Selfies 1

This is a little different. But I believe this happens to a lot of people who then suffer the same dilemma. And - I apologize for the length. But the story has to develop.

*****

I'm pretty much a creature of habit. At my age, you tend to be. I mean sixty is not ancient, but for sure I am no callow youth any more. Matter of fact, I only have one enemy: the fucking mirror! I pass a window on the street and see that reflection staring back at me? Don't know him! Inside I am still that thirty something marathon runner, dad and husband.

My wife of thirty four years died two years ago. I still have my business, the kids visit from time to time or I go see them. I run, just not so fast anymore. Nights are horrible. TV? I fall asleep.

Yeah, I have dated - fix-ups - Yuk! I mean these aging widows and divorcees are looking for someone to take care of them. Been with one or two I met at the gym that were not bad. Took one of them to bed and it was, I have to admit great to have sex again. But - both of them wanted something lasting and permanent. It's still too soon. And they, like I, have past lives that kept creeping in - even when I was fucking the one in my bed she grabbed my back as she came and shuddered "Max!" I am not Max.

So, like I say, I'm pretty much a creature of habit. Work out every morning, about six, six thirty. Then I take my receipts from the store - I still own the runners' store my wife and I founded - and take the cash and checks to the window at the bank about eight, maybe eight fifteen. Then it's to the store and then home, yadda, yadda.

So, this one morning I get out of the pool, shower, shave and dress. It's like seven forty five. I get in the Porsche - okay - so it's my one vice - and tool up to the bank. I drive up to the window and I'm looking for Oscar, the kid who is usually there on the early shift. But, instead of Oscar, it's a lady - make that a girl. Might be thirty - certainly no more. Kinda plump, blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun. She is wearing some ugly red frame glasses. Not fat, but too many pounds for what I can see is a really pretty face. , Nice set of breasts, showing through the blouse - not uncommon for a plump girl. But like I say, young. Maybe thirty. And plump? No thanks.

She took my bank bag, pulled the bank drawer back in and smiled at me. Dazzling smile. "Good morning!" She said. Voice like a little girl. C'mon!

"Well, hello to you!" I gave her the big smile. "You're a new one."

"Yes sir. Started last week. Oscar got promoted and I asked for the early shift so I could get to school. I'm Amy."

"Well, hello Amy. I'm Larry Simmons. You'll see me just about every morning. School?"

"Yes, Mr. Simmons! I'm taking nursing at Owens Community. Had to wait until I had the money - but I'm in my last year."

"Wow! Good for you. Amy - hope to see you tomorrow." And off I drove.

•******

Don't ask me why, but all day long, when I wasn't on the phone or helping some beginner pick out the right shoes, I kept seeing that sweet smile and pretty face. Now, understand, I have three kids, all grown. Okay - I'm sixty. So, girls under forty - maybe forty five are just eye candy.

So, for the next three weeks, every morning I'd tool up to the bank before eight thirty and Amy would be there, smiling, sweet and chatting. If there were no cars behind me, I'd stay and chat for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Now she knew I was widowed, I owned Tracker's Running Store and I had three grown kids.

I knew she was from a small town in Georgia and had come to North Carolina for the weather and a really good deal on college. I even knew that she was a cheerleader in high school, had married the football captain at eighteen and divorced at twenty with no kids. She had worked at a bank back home and was hoping to move up the ladder here before she became a full time nurse.

One morning just in chatting, I asked if she was dating anyone. She blushed so I could see it through the bullet proof window. "No Mr. Simmons! They all seem so young - and well, I can tell you this because you're well, older? The guys we meet at clubs and stuff are boring or full of themselves or just want to get to bed."

I had the top down on the Porsche that day, so I leaned out towards the window. "Well Amy - you certainly deserve more - but I can't blame them for...never mind - sorry!"

She blushed again. "Nothing to be sorry for. If there was someone like you - well, you know - interesting and like that..."

Damn! I did not know what to make of that. "Umm...right Amy. I bet there's someone out there." And I double clutched out onto the street.

*****

I had to go to Atlanta that week for a convention. Just two days and I drove - just because the weather was nice and I had the time. Coming back I got to town about one. Herb from the store had been running the place and making some deposits, but I needed a cashier's check for a new vendor, so after stopping at the store and wolfing down two Power Bars and a protein shake,

I drove over to the bank. It was about three.

