I'm 39, and Susan is 57. I first met her three years ago when I started my new job as a consultant. I remember arriving at work one day and seeing this attractive older woman with raven hair, dressed to the hilt in a black suit, with beige hose you could bounce a dime off of. You could quite literally look at her crossed legs and shave with the shine from her nylons. There wasn't a day she was not dressed like that and honestly, she knew it turned the men on. You could tell.
She saw that I was having trouble with my marriage when my wife would call and I would argue on the phone while I was trying to get work. She loved to belittle me in front of my co-workers. It got to the point where I needed to stay at my seat rather than walk off to accept her calls because she was calling me so often and moaning about something or other.
One day, Susan approached me. I immediately was intrigued this time because, after all, she sat in the cubicle across from me.
"Listen kid, I wasn't born yesterday. You guys need help. Have you ever had therapy?"
"No" I said. "Never. She's crazy. She thinks I'm the cause of all of our problems."
Susan got closer to me. Her perfume was strong. Like walking into Macy's past the perfume counter. Sandalwood, so strong that it made me tear up. But it didn't matter. I associate that smell with a beautiful woman now. A mature goddess.
"Do you have sex?" she said in a low almost whisiper.
"No." My heart raced now. The woman I'd fantasized about for a year was getting very personal. I loved it; started quivering.
"Well, how long has it been? How old are you?" she inquired.
I told her I was 36, that it had been four years, and she told me a good looking man like me should be getting laid five days a week. I agreed with her but told her that we were just in a shitty situation.
For months after that I took every opportunity I could to bring up my loneliness and pain to Susan. Sometimes by instant message at work, never in any kind of dirty way, just implication. Once she said hello and I'd say "Saluting". Then she said "That's Italian for hello.". Yes, definitely.
So, this is how it continued for some time. Susan continued to be slightly teasing for a year. On and off I'd see her in an outfit that made my whole body ache to touch her. More than once while logging into her computer she'd call me over to help her. To sit next to her, smell her perfume, see her skirt slowly riding up to reveal control top hose. I would shake, not out of shyness, but out of lust, out of a need to give in to her.
Later that year I changed to a new location a couple of towns away and she was scheduled to move over a few months later. When she came over to my new location I deemed it time to let her know my feelings. I could not get the image in my head of her pretty legs, the click of her heels in the hallway, he annoying cellphone ring. None of it. The fantasies usually involved meeting her at her house in the morning before work, taking a shower with her, giving her a rubdown, and then slowly fucking her. I usually would masturbate in the shower while thinking of these fantasies, using hair conditioner as a cock slickening lubricant. KY-jelly has nothing on Neutrogena.
So the time came. Susan finally moved to my location. I called her, we made a "date" to meet for a walk at lunch time. As usual, on that hot and humid day, she was dressed like she was going to sell real estate to a billionaire. Dressed a little too inappropriately for work. A blue dress that was scandalously short, white heels with an open toe, and white hose.
The conversations were a little staccato at first because I was nervous. My mouth was dry, my heart raced. I was turned on, nervous, and very excited about the possibilities. We talked about my troubled marriage a lot, about my bank accounts and what I might need to do if I got a divorce. But I kept steering the conversation toward my lack of sex. I didn't really know how to say it, so I just kind of brought the subject up bluntly.
After a long and very dry-mouthed pause, we walked up a set of stairs between parking lots on our sprawling campus. The sky became overcast, the humidity was stifling. I could not help but notice her tight buttocks through her miniskirt, her rippling calves. This moment was killing me and I felt more of a man than I had in years.
"Susan you look great."
"Thanks" she answered.
"No, I mean you look hot. Really hot." I took a chane there.
"Oh. Let me guess, you have a crush on me?" she smiled.
"Yeah, you could say that. You're the only person that understands my situation."
"Well, I kind of picked up on that James."
It began to rain. Our clothes began to get very wet.
"C'mon, my car is in this lot. Let's go."
I watched her sprint sprint off in heels. I had no choice but to follow her.
She started up her black Mercedes and pulled out of the space. We laughed at the rain - her hair was like long black spaghetti, her makeup running, her pantyhose wet. Where the nylon was soaked it was transparent and darker. Like little blotchy islands of coffee with creamer in it against a lighter background. She saw me trembling as we stopped at a red light.
