Maria was an "older woman" (30's) I worked with. She was from Switzerland, here in the states with her husband. I was a teenager (I think I'd turned 19 - maybe not) working in a bookstore, and she was a part timer there, mostly working for fun, to meet Americans (and practice her American English) and because she loved books. Plus her language skills made her an asset to the shop, which did a fair amount of foreign language business. We'd sit together in a cramped little space, answering the phones, working the register, helping customers find things, etc.
She about made me crazy with her petite, slightly tanned body, her smile, her accent (mostly German), her flirty ways and her obvious enjoyment of my youthful infatuation. Basically, she was a subtle and very accomplished tease and I was loving it. She also, eventually, learned that I had a girlfriend my own age, and that I also "dated" other women, including a couple who were older than me. So it's not like I was off limits to her, but she was married and I assumed that meant that she was off limits to me. I knew it was possible, having been with a couple of married women, but even in the early 70's, it wasn't safe to assume a married woman was available, even if she was flirting a lot. And although she flirted, she was also clearly very into her husband, whom I'd met a few times when he'd been by the store to visit. Nice guy - sharp dresser, clean cut, but very hip, sort of slightly built guy, compared to my bearded, pony-tailed, muscly biker-ish look.
She and I often got lunch together, or had coffee before work, and really enjoyed each other's company. She especially liked trying to get me to tell her what I'd been up to over the weekend, or the previous night, and she was amused that I was reticent sometimes, but told her just enough to keep her asking and wondering. I'd realized that two could play the teasing game. So although we talked about everything from books and film and politics, etc. - we also often talked about sex. She found it really interesting that I'd done some mild bondage, that I'd had threesomes with women, that I'd had sex at parties with others watching and while watching them do - "same room sex" as the swinger community calls it now. She was amazed at the amount and kind of experience I'd had before I'd even turned 20.
She, on the other hand, had relatively little experience. Some boyfriends and lots of making out, mostly after carefully chaperoned dances at school. Her parents were very attentive - almost smothering, but not quite - and they were among the few Swiss who actually attended church regularly, so Maria had spent a lot of her youth flirting with boys at church functions, apparently honing her skills, because she was really, really good at it and had my late-adolescent genitals in an uproar pretty much whenever she was within sight. Hell, even the smell of her on the other side of a rack of books at the store could make me pop a boner. She loved it and sometime I wouldn't even know she'd been looking, and she'd go "tut, tut ... such a naughty, naughty boy ..." as she was walking by, knowing I'd been looking down her sundress trying to see her little boobs, or up her skirt, seeing her smooth thighs and hoping for a glimpse of her panties.
She was something.
She and her husband were jazz fans - one of the reasons they were really enjoying being in the states - and one day at lunch she told me she was sort of pissed off because they had tickets to see Herbie Hancock in a relatively small venue and they'd been really excited about if for a long time, but her husband had to work.
She paused and then looked up at me and said "wanna be my date?" She'd started learning standard American "mispronunciations" - such as "wanna" instead of "want to" and the colloquial dropping of "do you." She was always so pleased with herself when she used idiomatic English and it just made her more irresistible.
I wasn't a jazz fan back then, and she knew it, but I immediately said yes.
Her eyes lit up, but she was clearly nervous about this, and that was sort of exciting to me. She was always so on top of it all, that it was fun to see her trying to hide her nervousness. But for the next couple days, as our "date" grew closer, I wondered what had her so nervous. She almost seemed sort of pissed off with me, and I even asked her if she was, and she said "no, don't be silly, why would I be?" But she remained very prickly.
When I arrived to pick her up on my bike, she just looked at me. "How am I supposed to ride on your motorcycle with this little skirt?"
I answered "you know I ride a bike and don't have a car, so it's not my problem, is it?"
She wanted to ride side-saddle, but I nixed that. Instead, I said "hold still a sec," and too hold her of slim hips and began to tug her skirt around her body, so that the slit that was on the side came around to the front. The whole time she was sort of playfully slapping at me, but my leather jacket made it laughably ineffective. We both were laughing while she was saying "you're completely crazy ... someone's going to see you doing this ... etc."
It relieved some tension. When I stepped back to see the result, she pointedly looked at the bulge in my jeans and gave the familiar "naughty boy," scolding, shaking her head, but smiling. There was still tension, but it had changed. It was excitement, plain and simple.
