At the age of 27 I had been in a five year marriage to the sixth woman who had shared my bed. Four of the six had been virgins. At the time, I thought I knew pretty much everything I needed to know. I was mistaken, of course. I just didn't know what I didn't know.
I'd gotten married much too young. I even knew it at the time. After a few short years I became restless. My wife was indifferent about sex. I was looking for some excitement, something and someone new. I was a flirt. And since I worked at a large company, I had plenty of opportunities to test the proverbial waters.
Karen worked in the same large department that I did. She was older - she wouldn't tell me how much older, though I imagined it was about a ten year gap - divorced, and a single mother of two. She carried an extra few pounds on her medium frame that was busty without being chubby, with twinkly blue eyes and short reddish-brown hair and a ready, crooked smile. She was a personal assistant to a higher-level manager that she'd followed from a previous company with the promise of a company-funded bachelor's degree at a local college and a better job in the future.
And she, too, was a flirt. We socialized at lunch and after work as a part of a larger group. Eventually the banter took on sexual overtones. "If we ever wind up in bed together," she told me one afternoon at work, "I get to be on top."
"That's a deal," I responded. "And I get to go down on you for a half hour." Karen blushed and walked away, fiddling with some papers in her hand.
It was a promising exchange. Alas, for the next year, nothing transpired to turn the banter into a reality. Karen did, however, finish her degree, and soon thereafter she announced to her friends that the company had offered her a promotion to a managerial position in another state - and that she was moving in three weeks.
Three weeks! Slipping between the sheets with Karen seemed like a lost cause until she approached me with a proposition. "My going-away lunch is on the 17th. I fly out that evening. Mary says we can use her house in the afternoon. If you're still interested, that is." She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head as a question.
"I'd like that."
Karen smiled. "I'll pencil you in."
In the days leading up to the luncheon, my imagination ran wild about what Karen would be like in bed. Over the years she had mentioned post-divorce boyfriends. How many men had she slept with? How would I compare? After four virgins and two almost-virgins, what would a mother of two feel like? Would her vagina be loose? And her larger breasts, what would those be like? Would she have large, suckable nipples? On more than one occasion I masturbated with the lightest of fist grips, trying to mimic my imagination of a far-from-snug vagina. The thought of it always made me explode.
The group luncheon arrived after an eternity of waiting. Twenty raucous people at a Mexican restaurant were fueled with humor and food and margaritas and beer. I sat at the far end of the table from Karen and watched her laughing and talking nonstop. The party seemed to last an eternity. Had she changed her mind about going to Mary's house? Would we still have time? Karen opened her presents. A blouse. A stapler from work. Karen unwrapped Mary's present - a vibrator - and the table erupted in laughter. It was a ninety minute eternity.
And finally the luncheon ended, and after a ten minute car ride, we were standing in Mary's bedroom. The room was awash in yellow tint from the afternoon sun pouring through the filmy yellow curtains. I silently pondered the obvious presence of the queen-sized bed with its matching yellow comforter and plump pillows. "Here we are," Karen said. She smiled at me. We had never so much as kissed in all the years we'd bantered together, and now we were moments away from fucking. Was this really happening?
