Dales Women Ch 03

The morning that followed was interesting.

Dale had woken first, but made no effort to get up from the bed or to waken Gloria. As before, he just looked down at her as she slept. It was a Saturday, so there was no need for either of them to get up early. But Gloria somehow sensed Dale's gaze, and her eyes popped open and she rolled over onto her back. Dale was propped up on one elbow, seemingly without a care in the world.

"How long have you been awake?" she said almost accusingly.

"A little while," he said blandly.

"What have you been doing?"

"Nothing—just watching you."

She scowled at him, but then realized there was no way she could remain angry with him. Or maybe there was. As she forced herself out of bed, she stumbled over to the closet to fish out a robe. In the process she rubbed her bottom and, glaring back at him, said, "My butt hurts."

Dale had the decency to look away, abashed.

As she put on a long terrycloth robe, she said, "I suppose you want some breakfast."

Dale's face radiated keen anticipation. "That would be great!" After a pause he added: "I can help. I'm an expert at cooking bacon."

"Are you?" she said dubiously. "Well, why don't you put something on?" She held up another robe for him to examine.

"But that's one of yours," he protested.

"You have a problem with that?" she shot back.

"I don't suppose you have any of your husband's things here?"

"I do not," she said forcefully. Then, taking pity on him, she went on: "Look, this robe is fine—not too feminine for you. It will do for now."

"I could come down naked," he said eagerly.

"No, you could not," she said, flinging the robe in his direction.

They both did their ablutions quickly—she lent him an unused toothbrush for the purpose—and headed down the stairs to the kitchen.

Sure enough, they worked pretty well as a team making breakfast: she managed some scrambled eggs and toast, and he did indeed do quite a nice job frying up some bacon. She offered him coffee, but he preferred tea. She didn't, and made a pot of coffee for herself.

They sat down and enjoyed the meal, saying little. After it was over, they continued in their silence.

The time was approaching for something of a reckoning, and they both knew it.

Gloria began the proceedings by saying, "Now what?"

Dale didn't answer immediately. He was quite certain she hadn't heard those fateful words he had whispered in her ear the night before—and, in the clarity of the day, he wasn't certain how much he had even meant them—but he knew he wanted to see more of this compelling woman.

So at last he said, "I'd like to spend the day with you." He well knew that she would pick up on the hidden implication behind his words:

And the night.

It was Gloria's turn to remain silent while she digested his words. While they were in the throes of intimacy, the immense difference in their ages had seemed insignificant: she was a woman, he was a man, and that was all there was to it. She liked to think that she was more than merely "well-preserved": she had taken good care of her body, and Dale—even if his taste for older women had to be regarded as something of an aberration—had clearly responded to her passionately and enthusiastically. But how much farther did she wish to go? The idea of actually having a

relationship

with this man-boy still struck her as absurd, even embarrassing: how could she possibly introduce him to her middle-aged women friends as her boyfriend, her lover, her bedmate? It was too grotesque.

But she liked him, and perhaps more than liked him.

So she said, "All right. What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Oh, anything. We could go out somewhere—it looks like good weather today. How about a little trip to Mianus River State Park?" This was a small wooded area north of Stamford and Greenwich, near the border with New York State.

"Sounds fine," Gloria said. "But what are you going to do for clothes? You can't wear your suit to the park."

"Um, well," Dale said, blushing, "I have some casual clothes in my satchel."

"Do you now?" Gloria said. "So you expected to use them?"

"No, no!" Dale cried, hands extended as if to ward off a blow. "But . . . it helps to come prepared."

"Yeah, right." She turned on her heels and made toward the stairs. "Let's shower and get ready."

"You mean, shower together?" There was an obvious tone of anticipation in his voice.

"No," Gloria said firmly. "You shower in the bathroom in the master bedroom. I'll shower in the bathroom down the hall."

They showered and dressed in good time. Gloria had put on a comfortable denim blouse and a wraparound knee-length skirt that made her seem quite youthful, while Dale fished out a dark polo shirt and tan Dockers from his trusty satchel. Gloria didn't have much in the way of picnic supplies at home, so they stopped by at the local grocery for some fried chicken, potato salad, and sundry other things that they could enjoy whenever they got hungry.

