This is the eleventh story.
This is the story of Lily.
One of my odd jobs in my twenties was working at a small coffee shop in one of the beach towns south of LAX. It was a hell of a commute from where I was living at the time, but it paid well and the shifts were always in the morning, leaving the rest of my day free. Also the clientele tended to be well-off, and a lot of the women, young to old, were really hot.
Lily was a patron of this coffee shop. She was a mom, a wife, forty-years-old, with a natural brightness and beauty, stunning eyes and stunning smile, a fair freckled face framed by the sexiest sweep of dirty blonde hair. She gave off the vibe that she'd been living by a white sandy beach her whole life. Remember Jennifer Connelly in Top Gun: Maverick? That vibe.
She had an amazing body to go along with it, one that she wasn't afraid to flaunt. She'd come in wearing low cut tank tops that emphasized her c-cup breasts, over leggings that made her thick ass look firm and juicy.
She projected power and confidence but was always kind and always listened. We'd chat briefly by the end of the counter as I made her drinks, her clearly going through a bit of midlife boredom and very interested in me. I'd recommend books to her, fiction and poetry, and she'd come back in a few weeks later glowing about them, wanting to discuss them.
I really got the sense if there wasn't a huge stone on her finger, and if her two kids wouldn't have needed a lifetime of therapy if mom cheated on dad with the local barista, we would've fucked very quickly.
And then she didn't come into the coffee shop for a couple months, and when she finally reappeared, the ring wasn't there. Apparently she and her husband had separated, were in early divorce proceedings. The kids were gonna need therapy but not because of mom, because of dad, who'd revealed he'd been sleeping with the nanny for a couple years.
"I'm so sorry," I said, after she told me. "Married to a woman like you. What an idiot."
With her powerful aura, I didn't think it'd be possible to make her blush, but I did.
"Yeah?" she said.
"Yeah," I said.
The eye contact lingered.
I got the sense from her subsequent visits that, fresh from the obligation to be faithful, to him or for her kids, she was eager to experience the same thing he had. And I was the lucky beneficiary.
One day when we were talking about the most recent novel we'd both read, I asked if she wanted to get coffee sometime and talk about it more. I'd just handed her a 12 oz. drip, and she looked at me wryly.
"A different coffee," I clarified. "Somewhere else."
She pulled out a business card and a pen, scrawled her cell number across it, and handed it to me.
"Text me," she said.
"I will," I said.
We eye fucked briefly and then she left.
I texted her that evening with no shame. She replied almost immediately, brightly, suggested we get brunch that weekend. We settled on 11 AM on Saturday, at a spot not too far from the shop I worked at. It was an annoying distance to drive on my day off, but if I did it for work, I'd do it for sex.
I got there first and grabbed a table on the outside patio. I ordered her favorite coffee drink and then sat back and waited. When she arrived, I couldn't believe that the woman walking in could was there to eat with me. She was wearing a white linen shirt and white linen slacks, looking like she'd just walked off a Windsor family safari. The shirt was unbuttoned down to her cleavage, and at a certain angle the fabric hung open enough that you could see the cups of her bra (but not that I was looking).
I stood and we shared a brief, intimate hug, and then she sat down.
"I've never been here before," I said.
"Oh, it's incredible," she said.
I looked around at the other patrons, a lot of couples, and I noticed I was getting a glance here and there from a husband or a wife.
"You think you might be recognized?" I said.
"I'm counting on it."
She was smiling at me, challenging me. Our coffees were dropped off. I took a sip.
"So hubby finds out from a golf buddy that Lily's fucking some young thing?"
"Pretty much."
"What makes you think I want to be part of your psychosexual revenge game?"
She lifted her leg beneath the table and pushed her foot against my crotch.
"Don't you?"
My cock stiffened against the sole of her shoe.
"Are we going somewhere after this?" I asked.
"'Hubby' has an apartment now," she said. "Up in Santa Monica. The kids are there for the weekend."
"I've always wanted to see your house."
"I've always wanted you to too."
The toe of her shoe pushed harder against my dick.
Brunch was now superfluous. We went through the motions, eating good food, drinking good coffee, having good conversation. But now that the cards were on the table, both of us just wanted to get back to her house for good sex.
When the bill came she paid and we left, her striding out in front of me. I noticed the same people giving us glances on the way out. I smiled back at them, feeling no shame about what I was involved in, happy to help serve Lily's purposes.
I walked her to her car, a white Range Rover, then got in mine and followed her back to her house. We drove closer to the ocean, the neighborhood getting cushier, the houses getting larger. We crested a small hill and she turned into the driveway of an absolute palace. I parked behind her.
