Hello Readers! This is a very, very,
very
long story about an older man (Albert) who beds the town squeeze (Vanessa) while he's completing a carpentry project on her family's mansion. This story, in its length, will not be everyone's cup of tea, but it's lush in its eroticism and sexy when it comes to the age gap between the two main characters. Thank you for reading!
Part One: Genesis of Temptations
If you were to slowly but gently open the door to Vanessa's bedroom you would not think to yourself, "This is the room of a teenage tart." It was a beautiful room decorated with vibrant sheets and comforters, highlighted by pale pinks and purples. Upon opening the door to the room there greeted, immediately, the sensual sight of a breathtaking canopy bed fashioned only for a young woman in the prime - thus far - of her sexual life.
Like most teenagers, she had odds and ends strewn about the floor: clothes, comic books, magazines, and compact discs that she had to scrounge for to play her favorite music. Her walls were donned with glossy prints of teen idols in various rock star poses and dramatic scenes from her favorite films. These men on her walls were the fantasy of her fantasy.
On the wall immediately above her bed were dozens of Polaroid snapshots of herself and her countless boyfriends and the occasional female confidante who she could, every so often, indulge in telling her deepest desires and secrets to. These incidences, though, were not numerous, as young females have a way of blabbing the truth as if a million bumblebees were escaping from their mouths.
Connected to her bedroom was a large, spacious bathroom and on the far side of the bedroom was a patio door which opened into a large second-story deck, a big feat for such a small girl. At this moment, a middle-aged man was out on the deck, doing his repairs on it. Over the years the wood had accumulated shoddy rot and he was using the utmost of his carpentry skills to fix the problem and mend the porch into what would ultimately be a grand precipice overlooking the immediate, nearly-neon green backyard, beyond that lying orchards and rows of lemon trees, olive trees, and trees that grew oranges. The family was one of the wealthiest in town and it was no wonder that this young lady named Vanessa had maids to cater to her and her family's every whim, although she insisted they were not to touch her bedroom; it was a place of sanctuary and privacy for her.
The man who was repairing the deck was named Albert, or Al. Either name suited him just fine. He was nearly fifty years old and looked every day of it: his tall, slender frame held a face that wore the occasional wrinkle, particularly the crinkle of crow's feet around his blue-green eyes when he smiled. It really was his eyes that were the most beautiful feature of his face; they were almost a sea-green in their color. His hair was dark, with specks of gray, slightly curly and a bit long for an older man, ending halfway down his neck. Above his lip settled a black mustache that looked full of mischief when he grinned. His large hands were rough from the long years of his craft, though he had always enjoyed his profession; taking something ugly and making it beautiful was a sense of therapeutic ease for him.
He was not what you'd call a stereotypically handsome man. Sure, occasionally glimpses of a romantic hero would shine through, but he was a regular joe who enjoyed regular things: Television, good food, repairing cars,
Playboy Magazine
, and, of course, pursuing the curvaceous and endlessly vexing creatures that are referred to as women.
That's not to say he was a womanizer. Far from it, in fact. It seemed he thought about the opposite sex often but was, just as often, victim to his own palm. It had been years since he had felt the flesh of a woman against his and he missed it terribly. In this sense, he was a lonely man. He had been married for a few short years in his mid-thirties, but the wedding vows meant more to him than it did to her, and her infidelities were what ended the marriage. He was glad to be rid of her, though bachelorhood did not fulfill the promise of college girls and long legs like he thought it would. He had to face facts: he was a nearing half a century of fantasy, and it didn't look like he had any inclination to let go of those daydreams. Ah, the bite of reality.
At that moment there was a feminine rap on the patio door and Vanessa stepped out onto the deck and walked over to where Al was hunched over, hammer poised. A few minutes ago, she had asked if he wanted some yellow lemonade to quench his thirst in the hot summer air. He had agreed and had forgotten all about it.
"Here you go," the young daughter said sweetly. "It may sound silly, but I put it in a sippy cup for you; I wouldn't want you to spill any on the porch you're supposed to be fixing."
He laughed aloud at her youthful cautiousness and took the drink. "Thank you, it's much appreciated."
"Let me know if you need anything else." And at those last words, she scampered back into the house merrily.
Albert stood at the edge of the porch looking over the great land that was sprawled before him. The orchards, the bright green grass, it almost seemed to go on endlessly although it must've likely been an acre or half of that. He was finding that there were many beautiful things about this new carpentry job, least of all the carpentry. The lovely young woman who had just given him his drink was absolutely charming and quite easy of the eyes.
She wore the standard outfit of a young lady in the summertime: denim shorts that showed much of her legs and a white t-shirt tucked into the waist. She was slim and short in stature, maybe 5'3", and she had long, golden blond hair that reached nearly to the small of her back. Her eyes were large and innocent and blue in color. Her poise and elegance suggested a gracefulness beyond her years, but it was the mischievous glint in her eye that suggested she may be trouble for him. Her breasts were full, and he noted this; it was unusual to see someone of her youthful age so well-developed. He appreciated the full effect her womanliness had on him, though he realized that, at the age of eighteen, she was not yet a seasoned woman. He scolded himself. Yet he could not help the growing feeling in his jeans. He remembered when her father, Carl, had hired him for the job that he had mentioned something about his daughter having just turned eighteen. At that point, Albert was mainly concerned with the details of the paycheck and couldn't care less about the daughter Carl was mentioning. Now he cared a little bit more than he should have and he recognized this.
Standing there alone on the deck he marveled at the mansion's voluptuous wealth. But he marveled more at the daughter of such a palace. There was a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve of his t-shirt; he felt for it instinctively but pulled his hand away. He was trying to kick the addiction, although carrying the cigarettes around on his person would only heighten the temptation, not suppress it. The subject of temptations was making itself very clear that day and he took a measured sip of lemonade. The truth, in fact,
did
taste good.
Part Two: Dancer's Attraction
Vanessa found herself downstairs, the noise of the construction upstairs in the distance. She liked Albert quite a bit; in fact, she felt some sort of subtle attraction that she had yet to identify or recognize. But she did not like the hammering, the drilling, the saws at work with their shrieks and buzzes and thudding thumps.
At the moment, she was sitting on the sofa, her soft warm body tucked into the cushions, smooth thighs abundant and thickening as she curled her feet up under her bottom. She was talking with one of her few and far between girlfriends.
She and Melanie were both dancers on the cheerleading squad that year. True, Melanie was what you'd classify as a "fair-weather friend" but, for the moment, they were getting along swimmingly as the two adolescents gabbed endlessly on their cell phones. Vanessa smiled her beautiful white smile and giggled at a joke Melanie told her. Though they were acquaintances, Melanie could hardly be categorized as the type of friend you could lean on in hard times. She, Melanie, was a fiery redhead, also eighteen years of age. What she lacked in intelligence and loyalty she made up for in humor and a fierce nature that intimidated most of the boys they knew.
