This is a copyrighted work of fiction. All rights reserved.
All characters engaged in sexual acts in this story are at least eighteen years of age.
This is a submission in the Literotica Valentine's Day contest. If you like it, please be sure to give it lots of stars!
Many thanks to editor Lin Hall for his excellent suggestions.
*
Nice ass! He might be fun to fuck!
Emily's pussy responded immediately by issuing a small amount of juice onto her panties.
She checked out the young man who had caught her attention. He was slightly taller than she—she was 5'10". Standing behind him at the stop light, she noted that indeed his ass did fit nicely into his jeans. He wore tennis shoes and a dark leather jacket. His brown hair was cut in a modern shaggy bob.
Uh-oh--he looks young!
She casually moved to a position where she could see his face. As she glanced at him, he noticed her as well.
He is young! Christ, Emily! Keep your pussy in your pants!
They both looked away.
He is cute though,
she couldn't help but thinking.
Am I so horny that I'll fuck anything that has a chance of getting hard? Well—maybe.
She suppressed a smile as she remembered the zucchini she had used that morning. She was up to masturbating twice a day and still her pheromones kicked up every time she was in the vicinity of any male between twelve and seventy.
Christ! I need to fuck someone soon!
It had been seven months. Seven months since that dreadful call. Her chest constricted as it always did when she remembered it, but at least she wasn't blinking back tears. She still couldn't actually talk about him without crying though.
Her husband of fifteen years had died suddenly of a heart attack at 51. She still felt guilty, although she had told herself a million times she shouldn't. She had been on his case about working out. He had gained weight, although, on his big frame he could carry it well—but still—50 pounds? He liked to eat and drink too much, and he didn't work out. She had tried to encourage him to adopt healthier habits. He finally started riding his bike to work, a forty-five minute ride up and down the Seattle hills. It was on his second trip up the steep hill to their 100-year-old home on Queen Anne that he had collapsed on the side of the road.
He had died within the hour. He was alive when they called her, but by the time she got to the hospital, only fifteen minutes away, he was gone. And her world had changed entirely.
The first week had been a nightmare. Friends and relatives poured in from all over the country. Ben had had a million friends. Everyone wanted to console her. She just wanted to be left alone to console her children.
Lana, her twelve-year old, had taken it especially hard. She was daddy's girl. And poor Benjamin. Her ten year old would have to go through puberty without a father.
They had all cried so much that first week that she thought their eyes should run out of tears. They didn't. Now, seven months later, she was down to crying maybe only once a day. She smiled to herself.
I'm masturbating more than I'm crying! Is that a good sign?
She wasn't sure.
Since she had lost her virginity at the age of eighteen, three months was the longest she'd ever been without sex. Until now. After sex several times a week for seventeen years, suddenly going cold turkey was... maddening. Sometimes she thought she was going insane. Sex was almost constantly on her mind. No matter how many times she masturbated, she could not get relief.
The light changed and she crossed the street, weaving quickly through the Friday afternoon downtown crowd. The drizzle was becoming heavier, edging toward a cold rain. The sky was an even slate gray—typical for Seattle in February.
She had left work early to take both the kids to sleepovers. They were recovering well. Kids were amazingly resilient.
She wanted to do some shopping, to find out what was new for Spring—at least that's what she told herself. Really, she was trying to get her mind off Valentine's Day. Tomorrow would be her first Valentine's Day since Ben had died. They had always done something special for Valentine's Day. Usually they celebrated by going out to dinner on the 13
th
—much easier to get a table at a good restaurant that way—and often they'd spend the night in a hotel. It was sort of a mini-vacation to celebrate lover's day.
She was trying very hard to ignore the holiday this year.
Before starting to shop, she decided she would treat herself to a latte. She was at the corner of Fifth and Pine—there was a Starbuck's on the next corner.
There always seems to be a Starbuck's on the next corner in Seattle.
She stepped into the warmth of the small café, unbuttoning her coat. Although it was chilly out, it had been a long, brisk walk from Queen Anne. Her hands and ears were cold, but her body was over-warm.
The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee greeted her like an old friend. In a few minutes, she had her double, tall, non-fat, caramel-sauce latte in hand. She wasn't quite ready to step back out into the cold, so she stood at the window and gazed out at the crowd on the street.
That's when she saw him.
He looked like he could have walked out of a fourteenth century painting—except for his clothes, of course. He would have been depicted as a pirate or a highwayman or some other dashing villain. His black hair was thick and wavy and fell to just below his shoulders. It was damp from the rain. His face wasn't classically handsome. It was broad, with a strong chin, a wide mouth and a flat nose. His large, brown eyes were beautiful. He himself was not beautiful. He was way too masculine to be beautiful. But his eyes were beautiful.
He oozed testosterone. It was in his stance. In the way he turned his head. In the width of his shoulders under his oversize sweat shirt. He was very male. Her pussy clenched and gushed.
She watched him chat with his friends. She gave them a cursory once-over: one was skinny with bad skin and very baggy jeans, the other had wild, curly, red hair and lots of piercings. They all looked very young—late teens, early twenties at the most.
Her attention went back to Mr. Testosterone.
Whew! He is heart-stopping! Very different from any man I've ever been with.
She had gotten married at the age of twenty-seven. She had fallen in love with a conservative man, ten years her senior. Even before she met Ben, the men she'd dated tended to be older and conservative. Ben had always kept his hair short, and in the last few years, it had turned salt and pepper. He was always clean-shaven. Mr. Testosterone, she noted, had a few day's growth of beard.
Sexy!
She finished her latte, but continued to stand in the window, fascinated by the display of virile manhood before her. His friends said good-bye to him and sauntered off down the street. He glanced around and took a seat on the ledge almost directly below her.
He shivered slightly and pulled his hood over his head, hiding his gorgeous hair.
He's cold,
she thought.
I wonder if he has any money. Maybe he wants a cup of coffee.
She tossed her latte cup in the garbage on the way out the door. As she rounded the building toward him, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.
What the hell am I doing? I'm thinking with my horn-dog pussy, that's what! He's not going to be interested in me—I'm old enough to be his mother.
She didn't stop herself though.
Josh shifted.
Damn it's cold!
The brick wall he was sitting on sucked the heat right out of him. He shivered, pulling his hood over his head and stuffing his hands in his sweatshirt pockets.
I should probably just go—but where?
It was Friday night. He didn't want to go home. He wanted to meet girls. He took mental inventory. He had six dollars and forty-two cents.
Where the hell can I go with six dollars—to meet girls—that's also warm?
Who am I kidding? With six dollars I can buy one latte, and I need the rest for the bus home. Even if I meet a cool chick, when she finds out I have no funds, she'll be gone. Shit, I need a job bad! Hopefully, tomorrow....
