This is a story about swimmers, so therefore, it must be a stroke story. Right? Am I right?
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There were three generations of blondes occupying the table at the food court in the mall I had recently begun to manage.
I had seen them before, perhaps each Saturday for about a month now. With each visit they captured more of my curiosity. It didn't hurt that they ranged, in order, from bubbly and precious, to perky and pretty, to downright seductively sexy.
The youngest was no more than a few months old, I estimated, a jolly pink-faced infant being lovingly bounced on the knees of her mom. Mom appeared to be in her mid-twenties, and like most young mothers who were in a little over their heads with their new-found responsibilities, her countenance bore the contrast of doting adoration and harried maternal neophyte.
She beamed yet she fretted, she smiled while she frowned, all at the same time. There is no "how-to" manual for young mommies, her features seemed to say as she struggled to corral the baby who was bound and determined to repeatedly knock over her tiny baby bottle.
Lording over the festivities, like a lioness proudly watching over her small pride of cubs, was the matriarch of the trio.
Honestly, she could have easily passed for mid-to-late thirties, especially from the neck down, but judging by the age of her daughter, she had to be at least mid-forties. Her tall, lithe body was ever bit as shapely as her daughter's, perhaps even more so.
She oozed a quiet, confident sexuality without even trying to, and she knew it. Yes, It was grandma who immediately intrigued me. I admit it up front.
Being someone who is paid to pay attention to detail, I also observed that the only ring among the three was the ring on the pacifier of the littlest cutie-pie.
I had only been in town for maybe as long as the youngster had been born, having very recently relocated from the east coast to the Midwest to turn this struggling regional shopping center around. During that time, I had been so busy with work that I hadn't had time to indulge in any extracurricular activities.
At thirty-eight and newly divorced, I was turning into an "all-work and no-play" guy. That couldn't last forever, I mused, as I was distracted by the 'crash' of a tray being spilled in another area of seating.
I rose from helping a member of my janitorial staff attend to the cleaning, and turned to walk towards my office when I almost bumped into her, or rather, she into me.
The mature lioness, Panthera Leo, queen of the Central Ohio jungle, the gregarious predatory feline with the tawny coat.
Trapped, I was, in plain view. She flipped a loose bronze-gold curl of hair from her forehead, and my recollection might be a bit fuzzy, but I swear she licked her lips.
"I'm Tricia Price", she said in a soft, husky voice that brought to mind Anne Bancroft's Mrs. Robinson's character. "You're the new mall manager, I wanted to introduce myself and welcome you to Indian Mound Mall." She extended her hand, which I grasped and glanced down. Yep, I was right. No ring.
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Price," I replied, wanting to test the waters of matrimonial status. "That's so nice of you to do so. I'm John Sullivan."
She chuckled softly, still holding my hand in a firm grip. She had cat-green eyes with flecks of brown. Her fingers were long, I noticed, and she smelled like autumn. Crisp fall air, mulled cider, and burning maple leaves. Mmmmm.
"It's Ms. Price, thank you," she corrected me (thank goodness!). "And no need to be so formal, Mr. Washington, DC. You're in Ohio now. Call me Tricia, please."
Her voice alone began to make my cock twitch. Now that I had a second sampling of it, maybe I was wrong, maybe her voice wasn't Anne Bancroft-ish. Maybe it was more Kathleen Turner-like in "Body Heat". Yeah, that was it.
"Ah, you've been reading up on me, I see." Our hands finally reluctantly released. I missed touching her already. "Yes, yes, I did notice the difference in traffic around here, " I continued, playing along. "I haven't been stuck on the Capital Beltway in a while. Gives me about three more hours to work each day. Though now,I have no excuse for running late."
She smiled at me, sizing me up. It was at that moment I knew we were going to fuck.
Eh, who was I kidding? I had no idea if we were going to fuck. But a man can't be blamed for wishful thinking, can he? They says that a man knows if he wants to fuck a woman in about a fraction of a second, or about as long as it takes a woman to decide if she wants to buy a particular purse.
They (whoever the fuck 'they' are) also say it takes a woman about thirty seconds to decide if she's attracted to a man, much longer to decide if she'll sleep with him. But it's those crucial initial thirty seconds that gives them time to ponder if they're open to the concept.
Tricia Price and I are were approximately thirty-one seconds into our relationship, so my odds were increasing each second she hung around.
(I have to stop for a second and tell you that Indian Mound Mall is located in Licking County. True dat. Naturally, there is a Licking Valley High School. And in nearby Sunbury, there is a high school called Big Walnut. Where do they get these names? Anyway, my favorite headline was when the latter school girls' basketball team defeated the former's in a contentious game. The headline said, and I quote: Aggressive Big Walnut Beats Licking Valley Girls. I don't know why I always found that humorous. Hey, I'm not smart enough to make this shit up.)
But back to the story. Ms., not Mrs., Price, had a question for me. A question which is paramount in most womens' thoughts. "So, John, Mr. New Mall Manager from the Capital Beltway, tell me, what new stores do you plan on bringing to this sleepy little town of ours? For instance, why must I go to Lancaster or Zanesville to find a Victoria's Secret?"
That was a fair question. And the image of mature cougar Tricia Price roaming the corridors of Indian Mound Mall with a Victoria's Secret shopping bag full of goodies was enough incentive for me to hop right on it. But it's not always quite as easy as that, unfortunately.
I caressed my chin, trying to appear contemplative while trying not to look at her left nipple, which had somehow preceded the right one in beginning to poke through her off-white cotton blouse. A lefty, huh? Good to know.
"Well," I started slowly, "...that's double-top-secret information, you see. Can't announce a leasing deal to the public before it's signed. But, seeing as you seem to be a loyal shopper of the mall and all, I'll tell you what....." Her eyebrows arched in anticipation. My cock again did likewise beneath my belt. Go for it, what the hell.
I looked deep in her twinkling pupils, full of the wisdom and guile that only a mature lioness can evoke when she knows she could devour any male she so desired.
"If you'll agree to discuss the topic over a business dinner with me, that will give me the opportunity to survey my customer base and maybe let you in on some inside knowledge." She grinned mischievously, but I held up a finger in caution.
