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.
"Are you posing like that for my benefit?" Orville asked as Laurel's wiry arms reached up and back.
"What do you think?" Laurel responded, knowing what the old man liked.
"You know what I think," Orville replied as he reached up and toyed with the little strip of light brown hair that sprouted from the center of her deep armpit pockets.
Laurel didn't giggle but instead arched her body backward and raised her face towards the ceiling when the senior let his tongue slide over the sparse hairs, her sharp intake of breath through her teeth loud as she shivered from the old man's licking.
Orville looked at the hairs now pasted to her skin, hair that hadn't been shaved since he had asked her not to after basketball season ended, and while he had been shocked at seeing the modest little wisps that grew under her arms considering the jungle that was between her legs, the self professed child of the sixties loved it anyway.
"I love my furry number 30," Orville declared after leaning backward, and after telling Laurel to keep her arms up, tugged the uniform top up and over her head before casting it aside. "I love everything about you."
The fact that Laurel was just relaxing there, making no effort to hide herself, was a far cry from her panicked initial reaction to being seen topless. The girl's only other lover to date had been so appalled by her flat chest that he made Laurel keep her bra on or wear something else when he would fuck her.
Orville was admittedly quite shocked that first time when he saw Laurel without a top, because while he was expecting small breasts he wasn't expecting no breasts at all, unless one called the slight swells her nipples rested on breasts.
The old man hid his shock from the girl however, telling her that he thought she was sexy, and to his shock it was the truth. The angular androgynous teen did excite him, and the most he looked at her the more he liked what he saw.
That hadn't changed over the last few months, and as Orville began to get excited his animal-like nature began to come out his breathing got more rapid and raspy and his pawing got more feverish.
"Oh-oh," Laurel said in fake shock as she put her hand on the obscene bulge that threatened to tear through his pajama bottoms, squeezing the fat knob of the second cock she had ever touched. "Mr. Dewey's big dick is hard already."
"Always is when you're around," Orville wheezed as he struggled to get out of his pajama top without stopping the smothering of affection he was giving.
