My apology was long overdue. As I sat with Mrs. Filmore at the coffee shop, my nerves rattled as I began to offer my apology.
I had known her for almost twenty years, beginning when we served together on a civic committee. I was immediately attracted to her. We struck up a friendship, and even though she was my senior by two decades the age difference was an appealing part of the way we related to one another.
In the beginning, I was a young college graduate, and she was the mature wife of a prominent businessman. Tall, dark, and handsome, she was. Her jet-black hair was always perfectly arranged. Her figure was a rare perfection, shapely and leggy, with just the right blend of curves on her lean fit body.
Her looks and appealing body hadn't spoiled her. She was modest, honest, kind, always seeking the positive. She never used her beauty to her advantage. I fell for her right away, but I don't think she suspected anything but friendship and admiration from me.
Ha! She was frequently the subject of my fantasies and dreams. Although I had my own lively personal life and plenty of avenues for sex with women of my own generation, I held Mrs. Filmore in special regard and liked to imagine what it would be like to romance her, to gain her confidence, and to screw the daylights out of her.
Many times I imagined watching Mrs. Filmore undress as I nursed a raging hardon.
At times, I did assert myself. But I only did it in ways that she would tolerate and not object or feel threatened. I offered her a hug and kiss on the cheek at every possible opportunity. Occasionally, as we met or parted, I would put my arms around her in an embrace, sometimes holding her tight and allowing a hand to slide down her back and rest on the curve of her buttocks. I would kiss her on both cheeks, then look into her eyes in hopes that she might offer her lips. She never did, but each time I felt my cock get longer and soon felt moisture on my leg as my dick began to do the thinking for me.
Sometimes while we talked I would touch her shoulder or lay a hand on her leg, just briefly, to emphasize a point. And, of course, I would always compliment her attire and her hair as I gazed at her lovely face.
In some ways, it was fulfilling just to have this friendship and not risk trouble by pushing matters too much. One of the advantages of nurturing a long friendship with someone you want to fuck is that she opened up to me on occasion about her marriage and family issues. For instance, I knew that she knew her husband was not compatible and romantic in certain ways. But what marriage is perfect?
At times, when we met for coffee, I would draw her out about her past. Her years as a young woman, her college years, her early jobs -- she seemed pleased that I was interested. Once I hinted about having affairs, and she replied, "I've always been a good girl." Even that admission, innocent as it was, sent a jolt through my cock. I nodded to her as I felt a little squirt of cum moisten my trousers just to think that Mrs. Filmore had been a one-cock wife.
I almost crossed a line once when she arrived dressed in a holiday sweater that had an elaborate design. I complemented her and pointed to the design as it swooped across her chest, allowing my hand to feel press against the swell of her breast. She gasped slightly, and I quickly withdrew my hand, pretending that it was a mistake.
I used similar tactics to touch her in places that friends don't usually touch, pretending it was all in good innocent friendship. Often I laid my hand on her back or shoulder as we talked or rested a hand on her leg when we sat next to each other. She never seemed to mind.
But I wasn't born yesterday. I knew that she must have felt my intentions at some level. My actions didn't ruin the friendship, so she must have been comfortable with my flattery, but I wondered how far she'd allow me to go.
Many years have passed. Mrs. Filmore is now in her early sixties, and she is still beautiful and appealing. Maybe more than ever. Rather than continue to frustrate myself by never ending casual touches and pecks on the cheek, I planned an entirely different way to draw closer to Mrs. Filmore.
I would apologize.
Rather than continue to dream about her, I decided to make a move. But an unusual move that might open or close doors.
We met at our favorite coffee shop and sat next to each other at a small table. I liked to sit next to her rather than across from her so that we could talk quietly, and so that I could take liberties touching her.
"Good afternoon, Gail," I said as Mrs. Filmore came to the table. "Did you order coffee already?"
"Oh yes, my favorite latte," she answered as she took a seat. I moved a chair to her side, and we spoke about the weather and local news until her latte arrived.
"We've known one another for a long time, haven't we?" I asked.
"We certainly have," Gail responded.
"Why do you think we've had such a pleasant friendship for so long?" I asked her.
Mrs. Filmore thought a while. "Maybe our differences in age and sex make this an unusual friendship," she said.
"Humm, I think you're right," I said, "We're different enough so that we're curious how our generations and genders think differently about things."
"Yes, I think that's part of it," she agreed.
Then I entered into the apology, "But I must admit that the difference in our ages and genders is also something I've had to manage."
