Damn, she's cute,
he thought, trying to maintain his cool while conversing with his neighbor.
A funny word to describe a woman approaching 50, but it fits,
he told himself. Contrary to the popular wisdom about older men and younger women, he preferred them closer to his own age, with the wisdom, experience, and maturity that brought. Plus, he liked real curves.
Lisa was indeed cute, a small, tight little package that belied her age. Five foot three, maybe 120 pounds, she worked out on a regular basis and the results were obvious in her six pack abs, her toned legs, and her small waist that curved into perfect hips and a world-class ass. Her eyes were wide set, large, and quite blue, actually drawing one's gaze into their depth. Her dark blond hair ended at the top of her neck, and she was wearing her usual workout uniform of bike shorts, a sport bra top, and running shoes. Even sweaty she was a turn-on. Perhaps because of it.
They had first met at a neighborhood party a couple of months earlier, and even with their respective spouses within ten feet she was obviously coming on to him as they talked.
"You are so interesting. We need to get together sometime," she had said with a suggestive smile, her striking eyes locked on his. She often stopped to chat while he worked on his yard, and apparently had no problem showing him her body. On one occasion she had told him about her hip surgery and pulled her shorts down to show him the minute scar, completely exposing her ass and bringing half her bush into view. He chuckled whenever he remembered that.
This visit had begun quite innocently. They both enjoyed photographing wildlife, and he had shared some of his better shots with her. She had seen him with his camera in his yard, and walked over. She was between jobs and he was semiretired; both of their spouses still worked and were gone for the day.
"Getting some good ones today?" she asked. "Those pictures you sent me were amazing."
"I think I have some," he answered. "I was just going to download them."
"Oh, good," she opined. "Maybe you have another one I can use as my computer wallpaper."
They walked into his back yard. He sat on a long patio bench, leaning forward to the laptop on the table and inserting the memory card. She ignored the large chair and sat down right next to him, her thigh against his and her body so close that his arm rested on her left boob.
Oh damn
, he thought.
Her husband is one lucky bastard.
It was one of the thoughts he often had when he saw a beautiful woman - that someone got to fuck her on a regular basis.
He downloaded the pictures as they made small talk, and he began to cycle through them. One was of a Great Blue Heron just taking flight, wings spread wide and its head leaning forward.
"Ohmygawd!" she exclaimed. "That one is amazing! How do you take such great pictures?" she said, grabbing and squeezing his leg.
Slightly embarrassed by her praise and flustered with the excitement of her hands on him, he thanked her and explained that many of his better shots were due to dumb luck, being at the right place at the right time with the right equipment.
"No, no, you're better than that" she said. "You really know how to capture a scene."
He cycled through more of the pictures, her hand resting on his leg, her body against him, her boob against his arm. He wasn't inexperienced at philandering, but this was moving so fast that he wasn't entirely sure how to react. Was she just being friendly? Was she like this with everyone, or were her actions indicative of a more intimate goal?
Deciding to chance it, he put his right hand on her leg, allowing his fingers to rest on the inner part of her thigh. Far from resisting, she moved her other leg away, actually widening the space between her thighs. Their faces were turned towards each other as they talked, barely eight inches apart, and her large eyes were locked on his. When she moved her hand to the inner part of his thigh he was breathless. He began to slowly stroke the inside of her smooth, silky thigh. Her hand on his leg had moved dangerously close to his junk.
As if in a scene from a movie, they suddenly attacked each other hungrily. Lips sought lips, tongues darted and explored, hands stroked and rubbed, moans and grunts intermingled. She swung over and straddled his lap facing him, bringing their bodies against each other.
Damn,
he thought,
she feels better than she looks.
His hands wandered over her torso and down over her hips, marveling at the feel of her tightly muscled body.
