I'd seen her sometimes in the supermarket, and my Mom had once pointed her out as the wife of one of the directors at the company for which my Dad worked as a storeman. Although I guessed that she was in her late forties or so, I found my admiring gaze drawn to her each time.
I was twenty years old and, due to my shyness, was still a virgin, though I didn't admit it to my friends. To a twenty-year old virgin, she was intriguing and arousing: she oozed class, but with a hint of teasing, she was more than twice my age and, as if that were not enough, she was married. I sometimes fantasised about her. I wondered how many times she had had sex. I knew how many times I had done so.
She was slim, well-toned, and although she was of average height her slim build made her legs look long. Her breasts were ripe, and jigged alluringly but subtly as she walked. I wondered whether in fact she selected her bra to allow for some movement, though. It was appealing to think that she dressed to catch men's attention, however unlikely it seemed, given the classiness that she exuded. Her dress sense spoke rather of a woman who was confident in herself -- and in her appearance.
Her clothes looked well-tailored and expensive. Usually was wearing a business outfit. Sometimes she wore a silky shirt under her jacket. If wearing trousers, they were close-fitting, emphasising her long-looking legs. If wearing a skirt, it was usually modest in length -- knee-length or just an inch or two above it -- but often with a teasing split in the back or side, offering tantalising slight glimpses of thigh. Her auburn hair was short, and, like her glasses, enhanced her confident and elegant appearance.
On the fateful day, I was walking home from playing pool with my friends, and spotted her as I cut across the supermarket car park. She was pushing a trolley full of groceries. Her legs looked shapely in a sheer film of tan-coloured nylon; in my imagination she was wearing stockings rather than tights, though I knew this was highly unlikely. Her skirt reached mid-way down her thighs, and its hem flicked enticingly against their backs as she walked. Her heels were high, causing her hips and shapely bottom to roll in a way that drew my eye -- and, I noticed, the eyes of some other blokes, too. Her pin-stripe jacket fitted her closely, and looked smart.
She was about ten yards ahead of me, and I slowed down to match my pace with hers. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that no cars were approaching as she moved between two lines of parked cars. I avoided her eyes and pretended to look at my watch. I blushed slightly, suspecting that she may have noticed that I was eyeing her up.
I hoped her car was be parked on the far side of the car park, to prolong my view of her, but all too soon she stopped by the a large, black 4x4. I speeded up slightly, trying not to make it obvious. As she opened the truck, her skirt rode up a few inches; despite my sense of shame I couldn't resist checking out the sight.
I was just a few yards from this classy, sexy woman. My heart was beating more quickly and I felt a bulging in my shorts. She seemed to be messing about with one of the carrier bags, and, as she lifted it, one of the handles must have snapped. The contents fell to the ground. A bag of sugar and a bag
of flour burst and shed their contents. A cabbage rolled away and under an adjacent car.
"Oh, shit!"
The expletive shocked and excited me. Although I didn't know her, it seemed at odds with her classiness, and, in my imagination, it hinted at another, less lady-like side to her. She squatted on her haunches to pick up some of the items. Her skirt rode up her nylon-clad thighs. To my shock -- and delight -- I saw a darker band just below her skirt hem, and realised immediately that she was indeed wearing stockings and not tights.
I gave a low cough to avoid startling her, and tried hard to avert my eyes from her well-toned thighs and stockingtops.
"Can... can I help you?" I offered.
She looked up and smiled.
"Thank you. That's very kind."
She smiled at me. Her eyes were brown. Shyness at having eye contact with me made me look down at the ground -- though I couldn't resist glancing at her thighs as I squatted beside her. I'd never seen a woman in stockings for real, and lust grew in me to be beside a woman wearing them -- and an older, married woman at that.
I placed my pool cue on the ground and picked up some of the grocery items. I felt hot with desire and embarrassment. Inside her pin-stripe jacket, the top buttons of her blue satin shirt were open, revealing a short, pearl necklace, and I could see the crease between the tops of her mature breasts. Between her throat and cleft her skin was marked with faint lines and wrinkles.
I knelt down and retrieved the cabbage from under the adjacent car. Between us we scooped up the carrier bag from underneath, and lifted it into the trunk of her car. She smiled at me again, and rested her hand on my arm. Although I was sure that it wasn't intended in that way, it struck me as erotic. I glanced down and my eyes rested on her wedding and engagement rings.
"Thanks again. It was good of you."
I looked briefly into her smiling eyes, framed by her designer glasses, at her slightly lined face and at her short hair.
"Don't mention it. It was no trouble," I replied.
"Whereabouts are you heading? Perhaps I could give you a lift -- as a way of thanking you," she said. Her voice struck me as sexy, but maybe any voice coming from her would have seemed so.
"I... it's okay. I... I don't mind walking..."
My shyness annoyed me. She smiled again.
"I'd like to give you a lift, at least part way. Where do you live?" she persisted. I smiled shyly and told her the area.
"That's on my way," she insisted. "The least I can do for your kindness is to give you a ride part way... get in."
I was sure that her double-entendre "give you a ride" was unintentional, but it aroused me. I sat in the passenger seat, and tried, unsuccessfully, not to look at her legs as she got in and sat beside me. Once again, I noticed the darker band of tan just below her retreated skirt hem. She shuffled and eased her skirt hem lower down her thigh to cover it. As she swung to take the seat belt, her jacket gaped open. The tailored fit of her shiny blue shirt partly showed the shape and ample size of her breasts.
The car set off. I tried to keep my eyes ahead, but they did stray to her legs from time to time. She made easy conversation. I explained that I was working as a waiter in the evenings, but hoped to go to college the following year. She asked where my dad worked and nodded when I told her, adding that that was where her husband worked. I thought it nicely modest that she didn't add that he was one of the company's directors. She asked me about my pool playing, saying that she quite fancied learning to play to surprise her husband. Her next words, though phrased innocently, sent a shiver of excitement down my spine.