The drive to Mianus River State Park took hardly any time at all, and in spite of the cool weather they worked up a bit of a sweat tramping about the area—heavily forested, but with the crisp waters of the Mianus River flowing nearby. There were also a number of small lakes whose shore would seem to make an ideal place for a picnic lunch.

The meal was concluded with a Thermos of piping-hot tea (for him) and coffee (for her). As they lounged contentedly on the blanket Gloria had brought, Dale felt bold enough to venture onto dangerous territory again.

"So tell me about your husband."

Gloria eyed him dubiously. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything. What sort of a man was he?"

"Physically? Well, he was a big guy—about six feet tall, with a barrel chest. Quite strong, although I wouldn't say his face was the most attractive one could ask for. But the funny thing was that, precisely because he was so big and strong, he treated me—and women in general, it seems—with a kind of exaggerated courtesy and respect."

"Can one ever have too much respect for women?" Dale said wonderingly.

"Oh, it's not that. I'm not expressing myself well. What I mean to say is that he tended to be something of a pushover where women were concerned. I'm sure it goes back to his mother—it always does."

She stopped abruptly, fearful that she might have said something offensive or disturbing to Dale.

"You're probably right," he said without looking at her.

"Anyway," she went on hastily, "he treated me like a piece of porcelain—and I hate that! Dammit, I don't break so easily! He actually thought it was strange that I didn't cry much—thought it was somehow 'unfeminine.' Imagine that!"

"I cry a lot," Dale said simply.

Gloria was brought up short. "Yes, well . . . Women cry because it's somehow expected of them. It's just a way of keeping women down—turns them into infants."

"That's rather harsh. I think crying can be very therapeutic—cathartic, don't you know."

"Maybe," Gloria said dubiously. "But it's not something I do."

Dale wanted to get back to the main subject. "So what exactly happened between you two? I mean, twenty-one years is a long time to be married . . ."

"I'll say!" she said emphatically.

"No children?"

"No. I'm not exactly the maternal type. Maybe Harvey wanted them at the beginning, but I put my foot down and eventually he gave up."

"You think"—Dale said this very hesitantly, fearful she would explode in anger—"that had anything to do with his leaving you?"

Smart as she was, it took Gloria a few seconds to understand the implications of Dale's words. "You mean," she said slowly, "he wanted to get his young secretary to produce the offspring I never gave him?" She looked at Dale as if such an idea was an insidious plot against her.

Dale shrugged. "I don't know. It was just a thought."

"Well," she said grudgingly, "you may be right. But he didn't stick around long enough for that to happen. He dumped her in about six or seven months and then tried to run back to me with his tail between my legs. I told him where to get off!" She was breathing heavily again, her nostrils flaring and her eyes blazing.

"You had every right to be angry," Dale said diplomatically.

"You better believe I did! The fucking bastard . . ."

Dale winced. "Please don't swear. I don't like to hear women swearing."

Gloria gave Dale a long, piercing look. "And what does

that

mean? It's okay for men to swear, but not women?"

This conversation was not going at all the way Dale intended.

"No," he said nervously. "I don't like men swearing either."

"But you specifically said 'I don't like to hear women swearing.'"

"All right!" Dale burst out. "Maybe I put women on a pedestal. But I certainly don't handle women like porcelain, do I?"

"That's true enough," Gloria said with her patented cynical smile.

"How about sex?" Dale countered.

"What do you mean?"

"Sex with Harvey?"

"It was all right," she said uneasily.

"Just all right? Not great? Not even at the beginning."

"It was

all right.

And no, it was not great even at the beginning. I think he has some hangups about sex that he hasn't worked out."

"Aside from not liking rear entry?"

She gave him a sidelong glance. "There are other things. He was not very imaginative. Wanted to do it the same way every time."

"How awful!"

"Yeah—it got pretty boring."

"How often did you do it?"

"Often enough. Less as time went on—but I figured that was inevitable."

"Once a week? More?"

"About that."

"And you had no warning about what he was going to do—leave you for that silly secretary?"

Gloria pursed her lips, as if unwilling to revisit the past. "What are you implying—that

I

was somehow responsible for what he did?"

"Good heavens, no!" Dale cried. "No wife could possibly be at fault for something like that. But maybe . . ."

