Sam and Bob

Sam was unique among my friends. I don't think I ever heard anyone call her Samantha: even when her parents came to campus to see her play in a soccer match or act in a minor role in a Shakespeare production: they called her Sam. She was about 5'4", with a short helmet of red curly hair, and her galaxy of freckles was usually lost in the tans she got from her field work in marine biology and sports. In many ways, she was a Renaissance woman, interested in music, drama, politics, and dance as well as science. She was naturally lean, not a classical beauty in any sense of the word, someone who blended in with a crowd easily. It's strange she became my best friend: a twenty something grad student in biology doesn't usually have much in common with an English literature professor halfway through his sixties, but we met at a Renaissance festival when she was a freshman, where she wore a green tunic, tights, and played an elf named Emerald. I was playing the King of the Village since I needed some extra cash to supplement my meager professor's income. There aren't many roles a plump old man with a short beard can play, and I was never nimble enough to be a knight (nor did I enjoy roasting in a tin can all day).

Chatting around the campfire after closing one night, I found she had a passion for Shakespeare, baseball, odd history, German culture, and the English Premier league Arsenal team. I'm a fan Wayne Rooney and Man United, and we soon fell into a dialogue of casual jibes which expanded to many topics: we frequently lost anyone who tried to enter into our dialogue by switching to a topic they knew nothing about. Soon we were hanging out in our favorite coffee shop at odd hours, texted every day, and since her university was close to the college that brought us together, didn't miss a Saturday morning at the coffeehouse after she moved on.

It was an Indian summer day in Lawrence, KS and she met me at our usual place downtown, wearing an alma mater t-shirt, shorts and flip flops rather than her usual socks and running shoes. I was in a white t-shirt, brown vest, jeans and sneakers. She gave me a smug grin as she sat down opposite to me: "1-1, guess Superman Rooney wasn't up to form today. Watch out for the Gunners!"

"Oh, he'll come around, like he always does. Team seems to like the new coach, and there's a long way to go. Just wait for it."

"That's what you said last year when they were struggling under Louis van Gaal: just wait for it."

"You gotta have faith. They've got the talent, they just have to bring it together."

"The way they're going you may have to watch out for relegation this year."

"Smart ass. You want your usual?"

Sam nodded and I gestured to our waitress Tatiana, who'd known us for years. My friend put her feet on the chair on her right: her toenails were well kept but she never painted them. A few light glints of fluff told me she didn't shave her legs, probably never did. Wherever she was, whatever she did, she always looked at ease with her surroundings; she took life as it was without getting bothered by it. Looking up at her blue eyes again, I continued: "Going to the Gulf coast next week?"

"Yup, it's that time of year. Cooped up in a van with six maniacs with a Junior High sense of humor for 12 hours is something I always look forward to-not! But the field work is fantastic and I love the Mississippi coast."

"How do you keep the manics from getting under your skin?"

"Most of them I just rap on the nose with a rolled up newspaper. Have to let them out to cruise the nightclubs at night so they don't bother me too much. Then I chew them out for being royally hung over the next morning. A good balance of terror does wonders to keep discipline and quell young libido."

I took a long sip of my tea and looked up at the sky. A couple of bosomy young girls just rounded the corner and I didn't want Sam to catch me ogling them. I'd gotten a couple of rebukes before; Sam could be very particular about showing proper respect. My blue eyes returned to meet Sam's and found a question waiting for me. "Bob, how long has it been since you've had a date?"

"A long time. Why?"

"You tend to look away when the cute girls walk by."

I scratched my beard and took a sip of my tea. "Well, I guess you've taught me manners over the years."

Sam chuckled. "Nice dodge. I know you don't buy the line 'I'm just a normal, red-blooded boy,' but I know you're not gay. You were married once, fathered two daughters..."

"...Who are both older than you..."

"...so you must have gotten laid regularly for a while. At least until you came up with Chloe. You notice low cleavage at the RenFest, although you don't ogle, I can tell. You've been an honorable man since I met you five years ago but I doubt you're a secret monk. What do you do, beat off to online porn?"

I gave her my best disdainful look, which wasn't an act. "Pornography is boring. So are girlie pictures."

She snickered. "How Baby Boomer of you. 'Girlie pictures.' I saw the World War II bomber pictures on your wall, and I know you didn't fly them. The painted noses with the pretty girls interest you, don't they? Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Nope. And I don't use Match.com or FarmersOnly.com anything like that. Just woke up and smelled the coffee one day and realized how futile it was." Suddenly I wished we were chatting in my study where I could take a little time lighting my pipe.

"You haven't been a farmer since you were in High School." Sam put her legs down, sat up straight, and gave me an intense look. "So you don't want to get married again?"

"Another ticket for a trip on the Hindenberg? No thanks."

"Ooo, resignation. Probably a little weltschmerz thrown in for seasoning. Like the aging playboy in Narcissus and Goldmund, only you never played that much."

"You young people wouldn't understand. There's more to life than sex."

