," Gloria admitted grudgingly.

"But here I had felt totally helpless—not only because she had caught me unawares, but because as a mature woman who was no doubt well versed in male desire, even if only from experience with her husband, she was fully cognizant of what a man's needs are.

"So at that moment all I could say was, 'Why did you do that?' It came out as a ridiculously naïve protest, as if she had seduced a teenage boy.

"'Isn't that what you wanted?' she replied evenly, with perhaps a hint of malice.

"'Is it what

you

wanted?' I said in confusion.

"'I did it, didn't I?' she snapped back.

"I didn't know what to make of all this. It was actually happening too fast. I said feebly, 'Can we, um, go to the bedroom and get more comfortable?' For of course I wanted more, and wanted to take more time and effort in pleasing both myself and her.

"But she got all stiff when I said that, and she snapped back, 'No. I will not have a man other than my husband see me naked.'

"This was going from bizarre to crazy. She seemed perfectly okay with putting my cock into her pussy—but as for seeing her uncovered body, why, that was

verboten!

I couldn't make any sense of it, and I just looked at her with incomprehension.

"I tried a different tack. 'Did you . . .?' I began.

"'Did I what?' she shot back. She sounded almost hostile now.

"'You know . . .' I stumbled. 'Come.'

"She glared at me when I said that last word. 'No, of course not.'

"'Would you like to?' I said.

"'No,' she declared emphatically. I had no difficulty understanding what she meant:

I only have a climax when my husband is making love to me. Those are the rules.

I couldn't say if the Hebrew Bible has anything to say on this exact subject, but that's what she seemed to mean."

"But," Gloria said, "she seems to have had no problem with breaking the seventh commandment. That's in the Hebrew Bible too."

"So it is. But maybe if she got no pleasure out of it, she could pretend to herself that she really hadn't broken it."

"Do you really think she felt that?"

"I have no idea. To the end of our rather brief relationship, she remained inscrutable to me in many ways—mostly in what she felt about sex. She never told me whether she even had sex with her husband anymore (he was several years older than her), or how good the sex was, or anything like that. In fact, she played things very close to the vest in all manner of ways."

"Then why—" Gloria said, befuddled.

"Why did she even do what she did with me? I wish I knew! I can just throw out some guesses, the chief one being that she felt flattered that a young man found her sexually attractive and that she therefore felt some weird obligation to satisfy him. Again, it was a kind of 'reward' for my interest in her. But she was determined not to engage her emotions in any way with me, and that emotional restraint was symbolized or exemplified by the fact that she did not wish to undress in front of me."

"So you're saying," Gloria said in disbelief, "that you never saw her naked?"

"Not even close. I never saw her breasts, I never saw her bare bottom, and I certainly didn't see her naked sex. In the two months we were involved, she kept her clothes—blouse, skirt, or dress, buttoned from neck to ankles—on as much as she could manage. Everything was done by feel: the feel of my cock in her pussy or her mouth, the unsatisfying feel of her breasts or her bottom as I grabbed or stroked them over her clothes.