Katharine was bent over, watering plants on her porch.
No makeup, late 30s, a little overweight, with a headband holding hair out of her eyes, she was a fairly average woman doing a routine chore.
Her running shorts were medium green with light blue trim. The pant legs were long, at least for running shorts. She had white panties on under the shorts. Not that anyone could see them.
She wore a black sports bra. It had wide straps, exposed no cleavage, and went halfway down her torso. Underneath was a white bra. Not that anyone could see that either.
Her running shorts were taut over her backside as she bent over. It was the only thing remotely sexy about the whole scene.
She sensed a presence behind her and started to rise.
"May I?"
His voice was quiet yet clear. The sounds of birds singing, cars passing by, radios playing, and kids hollering became hushed.
She froze, physically and mentally. She knew who he was. She had been recommended. She had been waiting for him. But still, her brain froze when he spoke.
She wasn't scared. Not of him. She knew why he was there. She knew what he would do. She wanted him to do it.
If what she had heard was right, she was being offered perhaps the greatest experience of her life. One wrong move and it might disappear. That's what she was scared of. Making a mistake.
Her mind was a jumble. She knew what to say, but her brain didn't know how to form the words. Her tongue didn't work.
Hands were placed on her hips, barely touching her. Calming hands. Her body relaxed. Her brain began to work again.
"May I?" he asked a second time.
She bent back down and found her voice. Sort of.
"You may," she croaked.
His hands guided her to the Adirondack chair by the door. She placed her hands on the arms of the chair. That was more comfortable. She could hold herself up using her arms instead of her back.
Suddenly, she felt lighter. Not physically, not like she lost weight. As if the air around her was lighter. As if her soul was lighter. The sounds of kids, cars, radios, and birds disappeared.
The hands were gentle, so gentle at her hips. They took her running shorts and panties - took them over her thighs, over her knees, over her calves - to her ankles. She stepped out of them.
He set them aside. There was no other way to say it. He didn't drop, fold, throw, or toss them. He set them aside like precious relics garments to be preserved for later.
"I better do my top," she thought, "I don't want to see him."
She had been warned. Don't look at him. That was fine, but it was also odd. There was no hint of him at all, even in her peripheral vision. No flash of shirt sleeve or cuff of his pants, no shoe between her feet. He was only a presence that she felt behind her.
She pulled the sports bra over her head and dropped it on the chair. It didn't fall, it floated gracefully down to the chair.
Tender hands unhooked her bra. Her back was pleasantly warmed wherever his hands rested. The bra dangled from her shoulders for a moment. She shrugged and it landed on the chair. Her regular, slightly funky, slightly old bra somehow looked sexier resting there.
She took a deep breath. She was naked on her front porch. Exposed for all her neighbors to see. She was bent over, waiting to have sex with a stranger. She nodded slightly, but firmly. Yes, this was what she wanted.
He looked at the treasure he had uncovered between her legs. All women had a treasure, each unique. The newly exposed lips tempted him to enter immediately, as they always did. He resisted the temptation, as he always did. No need to rush. There was plenty of time.
Sometimes he wished he could do whatever he wanted. Thrust in and satisfy himself and no one else. But that wouldn't be fair. The woman was sharing her treasure with him. It was only right that he share himself with her.
His hands were on her hips. They moved, touching here and there. Touching places that weren't always considered sensitive. Touching her back, shoulders, and neck. Touching her stomach, waist, and sides.
The touches aroused her. The touches made her wet.
She didn't understand. It wasn't just that she was aroused. Every place he touched became aroused. Her shoulders were aroused. Her sides were aroused. It was as if pieces of her body were becoming connected to her vagina.
The touches continued. She was so aroused, so wet that her vagina was leaking, fluid dribbling down her leg. She was desperate. Desperate to finger herself, to find relief. Desperate for him to take the next step.
There was a touch on her inner thigh. She opened her legs wider. The man caressed her crotch.
