Orville Dewey sat at the window of the apartment over his detached garage, watching his bedroom light in his house go out from the room that had been the artist studio of the previous owner now serving a couple other purposes for the recently retired senior.
One was as a retreat to get away from the nagging of his shrill wife, who hadn't liked anything he had done for many years and was increasingly prone to mentioning that fact loud and clear. Their 38 year long marriage had become an albatross, and only Jessica's staunch objection to divorce kept them together.
The other reason was that the room had recently become what Orville's wife would call in her holier-than-thou manner a "den of adultery" if she only knew, and the old man snickered at imagining his wife hectoring him about the sinful thoughts he always had, thoughts that Jessica had shared quite rabidly until recently.
After a few years Orville had grown weary of being rejected, and although he made token advances from time to time, her constant refusal made Orville feel less guilt about what had happened, which was why when he heard the sounds of rustling in the yard below he got excited.
Laurel was coming. The tall and geeky girl next door who Orville had watched grow up and up over the years was going to pay him another visit, and while he occasionally still felt like a predator by having a high school senior as his first and only mistress, those feelings were getting more scarce as time went on.
Besides, while Laurel was a senior in high school she was 19 years old, the result of missing a year of school when she was young. The illness had left their mark but didn't stunt her growth, at least as far as height was, since the girl was at least 6'1" but was also as skinny as a rail.
Laurel's rather odd body obviously didn't do much for boys, since on this evening most of her classmates were at their senior prom, but then again Orville's tastes in women where a little off the beaten path anyway.
Laurel's lack of popularity was likely why she had been so shocked when after months and months of what might have been considered stalking, Orville made his move. He did that while figuring that he would probably get slapped and called an old pervert, but it was worth it to him, and he didn't get slapped.
Laurel was probably as desperate as he was, Orville figured, because why else would a 19 year old girl be interested in a grizzled man almost a half century older than her and a head shorter. Orville at his best was not a handsome man, almost Neandrathal in looks, although he was in decent shape for a man his age and better than most in one certain way.
That certain way was already twitching in his pajamas as he heard the footsteps hurrying up the stairs, and when Laurel burst into the room Orville had to laugh at what the girl was wearing.
"My basketball star!" Orville cried out as he rushed up to greet his lover, reaching up to kiss her neck and collarbone while embracing the lanky lady.
"Thought I would wear this as nostalgia," Laurel shrugged as she modeled her garnet and gold uniform with the matching socks that went way up her toothpick legs.
"You know how much I loved you in this," Orville sighed as they sat down on the couch. "You were so sexy."
"Was not," Laurel protested but not too much, clearly enjoying hearing words she had never heard and might never hear again.
"Of course you were," Orville disagreed while putting his hand on the bare skin of Laurel's thigh, lightly stroking the faint down above her knee while kissing her. "Why else would I go to all those games you gals played?"
"We were pretty bad," Laurel admitted as she rested her arm over the back of the couch.
"Maybe," Orville admitted as he thought back to watching Laurel's angular body running up and down the court, chewing up ground fast and working up a sweat. "But you know I wasn't watching the scoreboard."
"Mr. Dewey!" Laurel giggled as the old man nuzzled into her neck.
"I thought you were going to start calling me Orville - it's the only "Wright" thing to do," the senior joked, his corny humor always making Laurel laugh.
"I do, it's just that when I call you Mr. Dewey it makes it seem like what we're doing is really - you know - naughty?" Laurel suggested.
"Is that what we are? Naughty?" Orville asked as he smiled and enjoyed Laurel stretching over the couch.
"Sometimes we're a little naughty, and other times we're a lot naughty, but you're always nice," Laurel admitted.
"For sure, and you know, you look even sexier now in the uniform that you did in the spring," Orville complimented. "I love the improvements."
"I know," Laurel replied as the senior's hand came over and caressed her chest, right over the number 30 she wore those years, a number that might have also referred to her bust measurement.
Orville's hand gently rubbed Laurel's flat chest, now more accessible because she wasn't wearing the sports bra she wore back then, and her perky button nipples responded to the affection.