Sam relaxed, sitting back in her previous pose, and took a sip of her tea. "I know that: I used to be a slut in high school. Never got VD, and thanks to my Gen X Mom feeding me birth control pills, never got pregnant. Did damn near everything, but after a while it's boring."

Had to look away with that revelation, my libido woke up and started making up stories about Sam's wilder days. "We've got a great friendship, Sam. Don't want to screw that up."

She laughed. "All right, I understand. I don't want to get married, either. Romance worked for the Elizabethans, and it's fun to pretend, but it's overrated. What's the matter, can't get it up anymore?"

As she said this, she pulled her shoulders back, revealing she wasn't wearing a bra. A gush of a breeze made her nipples hard, and I made a mental snapshot of them before she noticed me looking. "I still think I can do it, but I was never a great lover. Fun while it lasted. When Brenda walked out, I tried a few dates, but nobody I was interested in was interested, and I wasn't interested in anyone interested in me. Kinda the Groucho Marx approach: 'I'd never belong to a club who would have me as a member.' After a while, I focused on the things I like and have access to."

"Groucho Marx was an old lech until the day he died. You've given up, Bob. I think you'd be happier if you got your rocks off once in a while."

"Language!" I took a sip of my tea to break eye contact, and when I looked back she was still giving me a demanding look. "Giving up on impossible dreams is something we all do if our name isn't Don Quixote, Sam, sooner or later. No point in trying if there's no chance..."

She put her legs back up and looked at me very casually, like this conversation was no different than any other: "Giving blowjobs is no big deal. Still give one once in a while if I think a guy could use it. Take his mind off his troubles, give him a ray of sunshine. You could call it mercy head. I always make it clear it's not about romance or I'm going to be their girlfriend from now on, or they shouldn't expect this every day or week or anything. Or anything else like cleaning their apartment or cooking."

I let out a small chuckle. "These days, a woman who can put a button back on is more valuable to me than someone who would suck my cock."

Sam leaned over and stroked my beard with her fingertip, a saucy look in her eyes. "Oh baby, you want me to do some sewing for you? I'd love to do a few of your buttons, maybe even knit you some socks."

"You are such a temptress. You really know how to get a man turned on."

"Ooo, I'm a turn on. How retro. You were in the class of '69, right? Turn on, drop out, get high?"

"You know where I come from. We Sixty-Niners did all that and more."

For some reason, everything changed. Sam threw back her head and laughed a little, like she usually did, and the look that came back was genuine seduction: a little smile played on her face, her tongue touched her lips, and her eyes flashed a hungry look. "I think we should go to your place for a while. Pay the tab and we're off."

Tatiana chose to leave the ticket at that moment, and Sam drank the last of her tea in one gulp. Putting my card on the tray, Tatiana whisked away. "We're best friends, Bob," Sam said matter of factly. "Nothing's going to change that. Friends look after each other, keep each other's spirits up. I've been to your place many times."

Our waitress came back quickly with the form to sign, and the look on her face indicated she was sympathetic to Sam's idea. I gave Tatiana a quizzical look and she responded with a leer.

I lived three blocks away from the coffeehouse in a stately old house in a historic part of town. It was a bargain when I bought the old mansion and had just burned the mortgage. My front sitting room, like most of the rooms of my house, featured soft chairs and sofas, art reproductions, decorative lighting fixtures, and bulging bookshelves on almost every interior wall. The front room faced East, and was warmly illuminated by the morning sun. She gave me an intensely seductive look and said: "Where's your sewing kit? Guys like you only wear the t-shirt and vest combination when your shirts are off line."

Stunned for a moment, I remembered she was a great tease at the RenFest, a master at turning male libido on and off. "Upstairs bedroom, upper right drawer. Shirts are in the closet."

"How many?"

"Five. My white formal shirt is okay, the rest have soldiers missing in action."

"Shit, how often do you do your laundry?"

"When I need clean underwear, about every two weeks. Febreze is a gift from God."

Sam put her hands on her hips and gave me a fake indignant look. "You really do the Bohemian lifestyle proud, Bob. Just want to be your most valuable woman. Light your pipe and put Michael Feldman on. I'll get you fixed up."

Going to the kitchen, I poured her a glass of iced tea (Sam never drank alcohol) and a small glass of Amaretto for myself. I didn't usually drink in the morning, but I needed it. I set the glass by her favorite chair by the window (she was the only regular visitor I had those days), and filled my pipe with a nice Amaretto blend I got from my tobacconist the day before. Sometimes anything worth doing is worth overdoing.

The NPR program was just starting when I heard her bare feet slapping down my hardwood stairway (she'd lost her flip flops at the door), and she popped in with my shirts draped over her arm, sewing kit in hand. "Nice blend," she said when I got one of my corncobs going (I'm a cheap smoker) and we settled in comfortable silence together. I savored the blend and sipped my liqueur. Her fingers were quick and deft as she put the buttons back on, and within ten minutes she was done, putting her feet up on the footrest nearby she took her normal pose. Usually I didn't notice her body, but that day it was different. I was regretting the crack about sewing being more important to me than sex.

