1963: It was the height of cold war. After taking graduate courses at the State University, I was offered a temporary job at a Government laboratory in Northern Ohio. I rented a room in a quiet neighborhood about ten miles from the laboratory and moved in.
One day late in August, I found out my 1958 Chevy Impala required major repair, including a rebuilt transmission; I left it at a garage to be fixed in about a week. I learned I can take a bus to work not far from my room; left at 7 a.m.
On the first day I rode the bus, I ended up sitting next to a lady with a pleasant face, wavy brown hair, and thick lips. I noted most of the riders seemed to know each other.
The lady said, “I’ve been riding the bus daily. I have not seen you.”
I told her, “My car’s being repaired; it needs a new transmission.”
I saw her again on the bus to home in the evening and sat next to her. She introduced herself to me:
“I'm Emma Rogers.”
I said, “Nice to meet you; I’m Billy Bradley.”
I noticed she had a friendly voice and beautiful smile. Emma said softly, “It’s unusually cool so early; I’m not ready for winter. I hope we have more warm weather.”
I said, “I’m sure it will get warm again; may be we will have an Indian summer in Northern Ohio,” and, being curious, asked:
“How long have you been riding the bus?”
Emma said softly, “About five years; I stopped driving after an accident; I’m just afraid to drive. I’ve been working for about 20 years at the G-labs in the accounting section. I live in a small house not too far from the large apartment complex. Do you have a permanent job? Where do you live?”
I told her, “I’m on a two-year contract with the Government and live in a rooming house.”
After my car was fixed, I started driving to work, and I did not see Emma for several days. One evening, I went to a nearby supermarket to pick up milk, eggs, butter, and bread, and saw Emma in the dairy section.
After saying hello to each other, I offered:
“Emma, after you’re done shopping, I’ll give you a ride home.”
Emma smiled and said, “Thank you for the offer; I don’t have to take a taxi.”
Again, I noticed Emma had a dazzling smile, but her teeth were slightly crooked; she had shoulder-length brown hair and was about 5’2’’ and 125 lb. Later, at her home, Emma said:
“Come in for a cup of coffee; it's cool outside, your groceries will be fine in the car.”
Inside her home, when Emma removed her light coat, even though she had on a loose, white, long-sleeve, blouse, her ample bosom came in to my view. She asked me to sit in a kitchen chair and talk to her as she put her groceries away. I had a good view of Emma from the side and every time she lifted an item, I noticed that her big, slightly sagging, boobs jiggled. Inadvertently, my cock became stiff.
As I stared at the voluptuous, middle-aged, woman, moving about in her kitchen, I lost track of what she was saying. When she turned her head towards me, she caught me staring at her boobs. Instead of getting mad at me, as I expected, she smiled at me and said:
“I asked how you like your coffee.”
I blurted out, “With milk,” making Emma blush.
Over coffee, I asked, “How long you have been living here?”
Emma said:
“I bought the house ten years ago because it’s small, has a nice yard, and helps with income tax; it’s adequate to live on my salary and my late husband’s pension.”
I mumbled, “I’m sorry; I didn’t know you’re widowed.”
“I was widowed during the Second World War; I lost my 25 year-old husband, Jim, in the Pacific.”
I was touched and also impressed Emma knew a war hero. I asked:
“Did you travel with him while in service?”
“After we got married, he was sent to Jacksonville for training for a year—there was not much of the navy left in Hawaii; I went to be with him in Jacksonville; he was killed a year after he was sent in to action; two years after we were married,” and added:
“Jim and I dated about three years before we got married. It took me several years to get over him. Even now, each month I am reminded of him when I receive his pension.”
I said, “You are a kind and pretty lady. I am surprised you didn't meet a young man you liked.”
Emma smiled and replied, “I'm glad you think I'm pretty. You see, Billy, many young women were widowed during the war,” and added:
“By the time I wanted to date, mind you I still thought of Jim often, there were not many young, single, men. For a few years, I took care of my widowed mother.”
Emma laughed and said, “There were many older, married, men who came after me.”
I thanked Emma for the coffee and gave her my telephone number if she needed a ride to the grocery store. That night, I could not get Emma’s big boobs and smiling face out of my mind, and I jacked off imagining I was fondling her lovely boobs.
EMMA BECOMES A FRIEND
Next Monday, Emma called me: “I slipped and fell on my front steps after the rain; I hurt my ankle.”
I said, “It must be painful to walk; I’ll give you ride to work and back until you’re ok.”
Emma replied, “Thank you, Billy.”
Later that week, on the drive home from work, Emma asked:
“Where are you from Billy? Do you have a girlfriend?”
I replied, “I'm from Massachusetts. I had a girlfriend for couple of years, but we broke up just before I moved here. I’ve not been actively looking for one; I guess I’m not an aggressive person.”
I added, “I don’t go home much. After Mom died a few years ago, my Dad remarried and moved to San Diego; I am not fond of my step mother who has four children younger than me from earlier marriages.”
I enjoyed conversing with Emma and, after a week, I continued giving her ride to work and back. On a Wednesday, on the way from work, Emma said:
“Some times, I stop at Charly’s, have a drink, talk to a friend, and walk home; let’s have a drink tonight.”
I agreed and pulled in to Charly’s and, after parking my car, I opened the passenger door for Emma. As Emma got out of the car, I saw her skirt was pulled up and saw her well-shaped thighs to the tops of her black panty hose; Emma made no effort to pull her skirt down until after she got out of my car.
In the smoky lounge, after we ordered our drinks: a gin and tonic for me and a daiquiri for Emma, Emma took a cigarette from her purse and offered me one which I declined.
After I lighted Emma’s cigarette with her lighter, she said:
“I don’t smoke much, may be one a day,” and, after looking around, added:
“My friend is not here today.”