He Couldn't Say No

This is the first in a series of stories told by a man now reaching middle age who is looking back on his sex life from his first time with a neighbor lady through a wide variety of women that, as he puts it, he just couldn't say no to. As this is the first chapter, there is a bit more preamble than some might want, but please bear with it. I hope you find your patience rewarded.

*****

My name is Andrew. I'll be fifty in a couple of years, and today I signed the final papers for my third divorce.

I'm sitting on the patio of my house, savoring the warm sun and working on a good cigar and my second shot of single malt scotch—more than I would usually do this early in the day, but then I don't get divorced every day.

I loved her. I really did. Still do for that matter, but I couldn't blame her, and I didn't contest the divorce. She was entitled to it. We had been married for a little over three and a half years, and how many other women had I slept with during that time? "A lot," I responded to myself. "And I really wasn't in love with any of them."

Not a very good answer, I thought. But really, how many was it?

I sat in the sun counting up on my fingers, starting with the two bridesmaids. I smiled. They were fun and it's not like I seduced them. They had been flirting shamelessly with me, and at some point, during the big party following the wedding, Christy, the short buxom blonde, was dancing with me, rubbing those big boobs against my chest. She reached down between us and begin to stroke my already hard cock.

"Oh god," she whispered. "It's as big as Susan (the bride and my now ex-wife number three) said it was."

Well, long story short, Christy just had to try it once, "before I disappeared into marriage," she said. And then somehow, as we were sneaking out into the garden, Lynn, the tall thin redhead who was the maid of honor, showed up, and within half an hour I had broken my marriage vows to my latest wife with both girls. Really! I didn't last 24 hours. A couple of good-looking gals who were a bit tipsy asked, and I couldn't say no. Actually, it wasn't just that one time. I had casual sex with each of them from time to time throughout my third marriage. They would ask and I . . . Well I just couldn't say no. They were fun though. The others were too.

I sat and counted up the rest of the women I had slept with over the last three and half years. I'm not going to tell you the total. It's embarrassing, and you wouldn't believe me anyway.

"So why is it I keep doing this?" I asked myself. Other men I know don't get into this kind of trouble. Well, some of them do, I admitted. But most of the guys who did were always looking for sex. They considered themselves to be masters at seducing women.

"Hah," I laughed. Most of those guys weren't near as good at seduction as they thought they were. Half the time the woman they were chasing not only said no, but then told their wives or someone else in a position to make their life miserable for their conduct.

"That's not me," I said aloud. "I have never consciously set out to seduce a woman. Really, I haven't," I told myself.

I poured another scotch and continued to think about it. Obviously a big part of my problem is that I never say no, but what is it about me that puts me in that position. Why do so many women want me? That sounds egotistical. But it's true.

I'm not especially handsome—certainly not Brad Pit or George Clooney. That's not it. Yes, I'm reasonably well built. I was an athlete in high school and have continued to train enough to keep in shape. But I'm certainly not a pretty boy, at least by the standards of the media and the movies. I think of myself as just an average looking Joe.

There is one thing. Christy was right. I do have a pretty big dick. I mean it's not like a porn star dick, and frankly, I've never measured it. But a lot of women have told me it's bigger than most guys, and they just like the way I use it. Most never get very specific about that last point and when they do, they aren't consistent. I mean what one woman likes does absolutely nothing for another gal. I learned very early on to listen to the women I was making love to. With just a little encouragement most of them will tell you what they want, and if you give it to them . . . well you can make them

very

happy, and there is nothing I like more than making a woman happy when I make love with her.

Oh, and I guess I have a long tongue. Or at least that is what I'm told. Again though, I think it's really a question of what I do with that nice, long tongue I have been blessed with.

Another thing. Women talk. Not all of them, but a lot do and, if you make them very happy, a fair number of them will tell their friends about it. I swear women brag more than most men. And then their friends show up, and once more I'm faced with the need to say no, one skill I just don't seem to have.