I realized I hadn't been inside the bank for months. I stopped by the manager's office, but Tom the manager was out. I went up to the window. Amy! I smiled my largest smile and said "Hey! You never saw me standing up before."

She laughed. "And this is the first time I had raise my head to look you in the eye!"

We both laughed and she set about getting me my cashier's check. She handed it through the glass and looked up at me. Gorgeous eyes and yes, she could drop about thirty pounds and be unbelievable. Mostly in the hips and arms. Mentally, I already had half a workout and running schedule for her. I took the check and looked back at her. "Big night planed?" I asked. The other older lady on duty was at the drive in window.

"Well," again she blushed. "I have to study tonight. Class tomorrow night."

"Okay. I just thought if you had some time we could get a cup of coffee, maybe a drink? I'd really like to know more about you."

"I'm off at four. I guess we could..."

"You know Antonio's?"

"That nice restaurant?"

"Precisely - I'll be at the bar. Wait for you there."

It was a totally pleasant hour and a half. We sat at the bar. Felt I was with my daughter - but different. I told her of my life in short chapters. College at the U of NC, meeting Krystal on the track team, marrying, coming here to open the store...the names of the kids and what they were doing.

She told me of her life in a small town, getting married way too early. Working hard to save money, getting this job. I asked her if she worked out at all. She blushed, said she would like to, but time...

"Look Amy," I scrunched a little closer to her and took her hand. "This is my life. So I know what I'm talking about. You're young - you are a pretty girl - but you could be stunning with a few pounds off."

I thought I saw a tear forming in one eye. "Hey!" I squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry. I have no right. Subject closed."

She squeezed back. "No Mr. Simmons..."

"Larry, please."

"Larry. You're right. I just don't know..."

My turn to squeeze. "Leave that to me. Could you get me your measurements and weight? I'll start drawing up a program - figure your BMI."

She leaned forward. "BMI?"

"Don't worry about that."

She sighed. "You know, Larry, I was never close to my dad. Both my folks died really young - and you well, you are so warm and well," her head went down, "good looking. I feel somehow close to you. I'll get my measurements and weight to you. I'm usually embarrassed about these things, but it's you and anything you can do for me..."

I leaned as well. "Do not be embarrassed, Amy! We are going to work together and it will be my pleasure Amy, my pleasure."

Our faces were almost touching. I could feel the heat from her and my friend in my crotch began to respond. What! Am I out of my fucking mind? She's a kid for Christ sake! "Now you better get home to study or we could be here all evening."

"Oh - yes, thank you Larry. Will you be by the bank in the morning?" I nodded. "Good! I'll have something for you - promise!"

o**, ***

I had forgotten I had a meeting in the little restaurant at the Sportsplex - the gym and pool where I work out - seven thirty in the morning. I'm on a committee to organize a fund raising ten kilometer race and we had a meeting.

It broke about 8:45. I had my cash and checks in the car, of course, so here I was pulling up to the bank window about five minutes to nine. I was third in line at the window with the pull out drawer for cash deposit, checks, etc. By the time I got up to the window it was even more crowded in the three drive up lanes.

But, there was Amy. She was wearing a really tight sweater that she shouldn't be wearing, not at that weight, but her breasts were spectacular and I could see potential. She smiled as I pulled up. "Here you go Princess!" I called through the loudspeaker and handed my bank bag to her.

"Mr. Simmons - Larry - I want to thank you for last evening. It was special."

One drink? Forty five minutes? Wow. "Pleasure Amy. Give any thought to what I suggested?"

Bigger smile. "Sure did. Here's your receipt." As she said that she winked at me big time. I smiled back and took the bank bag out of the tray and took off.

When I got in my small office, I opened the bag to give the receipt to Patti, my bookkeeper and felt something else in there. I reached in and pulled out a five by seven photo printed on stiff photo paper. Holy Shit! It was a "Selfie" of Amy in a bra and panties, standing very straight, one arm out to take the picture, the other at her side. There was a note in the back in girlish handwriting.

"Larry, I hope I'm not too forward. But you said you could help me and I wanted you to see what you are up against. As far as the measurements are concerned I'm afraid I am just five foot four and weigh a hundred and forty wearing what you see in the photo. I'm thirty eight, thirty six, thirty eight for breasts, waist and hips. Do you really think you can make me look like I did in high school?"