I had her get on before me just to see if moving the slit around to the front would let her ride more modestly. It would have been more effective, I was realizing, to put the slit to the rear, and let her sit on the opening, but this was pretty great - I got a full-on view of her thighs all the way up, and the triangle of her white panties was fully exposed as she struggled to get herself arranged. "This is TERRIBLE," she cried, in mock alarm. "I'm completely exposed like this! You're a bad, bad boy - don't think I don't know why you did this!"
I was laughing - we both were - as she tried in vain to cover herself, her knees spread wide and her entire pelvis exposed. I could see the lips of her pussy pressed to the crotch of panties and she knew it." I explained that when I was in front of her, she'd be up against me, and no one could see. It calmed her down, but I was actually thinking "it's going to be awesome when she has to get off the bike!"
So now she got off so that I could get on. Again, her finely muscled legs were a vision as she clambered off, huffing and puffing, then I got on and she climbed on again and we were off. She had to hold the flaps of her dress with one hand and put her other around my torso to hold on.
It was a short ride, and there was more laughter as she struggled to dismount. I stood by with my arms folded and watched, laughing with her and enjoying how prettily she blushed as she exposed herself.
The music was more enjoyable than I would have thought, not being a jazz fan and not really knowing much about jazz. There was no denying the talent and the complexity of what the band was doing and I got into it. And it may have helped that I was sitting at a tiny table with a little candle glowing on it, throwing light on our drinks and on her. She was absolutely gorgeous, moving softly to the music, often with her eyes closed. We were seated on a banquette very near the stage, thigh to thigh, the place being packed and I could smell her soap or shampoo or something, but mostly I could smell HER - her sweetness. Not body odor, really, but something elusive that I knew like I knew my own name.
I thought I'd died and gone to heaven when she sort of absently began to run the fingers of her near hand over the hair on my arm, her eyes still on the musicians. My heart was pounding when I leaned in and said to her as softly as I could and still be heard, my lips very close to her ear and my nostrils full of the smell of her hair, "thank you for this."
She turned and seemed almost startled to see me there. Our faces were very close to each other and without really thinking I softly pressed my lips to hers. We held the kiss for just a moment, but then she turned a little toward me and kissed me, her left hand still on my arm, and her other hand, her right, falling to my thigh. Our kiss intensified but stopped short of being an inappropriate public snog in a pretty classy jazz club.
When the kiss broke, we were both smiling - with pleasure, with shock - with happiness. She turned back to the music, but was now, turned more with her back to me, sort of settled in, with my arm around her, holding my hand in both of hers.
Oh, man.
I really don't remember the rest of the time in the club very well, except to say that her usually reserved, quiet, teasing way - often dodging behind propriety and a sort of "European girls' school" primness - was now joined to a new physicality. I realized she'd always been as fond of me as I was of her, but now her fondness was expressed, by stroking my hand and my arm, my thigh and turning to smile into my eyes from just inches away when something especially amazing arose in the music. She leaned her head back against me as she listened. We were so happy - so comfortable with each other. And I was so fucking hard in my jeans I thought I'd come every time she adjusted herself. At one point she carefully reached back with the hand that was against the back of the banquette and found my hard on. Giving it a squeeze, she turned and although I couldn't exactly hear her, she gave me the usual scolding for being a "very naughty boy."
As I recall we didn't speak as we left the club and this time she got onto the bike more easily and when I turned to her, we kissed again. As we pulled away, her hands went inside my jacket and occasionally strayed down toward my belt buckle - always the little tease!
She asked me in, and I accepted, assuming that this late, her husband would be there, perhaps asleep. Once we were inside, she turned and kissed me again. I whispered "your husband ..." but she cut me off with fingertips at my lips.
"His office sent him to Chicago - we have all night," she said and paused then added, "that is, if we want it."
I just pulled her tight against me and she smiled as my hand slid down to her ass and my tongue parted her lips.
I'll try to cut to the chase here. We slept together that night and the sex was spectacular for us both. In the morning, after one more romp in the sheets, we showered and fucked again there - anal that time, at her suggestion. She was an enthusiastic fuck and her enjoyment made up for her relative lack of experience a hundred fold. She loved it all and what she and her husband hadn't tried she especially enjoyed.
I had to work that day, so I did, and then we went out to dinner, then back to her place, where we were all over each other again. If anything, it was even better than the previous night, as I recall. At one point, late in the night, we were snacking in her kitchen and she asked me about bondage. As she asked, she pulled the sash off the little wrap she was wearing. "What, you want me to tie you up?" I said, hopefully.
"Maybe ..." she said, and turned slowly and headed back up to the bedroom, her thoughts a million miles away, her little round ass rolling gently as she went. I finished the last of my sandwich quickly, drank some water and followed her up.
