The skies above Ludington Street had a fuzzy brightness as the sun sought to penetrate the clouds, but there was still a crust of snow along the curbs. I was passing one of the earnest-looking brick buildings that housed apartments plus a few shops on the ground floor, taking in the sights, getting acclimated to my new home.
I had recently moved to Escanaba on the Upper Peninsula (or "U.P.", as the native "Yoopers" prefer to call it.) It had been over two decades since my last visit to the U.P., under very different circumstances. In those days I was in the music business, traveling to Marquette from time to time to perform at the night spots there which cater to the teeming crowds of summer tourists. Now I was in a much different line of work, editing trade publications for an organization which was inexplicably based in this little community.
It was Monday of my third week in town, and I was wandering around the rustic city center on my lunch hour. Impulsively, I walked into a local coffee shop. This was no Starbucks - the names of the beverages were less grandiose, and the decor less impersonal. There was a nautical motif, relics of ships that I suppose must have sailed Lake Michigan at one time or another. I ordered an espresso, and I didn't need to go to a holding area to receive it. The very same clerk who took my order, a placid blond gal with apple cheeks and an old-school apron, made the espresso and handed it to me. I thanked her and turned to walk to my table, and almost ran into Hannah.
Hannah had changed a bit in more than 20 years. She was heavier, which was fine with me, and wore glasses now. Instead of wearing her dark hair long, she had it in a short bob. She was dressed conservatively, which was the most dramatic change in her appearance. When I used to see her in clubs where I was performing, her attire was always on the provocative side, showing lots of thigh and cleavage. In those days I was married, and Hannah was my secret indiscretion.
She gave me a deer-in-the-headlights look for an instant, then quickly regained her composure. "Why hello, Andre, it's been a long time," she said. "What are you doing in Escanaba?"
"I just moved here. I'm working for SportsTech."
Her face was impassive, but as I studied it I thought I recognized a familiar tension in her jaw, and slightly unfocussed look in her eyes. Perhaps she was remembering those glorious marathon sessions in motel rooms in Marquette.
As if to warn me, she announced, "I'm married now, and I'm working. And I'm on the city council." That was a warning, too, that she was a respectable woman and I must behave myself. It was accompanied by a quick, prim smile of pride at her achievement.
"I'm impressed!" I said with a smile. She looked uncomfortable for a split second, then nodded and said, "Great to see you again." She hesitated for a moment before turning to join a group of women at a table nearby. During that moment she looked up and met my eyes, and I thought I saw that old smolder, although I couldn't be certain.
I drank my espresso alone, then made my way back to my little cubbyhole office and my computers. I busied myself with work for the next few days, but I kept remembering my relationship with Hannah back in the day, and how I watched her on the dance floor in her short skirts and diaphanous blouses, knotted about her midriff, her bra-less tits bouncing to the music. She would make eye contact with me frequently as I played, sending messages of molten lust. At the end of the night I would leave with my bandmates (they all knew I was married, and none suspected that I was cheating.) But the next morning I would check into a different motel bright and early, and Hannah would show up around 9 AM with fire in her eyes.
Thursday night I was cleaning up the kitchen in my little rented townhouse when those images welled up in my memory again, and I found myself climbing the stairs to my bedroom where I took off all my clothes and lay on my bed. As I tickled the underside of my engorged cock, I thought of those Sunday mornings, but instead of the image of the youthful nubile Hannah, I substituted the mature Hannah. I imagined her with glasses, with bigger tits, softer and more responsive to gravity, more ample thighs, and a sexual appetite seasoned with many more years of experimentation and the sort of hunger that strikes women in their 40s and 50s. I imagined the mature Hannah doing all the things we used to do, as well as some new, surprising things, and soon I was spurting semen all over my belly, chest and face.
The next day I returned to the coffee shop, but Hannah was nowhere to be seen. Over the next few weeks, I stopped in there frequently, but fruitlessly.
One night we were in the early hours of a blizzard. The town was largely shut down and very peaceful, with big snowflakes tumbling down in a steady stream. I could hear the soft crunch of my shoes in the snow as I walked across the parking lot to one of those big box stores to buy some groceries and a sweater. The place was almost empty. just a few employees going about their business with a faraway look in their eyes. I went to the clothing section first, passing through the women's clothing on the way to the men's, and suddenly there she was, holding some blouses on hangers. We both stopped in our tracks, and neither of us spoke. As I met Hannah's gaze, I got the distinct impression that she had been thinking about old times, just as I had been. But she didn't smile or speak.