I noticed a wrinkled photo at the bottom of the bank bag. Damn! A photo of what must be Amy in her cheerleading outfit over ten years ago. Knockout! I quickly tucked the two photos in my desk drawer and leaned back in my chair. Damn!

I called the bank about three o'clock and thank God Amy answered. "Amy!"

Almost a whisper. "Oh - hi Larry. Did I shock you?"

"Uh - no! No! Amy, I'm delighted you had little inhibition to show me why you want...that is..."

She giggled. "Larry - see what a challenge you'd be taking on?"

"Oh! Yes! Absolutely. Not a problem. When would you like to get started?"

"This weekend?"

"No problem. Do you know Howard Middle School?"

"Sure do."

"Meet me Saturday morning at eight. Is that too early for you?"

"No, not at all. Um...Larry? What shall I wear. I don't have any what you would call workout clothes."

"Oh. Understand. Tell you what. Instead, meet me outside the Trackers Running Store and we'll set you up."

"But Mr. Simmons, Larry. I'm really on a tight budget, I..."

I broke in. "My worry Amy, not yours. See you Saturday morning."

o******

Okay, here's a confession: I dreamed about Amy that Friday night. Nothing erotic. She was in a tight body suit, about fifty pounds lighter and smoking me around the track. I woke up bathed in sweat. I showered, put on my running gear even though Saturday is my day off from exercise .

I got to the store about a quarter to eight. With Amy's measurements tattooed on my brain, I went over to the ladies' side of the store. First a running bra - without that she could easily flail herself to death with those large breasts. A larger pair of shorts - did not want to embarrass her. Top? I picked a loose fitting jersey with sleeves. Again, I did not want her to be self-conscious. I've sold gear to many overweight women through the years.

Promptly at eight o'clock there was a knock at the glass door. I opened it and there stood Amy in sweat pants and sweat shirt. She came through the door, threw her arms around me and gave me a real hug. "Larry, Mr. Simmons, I don't believe you're doing this for me. I mean, I'm only the girl at the bank and..."

I put my two fingers over her mouth and backed away about six inches. "Amy - you are not 'just the girl at the bank'. You are a very pretty girl with the potential of being a knockout. And you are bright and fun and...well, no more, okay?"

She nodded and I saw tears in her eyes. "Okay. But thank you."

"Don't thank me until you try on your running gear. Then we'll have to find a pair of shoes for you."

She pointed to her feet. "Well, I've got sneakers..."

"Precisely. Now," I said, passing her the pile of clothes I had on the counter. "Go in the dressing room and change."

She took the clothes and went into the dressing room. About two minutes later she called to me. "Larry? Can you help me?"

I walked over to the dressing room, she pulled open the curtain and was standing there in the bra I had picked out and the same panties I saw in the Selfie. "Umm..." she blushed. "Is the bra too tight? And I didn't know if I should wear my panties under the shorts."

Her breasts were indeed fighting to get out of the bra - but shit - it was a thirty eight like it said on her Selfie! "No, I think it will do fine for now. You want it to be tight so that, well, you want it to be tight."

She looked down at her panties. She blushed again. "And these?"

I kept my eyes on hers. "Yea, wear 'em under the shorts, okay?"

F

ive minutes later she was standing in front of me in running shorts, loose top and stocking feet. She had her smart phone in her hand. "Larry, you look great in your shorts. Can we take a Selfie of the two of us? I mean I'll never show it to anybody, just for me?"

I mean, what was I going to say? "Sure Amy. How do we do that?"

"I put the phone on the counter and you stand next to me."

The phone was set up, we stood side by side. Before the flash went off, she turned so her crotch was touching mine and our arms were draped around each other's shoulders. My friend started probing the outline of my shorts. If she noticed, she didn't say anything.

The flash was bright and then out. But Amy did not move. I dropped my hands so they were on her broad hips. I pushed her gently away. I truly did not know where this was going. "Shoes?" I said quietly.

She blushed again. "Oh, sure."

I took out a size six Asics and a new Nike model that just came out. She was sitting in one of the fitting chairs and I was kneeling on the floor. She held out one foot for me and I put the shoe on. I put her foot on the floor and laced it tight. Then without thinking, I ran my hand up the back of her leg to the knee. She didn't stop me and when I looked up she was panting slightly, with her mouth open and her eyes closed.