When the show got to its intermission, she suddenly stood up and whipped her t-shirt over her head. The contrast between her tanned torso and lily white breasts reminded me of the woman who took my virginity 40 years ago. Her breasts were a sea of freckles; her nipples were pale and luminous in the light. I wished I had a camera.

"They're beautiful, a work of art!" I murmured, turning off the radio. Those cute puppies needed my full attention.

"Thanks," she said, putting her hands over her head, posing a few moments to show them off, then dropped to her knees with her head at my knees. "Look, cocksucking's no big deal to me. Done it dozens of times. If anyone deserves one, you do. Ever since you cast me in 'Much Ado About Nothing,' you've been my hero. Don't think of it as mercy sex, just a great big 'thank you for being you.' Now let's see how the forked radish is doing." With that, she knelt in front of me and undid my trousers, pulling them down and pulling my privates into view. "I think we can collect some pollen from this flower."

"Mixing metaphors again."

"Hush, you'll spoil the moment." She gave me a hungry look, pulled back my foreskin, and took a tentative lick. Electricity shot up my cock, and another lick sent another jolt. "It's ALIVE," she whispered dramatically, and started licking a point directly behind my cockhead, right where the corona meets underneath the head, which was incredibly sensitive. Magically my staff straightened out, becoming harder than it had in years. "It seems your friend remembers what to do. I like that." She took my cockhead into her mouth and started sucking, making my balls tingle. "It's not the longest I've ever had, but it's more than a mouthful. That's all I care about. I like sucking cock. I like sucking this cock. I want this cock to give me all its love, all of it."

Sam didn't talk after that, going about her work methodically. Damn, she knew what she was doing. First, she sped up, making me tremble, then backed off, giving it just enough attention to keep it hard. Then, she went down to lick and suck my balls, something no woman has ever done for me before, but God I loved it! Then she worked back up the shaft, hitting the sweet spot under the head again until I thought I would lose my mind, then taking me in to push me over the top. It seemed to take forever for my momentum to build: the familiar tingle told me I was heading for the climax but it seemed to take forever to get there. She noticed this and slowed down, making me suffer gloriously. My brain emptied, and I tried to urge the power onward. I thought it would never happen, it seemed like an hour I was sitting on the edge, but then it hit my like a jolt of electricity. It seemed like the feeling would never stop; I never wanted it to end.

When she was done, she let my softening dick out gently, a goofy smile appearing on her face. "Nice, Bob, nice. That was fun. Don't you think so?" I was incapable of speech. "Yes, you think so. I'll do this again, my friend. You'll get this benefit again." Bouncing to her feet, her nipples jiggled a little for me. "Got any more buttons you need replacing?"

I must have looked like an incoherent madman, which made her smile even brighter. "Ah-nope, my buttons are all good now. Shit, I'm speechless. I never knew. Ah-can I return the favor, friend?"

Sam made a show of pondering it, making me think she was going to say 'no', then chirped: "Yeah, sure. But not today, I'm not in the mood. Wrong time of the month. I'll let you do a little research since it's been decades since...although showing you how sounds like a good idea. You can be my blank slate, Bob, I could be your Pygmalion."

"Great," I groaned. "Sounds like a nice hobby. I never knew you would do this, or do it so well. What gives?"

"Well, when I was in High School, I did mostly blowjobs. Safer, at least as far as getting pregnant, and I didn't have the tits to compete with the cheerleaders." She stood up and shook her chest from side to side: there was a little jiggle, but it was cute. "Since I left home, I've only handed them out to desperate nerds."

"Like me?"

"Sure, like you, Bob. Rather have your cum in my mouth than anybody else's." She gave me a coy grin, and wiped her lower lip, licking a small glob off her finger. "The only other one I've done in the past year is Brad Eckstein."

"Your classmate in marine biology?"

"Yeah. He doesn't have any sense of romance at all, or any idea of finding a lover or wife. Once in a while he gets terribly horny, especially this time of year, so I help him out. But you're going to get it more than once a year."

"Lucky me. Twice a year?"

She giggled. "Once a week at least. More if you learn how to lick pussy well."

I must have looked like an idiot, and my mouth starting moving while my brain was still in neutral. "I'm not looking for a wife, I'm not someone to spend a future with. A relationship with me isn't anything a young woman needs."

"Good, I'm not looking for that, either. Girls just want to have fun once in a while." She looked at the clock and slipped her t-shirt back on. "I've got to get down to the lab. See ya later." She stood up and stuck her ass at me, slapping it once. It was nicely rounded: I'd never really noticed before "Get ready, this is your assignment for next week. And don't pop any more buttons in the meantime."

She waltzed out the door, wiggling her ass: if I hadn't been drained, that would have gotten me hard on the spot. '"Okay, I'll be careful."