Also, I seem to have more staying power than a lot of men. Of course, some women just want to climax once and then leave or fall asleep, but that's not usually the case. If you just ask them and then listen, really listen, to their answer, you'll find yourself needing a repeat performance. And believe me, having the ability to step up and perform without having to make a gal wait for half an hour or an hour—that makes them happy,

very happy

. That's getting tougher as I get older though, but my control, which was always pretty good (well other than as an 18 year old), is getting better.

Actually, there was more to the listening thing than just listening to what they wanted once you were in bed. I learned early in my youth, long before I got involved with the opposite sex, to listen more and talk less. Not just with women, but as a general proposition. That works well in my profession. I'm a salesman. I always listen to what the customer wants rather that beating my gums about what he should want to make my sale easy. It's amazing how often I can get the sale just by figuring out how to deliver what the customer wants. And if I keep listening, it creates a long-term relationship where the sales make themselves.

Well it kind of works the same with women. A lot of the women I wind up in bed with start out just talking to me, maybe over a drink, or on an airplane, or in the line for grocery check-out (when you have been divorced as often as I have you have to learn how to shop and cook for yourself). But it's the same as with my customers. If I listen and maybe just draw them out a bit, it's amazing how many women I meet who just want a guy to make them happy. And usually I can do that, and if they ask, well I just can't say no.

For example. Suppose I am standing behind a woman in a long line for a coffee and the barista is taking his own sweet time getting the customers ahead of us taken care of. Maybe he's chatting up the girl at the front of the line because she's cute. Now I could just stand there in silence, but that's boring and I'm not that shy. And I'm not going to say, "That's a great pair of tits you have there." That's just plan crude. You get slapped for that, and you should. I suppose I could also tell her how bad I think the service is, but why focus on the negative? Instead I'm likely to smile and say, "How's your day going?" Then I listen and try to draw her out. If she's interesting, maybe ask her to join me for coffee. Maybe even offer to pay for her coffee, telling her some stranger bought my coffee last week and I need to pay it forward. It's always going to be more interesting to hear about her than telling her about my day, and you never know where that conversation might lead.

Yup, I thought. That's how I get in all this trouble. Well it really hasn't been all that bad except for the trauma of all the divorces. And the expense. My god, divorces are expensive. Yeah but, I

thought to myself. The women are great. There's nothing better than making a woman express her joy in her own special way when she climaxes, whether it's just an almost silent chirp or screaming obscenities. I do like the loud ones though I thought with a chuckle.

I smiled. Who was the first, I thought? "Oh, that's easy," I said with a smile. It was Mrs. E, my family's next-door neighbor all those years ago. It was the summer after I graduated from high school. She was the first woman I didn't say no to, and it opened up a whole new world for me. I relit my cigar and leaned back in the chair to remember Mrs. E:

I had never really had sex before Mrs. E. Before Mrs. E, as far as I had ever gotten with any of the girls I went to school with was a bit of heavy necking and some grouping in the back seat of my father's sedan. And there wasn't much of that because I was pretty shy in high school. But Mrs. E introduced me to a whole new world. She was the first person I really had sex with that involved fucking (and a bunch of other things, I thought with a smile). Okay, it didn't start out with fucking, but it progressed to that quickly.

But that's not to say there wasn't any masturbation, and most people would consider that a form of sex, given how frequently they indulge in it. Oh yeah, I'm sure I was a world class masturbator by the time I was 18. Lots of practice and, just like I got later with women, I wasn't very good at resisting. I didn't restrict myself to just masturbating in bed at night. Any time I felt the urge, which could be for as simple a reason as seeing a pretty girl walking down the street in a short skirt, if I could find a place providing at least a modicum of privacy, I would whip it out and get myself off. Frequently several times a day.

The summer I was 18 I was bound for UC Davis in the fall. I had worked hard and made the grades I needed to be accepted there. I was a jock in high school, but not good enough for their standards. I had to make it on grades and test scores. My old man had made it clear that they would support me, but I was going to have to work that summer to help foot the bill for college.