I knew this was a key moment. I decided not to press it. Let it come, Larry - I said to myself. She is really young and you don't want to misinterpret. "Okay!" I said a bit too heartily. "Let's road test those babies"

o*****

I drove the three blocks to the track at Howard Middle School. No conversation. There was some electricity in the air, but I was not going to make the first move. Nobody was there. It was April, track season and the middle school team took weekends off. I stood in the infield and told Amy to start running. I had her run the quarter mile around the track, then walk quickly for a quarter then run another quarter. I looked at her face. It was really red. "Okay, champ! I called. "Enough for the first day."

She walked up to me. "Was I terrible?"

I took her face in my hands. "Baby, you were fantastic!"

She reached out and hugged me tightly. "Larry - you don't know what this means to me. I mean, I hate the way I look and you - you're so kind and well, I just don't know what to say."

I

tilted her head up and she reached up, put one

hand behind my head and kissed me full on the lips. Okay, I kissed back. Hard. I felt her tongue creep out and I met it. She pulled back.

"Oh God! Larry - I'm so sorry! It's just that..."

"Do not be sorry, love. I loved it. It only means what you want it to mean."

We held hands back to the car. When we got to the store she came in, got her sweat stuff and came up to me as I was leaning against the counter. "Would you - I mean would you mind," She was blushing again.

"Anything, Amy."

"Would you take a selfie of yourself in just your undershorts and send it to me?" She ducked her head and ran out of the store.

o******

Man, what a start to the day! I locked up and

went for a ten miler. All through the run I was thinking of those fantastic breasts bursting out of her running bra. Of the feel of her tongue in my mouth. Of her sweaty body up against mine.

I got home, took a shower and put on my jockeys. I put the smartphone on the desk, set the timer and flexed by the door. It flashed. I looked at the pic. Damn! Not bad. I texted a message saying "now we're even" and sent it to her personal e-mail that was on the pic she gave me.

About an hour later I was deep in the New York Times when my phone beeped. I opened it and there was Amy. Amy, stripped to the waist! Those beautiful breasts standing up facing me! She was in her running shorts and that's all! The text read "no - now we're even in the Selfie department."

I

stared at that photo on my phone for five minutes. What the hell was going on? I am goddam sixty years old. Yes, I look younger, I can still get it up most times and I do keep the little blue pill around as insurance. But this is a kid! Thirty, maybe. I'll have to finally ask. But by thirty Krystal and I had our three kids already. Yeah, asshole - but you are sixty fucking years old now!

*****

I decided to let it ride. I typed up a diet and nutrition program for Amy, added some stretches and calisthenics , attached some illustrations and wrote: Amy you are magnificent. You are going to be sensational. We can do this! And sent it off.

The committee on the fund raising run kept me busy every morning that week. On Wednesday, not having been to the bank, I e-mailed Amy: "How's it going? Working on the diet? Sorry I haven't been available for the second run session. Tomorrow morning six o'clock at Howard?"

I didn't get an answer all day long. My fault? Look, I had to back things down a little, right? I lifted at the Sportsplex about six and then did five on the treadmill. I got home about seven thirty after a stop at Chick-Fil-A . Opened my phone for the first time since the store. Message from Amy. Picture attached.

Message read: "I'll be there! Started my diet. Picture attached. Ball is in your court."

I opened the photo. Another Selfie. You wouldn't remember those "pin-up" pictures from WWII, but my dad had a lot of stuff around the house and there were a couple of pictures of pretty girls, their backs to the camera, hands on hips, looking back over their shoulders. They were either in bathing suits or tight dresses. It basically showed their asses in as much delicate detail as possible in a tight outfit.

Well, this Selfie from Amy was not that delicate. There she stood, back to me, legs together, head facing back to the camera, hands on hips, but she was stark fucking buck naked!! The legs looked good, the butt was, as I really knew, a little too big. No wrinkles far as I could tell, and it looked fairly tight.

Okay, Amy. Wanna play that game? Right back at ya! I took off my sweat shirt and shorts, kicked off my shoes and socks. I grabbed my phone, put it on the counter, set the timer and backed off. I put my back to the camera, tightened my butt cheeks, looked back at it with as big a shit eating grin on my face as I could muster and the flash went off.