At 48, John was two years into his new life as a single after Cindy had left. Perhaps it was the sadness of what he still thought of as an unnecessary breakup, but whatever the reason, he had not felt the need for any female company in these past two years. The desire just was not there.
Instead, he chose the sort of solitary freedom he had always had as a fantasy in the back of his mind, even as a kid. After buying the boat he would live on, he drifted from place to place, tying up in places he liked for sometimes a couple of weeks, sometimes even a few months. But always dreaming of the next leg of his journey; you can develop software from anywhere and it was freedom he longed for.
He'd ended up in this pretty, quiet village a week ago. A nice spot at the marina, with great views of the river but still close to the town center. A row of small, cosy homes -- cottages, really -overlooking the old marina and the bend in the river. He felt this would be one of the longer stays he'd had so far; the place simply felt good.
Spring was on its way, and as he did some work on the boat, the first real warmth of the sun that year hit his skin. In fact, it hit quite literally, triggering something out of a deep two-year-long sleep. Not perhaps lust or sexual desire, simply the need for a woman. Intimacy.
John knew life had taken a new turn straight away, he wondered about the almost primal suddenness of that change in himself. The two weeks after this unexpected sunray moment were spent almost methodically, preparing for what he felt sure would follow next. A long overdue haircut, working out at the local gym, and after explaining his awakening to his old friends Tim and Mary over the phone, a box from Mary with outfits that 'would improve his prospects significantly'.
He had never considered himself to be attractive. But as some of his friends' wives had told him sympathetically after his break-up, he had 'dried up rather nicely' as the years had passed. At 6'1 and well-built, the years had mostly just added character to his face.
To his amusement, he'd gotten more attention from women in the last two years than ever before. Part of that, he suspected, was the weight loss and muscle build that the sailing life brings with it. Now, though, in the smart outfits Mary had sent, he felt attractive and confident for perhaps the first time in his life.
She often worked in her garden overlooking the marina, and John had certainly noticed. She had the physique of a certain 'type', as he thought of it, that he found the most exciting. He even had a name for her type -- all his life he had been wondering what made women attractive to him and being a methodical person, he made up names for his types. She was a Natural woman, curvy, earthy. Never discussed or even voiced out loud, these words he made up came straight into his thoughts as he first saw her, and felt his desire flare up.
He had always liked older women, lush women. And although not chubby, her curves were pronounced as she bent over to pull some weeds. John could only imagine freckled skin on her full but shapely legs, but he certainly needed no imagination for her breasts.
Tucked into a tight-fitting shirt with spaghetti straps, she probably felt no need for a bra working in the garden; the marina was quiet and she was mostly safe in assuming she'd be unobserved. Her cleavage when pulling out the weeds made him think 36DD. Not that he was trying to think in measurements, the number came up as he felt his excitement physically grow.
Staring at her for a few minutes, he could see a full, surprisingly youthful ass in her tight sweat shorts as she walked around barefoot -- a natural woman, as he thought. He realised that he must have been staring for more than a few minutes, as the sun started to set and she walked back into the patio doors of her cottage, seemingly oblivious to his stares.
Her butt moving in the too-tight shorts, with a bit of the bottom of her ass cheeks visible just as much as the lovely full legs below, that image lingered in his mind for a long time after she moved out of view.
That night, John's re-awakened desire came back full-force. He wanted a woman; he wanted a woman to want him; he needed to fuck; he wanted to play the game again. And this Earthy Woman would be the first object of his desire. Although, he knew, also certainly not the last. His time had come.
The next morning was the first hot day of the year. John woke up early, somehow more energised than he'd normally be that time of day. As he pulled the curtain from the porthole next to his bed, he saw her step out of her patio doors.
Wrapped in a white towel, her shoulder-length chestnut hair still wet from the shower; carrying a cup of coffee and something else, small, in her hand. John noticed the way she walked -- barefoot, thus carefully, but with a certain rhythm, a certain pace that he thought of as quite girlish. It only added to the desire he felt -- it fit the type, he realised. She was a GILF, but an energetic, playful one.
As she sat down cross-legged, in the middle of her meadow, she bent forward and studied her pretty little feet. John saw her touch her toes, one by one and just as he realised she was about to paint her toe nails, the towel wrapped tightly around her large breasts came loose. He saw her left breast come free immediately, full, mature, and although perhaps a bit saggy to others, perfect and delicious in his mind.
Breathlessly, he grabbed the binoculars that he kept next to his bed. As he focused in on her, perhaps 60 yards away from him, the towel opened up more and fell down to her hips. Her amazing breasts, full and slightly sagging under their weight, were complemented by a cute little belly, which however still left her with a clear hourglass figure.
The towel obscured her hips, but John had no trouble imagining them. Soft, full hips, with a bit of a muffin top when wearing jeans -- hips he so much wanted to feel up that he now knew for sure she was the object of his reawakened desire.
After she had painted her toe nails and leaned back on her arms in the grass, the towel gave way completely. She stretched her legs and John enjoyed a full view of her body from below. Her full thighs, through his binoculars, led up to a well-kept bit of hair. Her pussy inside looked absolutely delicious, with just a bit of her inner labia coming out to promise a full tactile experience when he would penetrate her. If and when, John corrected himself. For all he knew, she was happily married and -- but God, he needed to have her.
As he was thinking that the cottage was very small, and the chances of this being a single woman's house increased accordingly, he felt somehow certain: as she lay in the grass, legs outstretched, she brought one hand to her pussy and stroked it intently -- as if to see if everything was still OK there. As she continued her stroking, the expression on her face changed from interest to delight.
She lay down fully flat on the grass, and although John could no longer see much of her face, her body movements became ever more telling -- then with some shaking, she came to rest and John waited patiently behind his binoculars for the moment he could see her face again. That lovely face, perhaps late in her fifties but freckled and with a girlish prettiness despite lines and the inevitable -- cute -- wrinkles around her eyes.
He had resisted the urge so far, but now gripped his bone-hard erection and beat off violently, somehow hoping the energy pulse of his coming would be felt by the woman only 60 feet away. He had to have her.
The next days were some sort of exquisite torture. She would come into the garden many times a day, sometimes with twenty-somethings he imagined to be her children, sometimes with women friends -- but John's hopes grew as there was never a man.
His pent-up need also grew, with every time she appeared in a loosely buttoned shirt (and nothing else, he felt sure), sweat shorts, a bathrobe once, and now that he used his binoculars, he saw her in just a T shirt, tiptoeing lightly inside her living room. He became obsessed. The butt, the legs, the breasts, the cleavage in that spaghetti-strap shirt. Her neck, once adorned with a pearl string that he felt looked so hot around her; she became strangely familiar to him.