I went out and hustled up a job delivering pizza for Gino's Pizza in Walnut Creek, my home town. Yeah, I was a pizza dude. I had a little old pick-up—a Datsun (they call them Nissans now and some of them are huge). The muffler wasn't too good but it always ran reliably. So, I delivered pizza for Gino (whose name was actually Arthur) from four to midnight and usually an hour or so later on Fridays and Saturdays. The pay wasn't much but the tips were good and Arthur was okay.

That schedule left me lounging around the house all day. I was the only one home because my parents both had full time jobs. Mom worked over in Berkeley, and Dad commuted to the City. They were gone from 7:00 to 6:00 or so every weekday.

Once Dad figured out I had all that extra time on my hands, he hired me at a pretty pathetic wage to rebuild the fence that stood between our house and our next-door neighbors, the

Echeverias

(I think he was Basque). I have always had a mild stutter (believe it or not some women think it is cute), so I always called them Mr. E and Mrs. E.

My first chore was to remove the old fence and haul it off to the dump in my little pick-up. That was all pretty straight forward until I got to the rotting posts. They were set in concrete and would have to be dug out. Ugh. No wonder Dad didn't want to do it. After about three days I had all the old fencing torn down and hauled off to the dump except for the posts. Now I was wrestling those out one by one in the hot Walnut Creek sun.

There was an evergreen hedge on the neighbor's side of the property, but because our property was a few feet higher, the hedge didn't really come to the top of our fence. Once the fence was out I could see pretty easily into the Echeverrias' back yard.

I had stripped down to nothing but an old pair of cutoff sweats and a pair of work boots. The sweat was running off my back. I couldn't help noticing how good the

Echeverria's

pool looked. It was just a few feet away They hadn't been around for a week or more. He traveled a lot on business and she often went with him, so I assumed they were both gone.

The second day of my battle with the fence posts took a decided turn for the better when Mrs. E came out to soak up some sun. Wow! I did a serious double-take. I had never seen Mrs. E like this before. Yeah, I had known her since I was a little kid. She had been over visiting my parents lots of times and I had seen her working around her yard. But she always had clothes on—lots of clothes compared to what she was wearing now,

and I had never paid much attention to her beyond a few polite conversations. Now she was wearing a one-piece swim suit that showed a lot more of her than I had ever imagined was there.

Mrs. E was in her early forties I would guess. She had a thick main of rebellious black hair that stopped at her shoulders, hazel eyes, and olive skin (a Mediterranean look, I guess)—skin, oh yes, oh my yes. There was a lot more skin there than I had ever seen before. She was just so . . . so covered up all of the other times I had seen her.

She was a little plump. Not fat, mind you. Undoubtedly not as trim as she had been at twenty, but still . . . well the word I would use today is shapely. Really shapely. Her boobs, naturally one of the first things I noticed, were big and the suit she was wearing showed a lot of cleavage. Her legs were long and shapely. "Why hadn't I noticed those legs before," I asked myself. As she turned to arrange a towel on her lounge chair she leaned forward and pointed her backside directly at me. Okay, it wasn't the backside of an 18-year-old tight-assed cheerleader, but it was still damned attractive. Later I would learn that it was exactly the kind of broad ass I liked to grab with both hands as I fucked a woman from behind. Of course, I didn't know that then. But I did know her ass looked really attractive. I didn't need a reason.

She turned so she was facing me but still leaning forward as she fussed with her towel. I thought her big soft tits were about to fall out of the swim suit. I could feel my prick stirring beneath the sweats I was wearing and all thoughts of wrestling the fence post I was leaning on had flown away, replaced by blatant lust for my neighbor's previously hidden charms.

She stood up, apparently satisfied with her organization and saw me leaning on the post. "Oh. Hi Andrew. How's the fencing project coming?"

By this time my fully erect prick had made a tent in my loose sweat pants and I was almost tongue tied. Somehow I stammered out a response. Something like, "Oh fine Mrs. E."

Fine my ass, I thought. Getting these posts out was a bitch. But then again, I could spend all summer working on this if she was going to lay in the sun showing off that body.

"Well don't let me bother you Andrew. Go right ahead with what you are doing. I got a good start with my tan while Jake and I were in St. Barts last week. I want to keep working on it."

