The workday had run into unplanned overtime. All the way home that early evening I kept missing the lights. Passing my old college I realized 10 years had gone by since graduation.
I watched a pair of college girls crossing at one corner: Bubbly, perky tits, tanned legs, fun ponytails and ball caps. Their high asses looked great, too. I paid particular attention to those.
"Need a lift?" I called.
They turned back. "You going downtown?" asked the redhead with the plus-size chest. Her shorter, petite friend giggled. SOME LIKE IT HARD declared her tank top.
That slogan did it. I lowered my voice. "Sure, for a blowjob."
The university cuties whirled toward each other, exchanging 'shocked' laughs. "You!" "No, you!" "He is kinda cute!" "Then you do it!'" Either was fine with me.
In back, the redhead hung over the front seat and watched. Her naughty little friend kneeled on the front passenger side, head bobbing in my lap and demure mouth full of steely, pulsing mandick all the way downtown. (A city bus full of rubberneckers got an unexpected treat.) Steering with one hand, I rested the other on the back of her arched-taut neck.
Later, swinging the Mazda into my driveway, I sighed. Before I could even get in the house and unwind, I had to go next door and check the study's track lighting. A loose connection, it'd probably take only a few minutes.
Still, it was the third time Ellen had asked me to fix something. I shook my head. Guess that's what happens when neighbors find out you're a home handyman.
Ellen was about 60, I supposed. Pretty enough, in a stately, dignified sort of way. But old enough to be my aunt. I'd crossed her off my list long ago.
Walking up the front steps to the open entrance I tapped on the screen door. No answer. She'd known I was coming, too. Hell, she'd invited me. I let myself in.
Two brown boxes sat unopened in the entryway. I shook my head. She was always getting packages. Leaning over them, I read the SENT BY address slip: "Scandalous Intimates By Mail."
Whaaaat? Her? Oh well, I figured. That's her business. Everybody needs a hobby.
Back to the track lights. Sure enough, there was a loose connection. When I was finished, I flipped the switch. Light.
'Finally, home,' I thought as I headed back toward the screen door. And then I heard it, a drowsy 'hmmph' in the next room.
She was home?
Peering into the darkness, I saw her stretched out on her back on the queen-size bed. She'd kicked off a flowery comforter, sending it half onto the floor. She wore only a gauzy, royal blue baby doll. A spaghetti-strapped, see-through one.
On the shaky nightstand were a nearly empty, greenish chablis bottle and two long-stemmed goblets. One was full, the other lay on its side.
As I said, I'd written Ellen off long ago. But now - the packages, wine, sexy lingerie...I took my time gazing. 60ish, her clipped bouffant was grey with white highlights. Naturally, her skin bore some wrinkles. She sagged here and there. Especially her angular face. Its definition had become blurred, her jaw line softened. Cheeks lined, eyes bagged.
But still, there was a mature sort of beauty about her those college girls had lacked. Advanced age lent an aura of experience. It occurred to me that maturity is a hotness in itself.
