The rains of the previous two weeks had all but disappeared and had been replaced with the cooling breezes of a late "Indian" summer. With winter just around the corner, everyone was taking advantage of these final few hot days with relaxing parties and other back yard activities.
The smell of burgers and sausages wafted around the neighborhood, but my mind was focused on other thoughts ---- as it had been almost incessantly since that fateful night of rain and sexual revival almost two weeks previously.
I rolled my head back onto the slats of the Adirondack chair in the corner of the deck and gazed down at the small lake, which had been designed to be the central focus of the backyards of all of the area homes.
Immediately my mind was filled with images of the drizzling rain and the seeping puddles by the side of the road on that night in which I had met and assisted two hapless victims of a flat tire, an Indian mother and daughter. Then, afterwards I had been a willing participant in the most glorious (and only) threesome I had ever enjoyed in my entire life.
Now I began to chide myself for my foolishness in the way I had left them, as they lay asleep on the living room floor of their condo home. I had simply picked up my clothes, changed and drifted out into the night and home. I had left no note, no thank you, no "see you soon" or "call me sometime". I suppose my baptism into this new world of sexual freedom had left me a little embarrassed and somewhat abashed at having "used", albeit willingly, two such gorgeous and physically pleasing creatures. Now, as I sat again alone, I regretted not leaving a phone number or email address for them to contact me if they so chose.
The simple thought of what I had experienced that night brought a sudden hard-on with an equally strong desire to go and find those adorable women and try to discover if our wild night of passion and pleasure had been indeed "one of a kind", or, if perhaps, they were willing to revisit our "menage-a- trois" for a follow-up session.
The more I closed my eyes and thought of their beauty and sexual prowess at satisfying a man, the harder I became until suddenly I realized that as I sat there, I had leaked some precum onto my shorts. The stain was quite noticeable and I decided that I'd better change in case some of the neighbors came calling with "extra burgers and beer" for the old widow-guy, as they often did.
After throwing the "evidence for the prosecution" into the laundry tub, I decided to check my emails and go through my now daily routine of deleting the many spam and useless junk mail that seemed to gather in my boxes.
As the computer booted, I had almost decided to just do a "dump all", but reconsidered when I remembered that my sister had called and said that she would email details of an upcoming weekend visit. As I moved through the long list of entries, my eye caught this phrase in the Topic box of one particular email: " Are you the nice man who fixes flat tires?"
I could hardly believe what I was reading, but quickly clicked on the note and brought up its full version.
There, in front of my eyes was a note asking me to verify that I was indeed the person in question and to prove such by stating the outfit that was provided for me for our "therapy session".
I smiled to myself and wondered which of the women had written the email ---was this the humor of the attractive mother or the stunning daughter?
I decided to answer right away and typed in the return address and smiled again to myself as I wrote and described the baggy silk pants and the oversized shirt they had provided for me as my wet clothes dried on the clothes-horse in the spare bedroom. To provide further assurance, I added that I had found that the living room floor of the their condo on the second floor provided an "ideal spot for the conclusion of that and any future therapy session."
I knew that once they read that, they would know with absolute security that they had indeed found their lost hero. I included my cell phone number, clicked "send" and hoped that I might hear something from them within the week.
Imagine my surprise when the phone started ringing within about ten minutes. I answered with my usual, gruff "Hello" and the soft, accented voice of the mother at the other end giggled: "Hi, I see from your email that you haven't forgotten how to get to our condo".
I laughed out loud and responded: "I couldn't possibly forget anything about that particular evening. It was probably one of the most memorable of my whole life."
Some small talk ensued about how she had found me and she jokingly laughed my questions off with a comment about being good at remembering license plate numbers.
I wondered whether or not I should suggest another evening together, when suddenly a brain-wave hit me like the proverbial thunder-bolt: "You probably know that our country here celebrates Thanksgiving next weekend?"
There was a moment of silence before she said: "Yes, we have never celebrated it, but yes, we know about it."
I decided to take the plunge. "Well, I really wasn't going to do anything special either, but if you and your daughter would care to join me, I'm sure I could provide you with a wonderful evening."
"Oh , that would be so wonderful", she exclaimed, continuing, " I'm alone here at the moment but I know there will be no problem if I say 'yes' for both of us."
I laughed hesitantly, hoping that she was not a mind reader, because my mind was suddenly filled with thoughts and images that had nothing to do with Thanksgiving, turkey, Native Americans or starving Pilgrims.
"That's settled then", I said quickly, "Thanksgiving at my place for the three of us."
"That'll be Thursday of next week " I added and provided some additional details of address, how to get there and a time suitable for all of us.
Some more pleasantries concluded quickly and I closed the cell phone and immediately found myself dealing with another hard-on.
Yet at the same time, I really did want the evening to be about more than just raw sex. As my mind recalled our previous tryst, I certainly wanted more of the same, but I was determined to prove to my guests that I looked upon them as something other than what I had recently overheard some young people refer to as "fuck buddies".
Each day seemed to pass more slowly that the previous one, but I kept myself busy with the preparations of making a superb gourmet meal and providing my guests with the hospitality I believed they deserved. I was fully determined that if the sex wasn't to be part of the evening, then it would still be a night to be remembered with wonderful food, pleasant company and stimulating conversation.
Thursday finally arrived and by mid afternoon I was beginning to panic a little with the number of small but essential tasks I still had to complete. As I finally stood back and admired all my handiwork, the doorbell rang as if on cue and I opened it to welcome my "Indian ladies".
Once again I was taken aback by the sheer beauty of the two ladies who stood before me. The mother's dark hair gleamed in the door-light. She wore a long, flowing, colorful shirt over a pair of those silky baggy pants common to so many Indian women. The daughter wore a simple, long dress, split from the hem to about four inches above her knee and I couldn't help but notice how snugly it fitted across her bulging breasts.
I invited them in, taking their coats and shawls and hanging them on the coat-rack just inside the hall door.
As I stepped aside and waved them into the living room, each took my hand in hers, raised it to her forehead and thanked me for my warm welcome. The mother added a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth, just enough to allow me her taste and to feel a barely perceptible flick of her tongue on the edge of my lips.