"Oh," was all I could say. I had heard about St. Barts. That was one of the French islands in the Caribbean where they had nude beaches. My cock bobbed with enough strength to lift the loose fitting shorts I was wearing as I thought about Mrs. E on a nude beach. I looked down and realized that a drop of precum had soaked through. Thank god only my head and shoulders were above the level of the bushes on the Echeverrias' side of the fence.

I looked down at my raging hard on. And my hand strayed away from the fence post I had been wrestling out of the ground to stroke my cock. Could I get away with it. She was only about thirty feet away, but the brush was thick. Maybe, if I was quiet, I could get a quickie off. I continued to stroke my cock through my soft sweat pants as I thought about the risks.

"No fucking way!" I told myself silently. I pulled my hand away from my cock and went back to wrestling with the fence post, trying my best to ignore my erect cock as it waggled about in my shorts, and trying, with no success whatsoever, to avoid looking down and across at Mrs. E. She was stretched out on her back on the lounge chair with her dark glasses hiding her eyes from the sun. Was she looking at me when I stared at her or was she sleeping behind those glasses? Who knew?

I continued to watch her as I wrestled with the post, and my dick certainly didn't get any softer. "So what if she is awake?" I told myself. "She can't see me. Well she can't see my prick." My right hand had retreated from the stubborn fence post and was stroking my cock through my sweats again while my left hand continued with a nominal effort to dislodge the fence post, just in case she was looking. Soon my hand was inside my sweats stroking my swollen member over the head and all the way down the shaft, using the copious precum for a lubricant. I was watching her like a hawk in case she moved or looked toward me. "No fucking way she is asleep," I told myself, but I pushed the sweats down so they were barely hanging on my ass and my rigid cock and smoothly stroking right hand were fully exposed. The warm air felt so good on my prick. I always loved that sensation when I jerked off outside, and this was no exception.

Then she stirred, lifted her dark glasses up to the top of her head, and looked down at her boobs, as if inspecting her tanning process. She even pushed the cloth down so she could see more of her tits. I froze when she started to move, yanking my hand away from my cock and putting it back on the fence post. Now I was using both hands to push back and forth on the post while my naked cock bobbed and swung in the breeze and Mrs. E inspected her breasts for an unwanted tan line, or whatever she was doing. Okay, this was weird, but it was hot.

But she didn't stop there. She reached inside the bra cup of her swim suit and began to fondle her boobs. First one and then the other. Then she reached behind her neck and released the straps that held the top of the suit up.

Fuck, I thought! She's going to take off her swim suit and sunbathe in the nude! And she's playing with herself! I felt like I was going to lose all control right then. But just before I shot my load her phone began to ring in the house.

"Shit," she said, "that better not be a junk call." She jumped up and ran for the house. She had her back to me so I couldn't see whether the front of her suit stayed up or not, but probably not because the straps were no longer behind her neck. I couldn't see her tits but I imagined them swinging back and forth as she ran.

I could see her butt though. Her big soft cheeks wobbled as she ran (what can I say? I like big soft butts. Always have, even when I was 18). That did it for me. My cock erupted. I felt the cum rising up through the shaft, and then I watched as shot after shot sprayed on the plant in front of me. Wow! What a climax. I hung on the fence post until some strength returned to my legs.

Apparently, it wasn't a junk call because she didn't come back out. I didn't see Mrs. E again that day, although I certainly fantasized about her as I masturbated several more times that afternoon and night. She didn't turn up the next day and I got several more fence posts wrestled out of the ground. Even without Mrs. E lounging about and showing off her body to me I had about half an erection most of the day as I let the prior day's show replay through my head. I let myself masturbate on the bushes twice that day.

On Saturday my Dad gave me a hand. We got about half of the remaining fence posts out and loaded into the back of my truck to haul to the dump. Then we went to Home Depot and ordered new fencing material and concrete to set the new posts in. Mrs. E didn't make an appearance while Dad was around that day and he and I spent Sunday on our usual weekend round of golf, so I was spared anymore torment by our oversexed next-door neighbor.