"Maybe what?" Gloria was growing hostile again.

"Maybe he started taking you for granted?"

"I'll say he did!"

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Maybe . . . you did too?"

Gloria again eyed him with those penetrating blue eyes of hers. For an instant Dale thought she was going to come out with another cutting remark. Instead, she mumbled almost inaudibly, "Maybe." She started plucking at invisible pieces of lint on the blanket.

"You love him still?" Dale said softly.

"No, I don't love him anymore!"

she said ferociously. "Why do you keep asking that?"

"You still seem upset after all these years."

"It's only been three years. Maybe that seems like a huge amount of time to you, but it isn't. Let me repeat:

we were married for twenty-one years.

Now

that

is a long time. Three years is nothing in comparison."

Dale scooted over to Gloria and took her in his arms as they both squatted on the blanket. For a moment she resisted, then yielded to his embrace. He let her rest her head on his shoulder, and eventually she snaked her arms around his neck. He stroked her head as a father would stroke the head of a beloved daughter he was trying to comfort.

After some minutes, Gloria broke out of his grasp and said in a choked voice, "This is silly! Let's walk around some more."

Dale said nothing, but got stiffly to his feet.

He looked down at the blanket full of the remnants of their meal. "What about all this stuff?"

"Leave it," she said shortly. "No one's going to take it. There's nothing left to take."

They set out on one of the many trails in the park. Even though it was a Saturday, there didn't seem to be many people about, and at times they could sustain the fantasy that they were hardy pioneers tracking through an unspoiled wilderness.

They said little as they marched along, and Dale got a strong sense that Gloria was still irked, maybe even angry, at his line of questioning about her husband. He couldn't figure out what it was about Gloria's marriage that so fascinated him: maybe he just couldn't believe that such a splendid specimen of womanhood could be "available," regardless of her age—and he also didn't know what could have gone through luckless Harvey's mind in letting this luscious creature go.

I'd like to meet him someday.

Dale was abruptly brought out of his reverie by a sharp cry from Gloria.

She had been daring herself to walk a little off the trail, sometimes venturing into the thick shrubbery off the path to see if there was anything interesting there. Dale, who was highly susceptible to poison ivy, was not tempted in the least to follow her. But now he saw that she had gone quite a ways off the trail and had been walking like a tightrope artist on the thick trunk of a fallen tree. She had lost her footing and slipped, landing heavily on her stomach on the tree. That didn't seem such a catastrophe, but she wasn't making any moves to get up.

"What's the matter?" Dale cried out.

"Come over here, you silly man!" Gloria barked. "I'm stuck."

"Stuck? How?" He still made no move to approach her.

"Just come over here and help me out!" she almost screamed. "Where's your chivalry?"

As Dale gingerly approached her, peering in alarm at the slightest hint of poison ivy in the vicinity, he saw what the problem was. When she had lost her footing on the tree trunk, one of her feet had gotten lodged under a much smaller tree trunk lying nearby. She didn't seem to be in a great deal of pain, so Dale hoped she hadn't actually twisted her ankle; but she did need some help in extricating herself.

"Just get my foot out of there," she said over her shoulder. "I can't seem to manage."

Dale took stock of the situation. He couldn't help noticing that Gloria was draped over the tree trunk like a disobedient little girl placed over her father's knee, ready for a spanking.

So what else could Dale do but lift up her skirt to reveal her white cotton underwear?

"What do you think you're doing?" Gloria said in barely suppressed rage. "Don't be a twit—just get me out of here."

But all Dale did was to lick his lips nervously, mutter "I'm sorry, dear, I just have to," and pull her underwear down to her knees.

"Are you insane?" she shrieked. "People could see us! We'll get arrested!"

"There's no one around," he said calmly as he unzipped his pants.

"Don't you dare!" she said warningly.

Dale, of course, had a choice as to which orifice to enter; but as he had no lube on him and didn't wish to cause Gloria undue pain, he chose the usual one.

A harsh groan was forced out of Gloria's throat.

I can't believe this is happening to me. This is the most vile, undignified, humiliating thing I've ever experienced.

But she was protesting too much: her wetness made that evident.

