Marie stared at Max. According to her upbringing a woman wasn't supposed to stare at a man like she was, but she did it anyway. Screw that, she told herself. Guys do it all day long. Now it's our turn! She was 47 and full of pent up frustrations about her sexual life, indeed about the sexual lives of most women she had known.
Max was 49 years old, but his long, athletic legs, flat stomach, sparkling eyes and very tight butt made her think of younger men. They had known each other for just a few weeks. Both had been entranced from the start.
This night, Marie had the task of watching her grandchild for her son. He was out for the night with his wife. She had Max over to help with the child, as well as to keep her company. The little boy had tuckered out early, since Max had run around the yard with him for hours. He was upstairs in his little bed and his snores were coming through on the baby monitor.
So, the adults had time to play.
Max had got up and grabbed her a glass of red wine. He handed it to her and had the intention of sitting down.
Not so fast.
"Wait," she said, with a raised hand, like a police officer. He froze and his eyes bunched into a question. She felt her cheeks warm as inchoate ideas danced in her mind. She grabbed the wine from his hand, as well as the beer he had for himself and placed them on the table next to the couch. The next words came out of her mouth as if from another person. Innocent as they were, nothing in her past gave her direction, but when those simple words were released, something inside of her opened, something as dizzying and wonderful as freedom.
"Turn around," she said, her voice quivering, to her frustration.
His shoulders twitched, as if he had been subtly shoved. He stood there, a foot from her, a stranger in unknown territory.
To her utter satisfaction, Marie found that she had the conviction. "I said turn around!"
Max was still working his way through the fog of this unknown road. But the clarity of her voice was a beacon. With one last check of her face, on which he found no choice residing, he felt his legs moving to her will. Her turned.
"Stop!" she said. He had turned 180 degrees. "Back up," she said. Her voice now was calm. She was a person in control. He strode a couple small steps backwards.
He felt her hands caress his ass cheeks through his jeans. "What a great, tight ass you have," she said.
"Thanks," he muttered, not knowing what else to say. His heart was thumping. He had never been treated like this. He was caught between loving it and hating it..
Forces inside Max rebelled. All of his life he had played the role of the dominant one. Memories came of his snarling, stubbly-faced coaches in football, basketball, baseball, all ready, if necessary, to use the ultimate disparagement: "you're playing like a girl!" He had had many such lessons of being the tough one, of being in charge. But now with the feeling of her soft, slender fingers grabbing his ass cheeks, he sighed in satisfaction and noticed the pressure growing in the front of his underwear.
His mind was drifting in a lusty haze.
When she pulled her hands away, he felt bereft.
He waited for a few, empty seconds for her hands to return. They did not. He twisted his head and looked down at her.
She looked up at him, the green irises of her eyes glowed the brightest green he had ever seen. His gaze drifted involuntarily to her lips. The strain in his crotch called to him. But he vaguely realized it was not his decision what would happen next. He waited.
"Turn towards me," she said. He turned, standing before her comfortably seated form. Her eyes found his and slowly, teasingly, wandered down his face, down his white cotton dress shirt, all the way down to the bulge showing just below his thick leather belt.
"Take off your shoes and socks."
He stopped for a moment. The early disorientation was wearing off. A stiffness arose along his backbone. Maybe he should stop this. She would not respect him if it continued. No matter how throbbing his cock was, how badly it needed to release its pent up cargo, would it be wise to continue?
She noticed his doubts. In microseconds she grappled with her own emotions. The "trained her" automatically wanted to stop. But the "strong her" refused. It demanded that she see this through. How else would she ever know what it was like?
She gazed into his eyes and said in a soft, but certain voice: "You are such a nice man, and handsome," she said, batting her eyelashes, "I just want to enjoy all that you have to offer."
She saw that her words worked. He relaxed and smiled. Off came his shoes and socks. Lust rose and swelled inside of her and she gladly rode it to the top.
She suddenly remembered her camera. She had brought it to take pictures of her grandson. She had taken plenty, but the camera was not close to capacity. She reached into her nearby pocketbook and pulled out the silver device.
"Take off your shirt!" Her voice had gathered strength. As she started the video function of the camera, he unbuttoned the shirt. He dropped it to the floor.
Of course, she was familiar with his chest and abs, but those finely-toned areas turned her on more than before. Without dropping the camera, she reached with her left hand and enjoyed his muscle-strewn abdomen. She saw his bulge grow larger. .
In the middle of her tactile revery, the front door swept open and closed and in charged Sue. "Hey, Marie, I..." Sue was four steps inside before she even picked up her head and noticed what was going on. She was Marie's close friend and in a flash Marie recalled that she had told her to come help with the child. That was before she had invited Max along. Marie had forgot to tell Max about Sue coming over and vice versa.
"OH! Am I interrupting something?" Sue blurted out when her eyes finally connected to her brain. Her face was crimson as she turned to leave.
Max was frozen in place. At first Marie was no better, but a gremlin whispered in her ears. Marie said, "Sue, wait!"
