I sighed as I walked up the path to my childhood home, not really relishing the next few weeks. I'd just moved out of home after my wife and I agreed to separate. I didn't hate her, and I think she didn't hate me either. We'd just run our course and knew it was time to move on. We'd been living more as room mates and business partners than husband and wife. We hadn't had sex for over a year and for the past 3 months I'd been sleeping in our spare room. So, yeah, the mutual decision turned out to be an easy one.
I agreed to move out, as one of our kids was still living at home and she needed stability with her mum as she finished her uni degree in marketing.
My only choice at short notice was my sister's place, my childhood home, where she lived after her own spouse left her for a younger girl a few years earlier. When Sharon heard about my situation she insisted I stay with her until I worked out what I wanted to do. We'd always gotten along well so I agreed without too much persuading, even though with everything that had been going on with me I hadn't seen her for over a year.
I wheeled my suitcase to the door and rang the bell.
Sharon answered and gave me a big hug while murmuring words of comfort, "Come on in Steve, I've got the kettle on!"
While Sharon made tea I dragged the rest of my things into, of all things, my old room, which Sharon had tastefully turned into a guest room.
"You ok in there?", she yelled from the kitchen.
"Yep, no worries. I thought I might have a swim while it's still early, then I thought I could buy you dinner."
"No need," Sharon replied, "I mean, have swim by all means, but I've already got dinner sorted. I'm trying a new pasta sauce recipe and I'd like your opinion, if that's ok."
"Sure," I replied, "no worries," as I wandered into the kitchen in my speedos and a t-shirt to drink my tea.
"Seriously, bro," Sharon said with a grin, "Friends don't let friends wear lycra!", as she caught a glimpse of my swimmers under the t-shirt.
"Very funny," I retorted, "But that reminds me. Talking of lycra, are you still doing Zumba?"
"Sure am, 3 or 4 times a week, and they want me to help train the newbies in a beginners class starting next week. I swear some days it's like the only thing that's gotten me through the past few years."
It was at this point that I actually took notice of Sharon's figure. For a woman of 54 (I was 56) she was in great shape, with powerful looking thighs (she was wearing dress shorts), a slender waist and toned arms that led up to a fine pair of shoulders. Her breasts, while not huge, produced a nice cleavage and certainly weren't what I'd call saggy.
"Actually, you do look pretty good, sis," I said, admiring her from where I sat.
"And I'm not even in lycra!" she said, "But I might just come and have a dip with you before I finish dinner"
Sharon disappeared while I put my mug in the dishwasher and headed out to the pool.
I was in the refreshing blue water when she emerged form the house in a two piece swimsuit under a beach dress.
"Come on in, it's warm", I cried out from the deep end.
Sharon stepped to a sun lounge and kicked off her thongs. She then reached forward and down and in one movement lifted the beach dress above her head and off.
I gasped audibly as I caught sight of her body. She was magnificent. The best way I can describe her to you is to say that while there were a few wrinkles here and there, Sharon appeared to have defied gravity. Long and strong legs, fir buttocks and a flat stomach led up to two perfectly pert B-cup breasts.
Sharon wore a bright yellow bikini (nothing radical, just really nicely fitted) with white edging.
Embarrassingly for me, Sharon had heard me gasp.
"It's ok, Steve, I know you probably didn't mean to ogle your sister, but I do actually appreciate you noticing. I've worked really hard these last couple of years and I'm ready for men to take notice. The trouble is none of them seem to be interested. It's been so long and with Ted leaving to bang what's-her-name, I've craved a bit of attention. Oh....sorry. I didn't mean to just blurt all that out, but it's been playing on my mind, and you're here and I could always talk to you."
I replied immediately, "Hey, that's ok. And yes I have to say you are looking really good. Hot, even. Although I wouldn't call it ogling. Let's just say it's a natural reaction for a bloke when they see a hornbag. I know you've had it tough the past few years, but you should have no trouble finding Mr. Right"
Sharon had begun sliding into the water down the steps, pausing only briefly as the water hit her pubic area, then pushed off and breast-stroked her way to the deep end, where I was leaning back against the wall with arms outstretched to either side, gently kicking my legs.
"Oh god, I don't want Mr. Right," she said, "I mostly just want to get laid. That physical touch, the feeling of being desired. Of someone wanting me. I wouldn't have thought it'd be hard to find."
The mention of Sharon getting laid seemed to flick a little switch in my brain. Perhaps it was the heat, perhaps my tiredness or just me being a male, but I started picturing her on her back being pounded by some as yet faceless man. I felt my cock twitch under the water but dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come.
Sharon trod water right in front of me and apologized again about opening up, and her voice told me she'd been bottling a lot of this up.
We talked for about 20 minutes then she said, "I am getting out, it's getting a bit cold and I need to put the pasta on. You can stay another 10 minutes then you need to come inside and eat. You can stay in your swimmers, I'm going to. It's so muggy tonight."