Dale seized her bottom with both hands, more to steady himself than for stimulation. His thrusts were businesslike and efficient, and he relished the sight of his member slickly entering and exiting her pussy. Gloria was spitting curses at him, but he knew she didn't really mean it: every so often those curses were interrupted by a gasp or moan indicating she was getting as much fun out of this unorthodox coitus as he was.

When he came, he held on tightly to her hips as he shot his fluid into her. Her moans suddenly amplified to a high-pitched squeal, and he realized that he had perhaps inadvertently rung her bell also.

He pulled out of her and—after putting his own member back into his pants—he courteously pulled up her underwear and lowered her skirt, then gallantly pried her foot out of its obstruction and lifted her up onto her feet.

Glaring at him, she stalked off back to the trail. He followed more slowly, but was soon standing next to her.

"I ought to belt you one," she said, still seething.

"Why?" he said naively. "It was just a little amusement."

"Amusement!" she spat. "I don't like men . . . having their way with me!"

"But didn't you . . .?"

"Didn't I what?"

"You know . . . come."

She glared at him before saying, "So what if I did? That doesn't make any difference."

"I'm sorry I made you come," he said glumly.

"Don't be a smart-ass," she said. All the while she was adjusting her clothing, as if she couldn't get comfortable. "Oh!" she burst out. "You've made my underwear all soggy. I hate that!"

Dale looked at her blankly.

I rather doubt that any man has made your underwear soggy lately, my dear.

"I'm sorry. Maybe you can just . . . discard it."

She looked at him in disbelief. Then, in a huff, she reached under her skirt, peeled off the offending underwear, and threw it as far as she could. It ended up hanging from a high branch of a tree in the near distance.

The sight of it was so absurd that they both burst out laughing. Dale was enraptured by the way Gloria's eyes twinkled and her straight, even teeth shone in the sunlight as she laughed.

I guess she's forgiven me.

But Gloria wasn't certain she should let him off the hook so easily. "Let's pack up our stuff and go home," she said briskly. "I've had enough of this place."

They reached their informal camp in minutes. Gloria snatched up some unused napkins and, lifting her skirt demurely, mopped herself up a bit. She was still glaring at Dale, but he knew she was kidding. She stuffed the damp napkins into her purse for later disposal.

Driving home largely in silence, they reached Gloria's house in short order. It was late afternoon, and they were both a bit sleepy. So both decided it was naptime.

Somehow Gloria seemed surprised when Dale followed her into her bedroom. She gave him a look that unmistakably said,

You'd better behave, buster: this is going to be a nap and that's

all

it's going to be.

Without bothering to undress, she flopped onto what they had already determined was "her" side of the bed.

He stood over her uncertainly. "Do you want me to go to the other bedroom?" They both knew he was referring to the master bedroom.

"Not particularly," she said.

"Is that where you and Harvey . . .?"

"Yes."

That's all that needed to be said. He slipped into bed with her, and they both had a long, refreshing nap.

Since lunch had been a bit on the late side, neither of them felt particularly keen on a big, heavy dinner. Gloria managed to roast some salmon to make a nice, light salad Niçoise, with some French bread to go with it. A crisp Sauvignon Blanc was the perfect accompanying beverage.

As before, they settled down to watch a movie after dinner—a light comedy from the 1940s this time. Gloria allowed herself to be enfolded in Dale's embrace, but rejected out of hand his wistful plea that she sit on his lap ("I'm not your daughter!"). After the movie, they headed back upstairs.

This night's session was deliberately designed to be as different from the previous night—within certain physical limits, of course—as possible. After a vigorous session of sixty-nine, Gloria had Dale lie flat on his back while she squatted over him. Plunging his organ into her, she rode him for all he was worth, relishing his fascination with her breasts and face. She allowed him to enter her bottom again, as the afternoon's impromptu intimacy had made abundantly clear that Dale had some kind of fixation on a woman's posterior. A final, and long-drawn-out, session in the tried-and-true missionary mission ended the night's festivities, and they collapsed in exhaustion and fell asleep at once.

They got up late the next morning and again made a hearty breakfast—omelets and sausage links this time. When it was over, Dale gave her that vaguely pleading look that Gloria had already gotten used to.

Before he could say anything, she said, "I think you need to shower and go home. I'll drive you to the station."