She looked confused for a moment. I imagine that I did, too. Then she turned and began to carry her blouses toward one of the dressing rooms. She stopped after a few strides and turned to look at me. Her face was blank, but her gaze was intense. Then she continued to walk. I paused for a moment, then followed.
She entered a dressing room and closed the door. There was no one near us in the store. I walked up to her dressing room with my heart pounding, and tried the door. It was unlocked, and I went in and closed it behind me.
I turned to her, and she was silently facing me. She was wearing a classy gray suit, with a knee-length skirt. She reached out her hand. I extended my hand in return - for some odd reason, I thought she wanted to shake hands. But instead, she seized my wrist and brought it up under her skirt, placing my palm against her thigh. It was slick with her juices.
I looked up and met her eyes. She stared back, and bit her lip as my hand slowly moved up to her panties, which were a soggy mess. I moaned and her eyes widened. I began to massage her clit through the fabric - after twenty years, I still remembered how she likes it. I gave her just enough pressure to be provocative, not enough to satisfy her - making little circles around it, then moving from side to side, grazing it. She kept her eyes locked on mine.
Hannah leaned back against the wall and spread her thighs to give me more access, and I began to massage her clit a bit more aggressively. She stayed silent but her nostrils were flaring and her eyes were rolling up. Suddenly her body went rigid and she inhaled loudly, and her panties became much wetter. She held herself still for a long time, except for her thighs which were trembling. Then she slowly relaxed her muscles. We were staring into each other's eyes as she came. There was no kissing or caressing, just my hand on her crotch.
Finally Hannah dropped her gaze, and I followed it. She gathered up her skirt until it was bunched around her waist, and then slowly pulled her sodden panties down her thighs, making sure that I was watching. Her thighs were thick and supple, just the way I had imagined them. But as she pulled her panties down, she exposed a full growth of hair around her swollen pussy. This was a surprise. She had always shaved when she was young. Her full bush looked so hot, and I moaned again, causing her to smile for the first time.
She pulled the panties down, slowly and provocatively, then wiped them on my face and stuffed them in my mouth. Abruptly, she let her skirt fall, darted out the door and disappeared. I put the panties into my pocket, then hurried home to my bed and put them back in my mouth as I made myself cum.
For a solid month after that I regularly visited both the coffee shop and the big box store, hoping to encounter Hannah again. I knew that she was on the city council and that I could have tried to reach her there, but my feeling was that she would be upset with me, that any naughtiness must be kept entirely separate from her professional or family life. Thinking back to the days when the shoe was on the other foot, when I was the married one, that's the way I would have wanted it. So, I accepted my frustration and masturbated - a lot. The image of Hannah's hairy cunt, nestled between her thick thighs under that conservative dark gray skirt, haunted me and made my cock hard at awkward moments during the day, so that I would have to hurry to find a private place and take care of it.
Finally, in late March, my persistence paid off. I was sitting in the coffee shop, right under what appeared to be the weather-beaten figurehead from the bow of an antique sailing ship, when she appeared at my table. "Good afternoon, Andre," she said, as she took a ballpoint pen from her purse and wrote something on the napkin that sat next to my coffee. Then she smiled and told me to have a nice day, and walked out of the shop.
I picked up the napkin. It said only "hairywoman88" with the name of a popular messaging app. I took a moment to find the app and install it on my phone. I wasn't sure what to expect, but her choice of usernames got my hopes up. I registered an account under "HungryAndre7" and sent her a message saying simply, "hello."
I checked the app frequently and received a response the following day. It was a photo of Hannah's hand on her cunt, with her luscious clit protruding between her fingers. Her hair traveled up her belly almost to her navel, and crept down her thighs as well. I was in my office when I discovered her message, and I rushed to the bathroom where I stroked my cock until I came explosively. After I caught my breath, I took a few minutes to clean my cum off the wall, and then I considered my next move.
Hannah was not revealing much about her new life, her job, and her marriage. Was this because she was worried that I would stalk her? Or did she find it more erotic to have our interactions be exclusively sexual? I was curious about her life, but I liked the sexual stuff and I didn't want to jeopardize it. How should I respond to her photo message?
