This is just the second chapter in a longer story. For character background and storylines, please check out Retirement Party Dress. I hope you enjoy.
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That one afternoon with Anita Patterson changed me. Spoiled me really. As I said before, I've always had a thing for older women. That afternoon with Anita in the dressing room made me a cub in search of a cougar forever.
Unfortunately, the cougar I wanted never came back into my life. I tried hooking up with her again but it never came to fruition. Waiting for her to come back to the shop, driving by her house, hoping to catch a glimpse of her or maybe 'bump' into her in town, all of my efforts went for naught.
Like Bob Seger sang, "I used her, she used me, but neither one cared. We were getting our share." Only I didn't get my share. At twenty, I had no idea what love was and I certainly wasn't in love with Anita but I wanted a lot more than just that one time in the dressing room.
Slowly, I came to realize my afternoon with Anita was going to be a one-time thing. Of course, I was depressed! This was the woman of my dreams, my dirty, filthy, sleazy, wet dreams, and we were to be no more than a fling she had. A moment in time when all the stars were aligned just right, only to never happen again. Frankly, it pissed me off.
Now, older women at work surrounded me but none of them ever came close to being another Anita. Why would they? She was a once-in-a-lifetime woman, the brightest chapter in my memoirs.
Once I accepted that, my libido took over. Like I said, I was surrounded by older women and I kept looking for the next encounter. The only problem was, there was no other woman like Anita. None of these other women ever created a lust so strong in me that I would be as bold as I was with her. I never got the same unspoken signals from them that I got from Anita. I was as horny as a rabbit in Spring but none of these other women seemed to get it.
As depressed as I was, I decided to take my next day off and spend it in the city. An hour-and-a-half car ride later, I was walking away from a parking garage along the crowded city streets. I always hated the city. The people there were always so rude but I thought a change of scenery might do me some good. Besides, it was summer time and pretty girls would be everywhere.
I walked aimlessly through the downtown for a few minutes until I noticed Mrs. Hawthorn, a customer at the dress shop, walking a few buildings ahead of me. Mrs. Suzanne Hawthorn, not Sue or Susan or Suzy, but Mrs. Suzanne Hawthorn, wife of Philip Hawthorn, the Mayor and richest man in my little backwater town.
Philip Hawthorn was close to seventy years old but Mrs. Hawthorn was no more than thirty-five, maybe thirty-seven years old at best. Obviously, she had been the trophy wife of a few years gone by. She was short, maybe 5'-2". Her blonde hair very stylishly cut just above the shoulder, clearly done at one of the outlandishly priced boutiques here downtown.
She always wore the most expensive, current, conservative fashions, but it was evident that her body was still in incredible shape. Her breasts were not big, maybe even a little on the smallish side, but never with a hint of sag.
However, Mrs. Hawthorn's legs and backside were her greatest asset. Sinewy for her height, her legs retained the athletic, lean look of a woman half her age. Her skirts and dresses were always tight enough to show off the perfect curvature of her still pert ass. I always noticed her from behind whenever she came into the store.
And from behind was the best way to deal with Mrs. Hawthorn because even though her face was still beautiful and flawless, her personality wasn't. She was the classic rich bitch, with a tongue sharper than any razor could ever be. Her husband was wealthy, which made her better, above all of the other working-class scum who had to serve her and she never let you forget it either.
I thought nothing of Mrs. Hawthorn other than contempt for her narcissistic attitude but from this vantage point, I did have a pretty good view of her shapely legs and delicious ass as she walked ahead of me. So with nothing much planned for the day other than girl watching, I decided to follow Mrs. Hawthorn's round, tight ass as it swayed back and forth beneath her skirt on her trip through the city.
A few minutes later, the sight of a hand squeezing that round, tight ass, broke my stare and when I looked up, that hand did not belong to her husband. Mrs. Hawthorn turned, startled, then smiled and finally kissed the lips of the handsome man who had joined her.
He was maybe her age, dressed splendidly in a suit and tie. Their kiss was more than a greeting for he held his lips against hers just a little too long. She didn't seem to mind the kiss or the grope much either.
'The bitch! She's cheating on her husband', I finally realized and for whatever reason, it made me angry. Mrs. Suzanne Hawthorn always presented herself as sophisticated, cultured, above all of the riff-raff that populated her quaint little hamlet. Yet here she was with another man.
I slid my hands into my pocket and inadvertently brushed my cell phone. That's when I got the idea. Smiling to myself, I took out my phone and began videotaping this little clandestine meeting. For what reason, I didn't know. Maybe, somewhere in the future, it would come in handy.
I followed Mrs. Hawthorn and her lover as they held hands and walked hurriedly through town, videotaping as they went. The camera caught every smile, squeeze, kiss and grope along the way.
It was barely twelve o'clock when they walked into the downtown Sheraton Hotel. They made their way to the bar and found a secluded booth in the corner. Not secluded enough. From my perch nearby, I was able to videotape their kissing and groping.
Her hand in his lap, his in hers, my phone captured it all. The reflection in the large mirror showed Mrs. Suzanne Hawthorn's thighs parting under the table as her lover's hand found the soft wetness between them.
In no time, they closed their tab and headed up to a room. Was it his, was it hers? Who cares! The downtown Sheraton has one of those big, expansive lobbies with ornate glass elevators adorning the far side.
I videotaped as the two of them kissed and fondled each other in the elevator, oblivious to any spying eyes like mine. I watched as his hand probed up under her skirt from behind , their tongues dancing together inside her mouth. The doors opened and they disappeared like school kids down the hall towards the rooms.
It wasn't catching them in the act but it was close enough and what that would mean to me I still had not figured out. All I knew was that it pissed me off when she acted superior towards me and the rest of the employee's at the shop.
The rest of my day was less eventful and a few days later I found myself at work, completely having forgotten the little video I had shot of Mrs. Hawthorn's indiscretion. That is, until she walked into the store.
She was dressed stylishly in a gray skirt just above the knee, stockings, low-slung black heels and a short sleeve, high-collared, light gray sweater, Cashmere probably, all accentuated with a string of white pearls.
Immediately, I made myself scarce. No one ever wanted to wait on Mrs. Suzanne Hawthorn unless they had to. She treated you like shit, took up all of your time, expected flawless service but never seemed to be satisfied. I grabbed a broom and began sweeping in back.
