Madonna Ch 01

PRELUDE

"Hi," I said, as she walked out of the little double-wide trailer to greet me.

"Hi yourself," she said with a smile.

I grinned back, my best boyish grin that seemed to work well on the wives of many of my clients.

I was coming to pick up a lawnmower that needed spring service. No matter how many times I warn people, they always wait until the weather changes to get their outdoor power equipment ready for the coming season. So here it was, March, and I was running like a madman. I'm a lawnmower repairman.

"So where's Alpha (her husband's name was that odd), and where's that beast of yours?" I said.

I was surprised at her reaction. Her eyes welled over and she wiped her nose.

"Oh, I lost Alpha last fall," she said.

"Oh crap," I said, "I'm sorry to hear that. He was a nice guy."

"To many," she said, looking up at me.

I didn't push it.

"So where's the stuff you need to be taken care of?" I asked.

"Right here in the shed," she said and led the way.

"I'll need all of these done," she said, waving an arm to indicate the oversize garden tractor, the big Troy-Bilt rototiller, and a Lawn Boy mower.

"Uh oh," I said, revealing my conversational skills, "I thought it was just the Lawn Boy. I've got some other pickups out here and then I'll be back with the trailer for all of this."

"That's fine," she said and added, "can I get you a glass of tea or anything?"

I flashed The Grin again and said "not right now but when I get back that would be good."

I climbed into the pickup truck, waved, and went around and picked up the three other lawn mowers in this area.

The mowers dropped off, trailer hitched up, two mechanics given their assignments, and a quick McDonald's cheeseburger in my belly (all right, two of them) I headed back to finish my rounds for the day.

As I pulled into the driveway again she came out of the doublewide.

It was obvious that The Grin had done its magic.

She had traded in her jeans and baggy shirt for black slacks that clung and a red sweater that showed off her big boobs to good advantage.

I liked the way she smiled as I got out of the truck.

"Come in," she said, "I've got that tea ready."

The inside was about what you'd expect from a mature widow. At that time I was guessing her in her mid-60s.

The kitchen was that basic layout found in any double wide of that era - this all happened in the summer of 2000. Faux wood countertops, stainless steel sinks, a Formica topped table, and appliances.

Her nervousness was obvious in the way her hand shook when she put a few ice cubes into a glass (they rattled a little) and then poured the tea.

It was good if you like southern sweet tea.

"So," I said, struggling for something to make small talk about, "what happened to Alpha."

She smiled sort of wanly and said "the old poop had a heart attack out there in the garden getting everything done for the season."

At "old poop" I had actually snorted my tea and I was holding up my hands, apologizing for laughing.

She sort of giggled along with me.

"Well," she said, eyes getting big, "he wasssssss," which made me laugh again.

As the conversation progressed it turned out he had high blood pressure, had refused to take his medication regularly, and had paid the price.

The tea finished, and her not having gotten to whatever point she wanted to make, I stood and said "come on, let's load up."

The garden tractor, a big Cub Cadet, started and ran, albeit roughly, so I could drive it onto the trailer.

No such luck with the big rototiller and after wrestling the damn thing into the trailer I was out of breath.

I raised the tail ramp, locked everything into place, and turned toward the truck.

I felt her hand on my arm and turned.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, and the way she stood there, eyes down, toes literally making little arcs in the dirt of the driveway, showed me the schoolgirl she had once been.

"Sure," I said, smiling.

"How," and she finally looked up and met my eyes, "does an old widow woman get, you know," and she trailed off.

I waited her out.

"Oh God," she said softly and then took a breath, "how does an old woman let men know she's interested."

I chuckled because she was blushing almost as red as that sweater.

"Oh God," she said, starting to turn away, "I've made a fool of myself."

I caught her hand and held it while she stopped and then turned back to face me.

Now there was a little defiance in her stance as she looked me in the eye.

I smiled, not The Grin, but a real smile, and caught her other hand with mine.

"Madonna," I said, "you are a beautiful woman and if you're telling me you're not getting calls all I can say is you know stupid men."

When she smiled for an instant I saw the truly beautiful woman she had once been.

"Thank you, David," she said, "but I'm not."

I held her eyes for a moment while I thought.

"Look," I said, holding her eyes with mine, "if you mean what I think you mean, and by that I mean you'd like to learn more from me, then do this. Take the night to think about it. I'll come over tomorrow around noon. If you want to explore this, well, this interest of yours with me then be wearing something red with nothing underneath it. If I come over and you're in jeans, then feed me a sandwich and I'll understand. Fair enough?"

Her hands squeezed mine, her eyes held mine, and she nodded.

Then she dropped my hands and marched back to her house.

Chapter One

March is the busiest time in my line of work. The people who had put off getting their servicing done, leaving me to starve, all of a sudden realized that they need it done. I had a hundred work orders stacked up and two and a half mechanics - with my administrative responsibilities I considered myself a half - were hard at work, me until around eight at night usually.

I kept an eye on the clock as I finished rebuilding the carburetor on a big Simplicity tractor, put everything back together, prepared an invoice, and called the customer. Then I invoiced the five lawn mowers, three blowers, and a generator, called the customers and hollered "okay, that's lunch," and headed out the door.

I was pleasantly surprised when she answered the door in a bright red slip and nothing else.

She looked great. Her hair was combed and her face was scrubbed, not a trace of makeup. I liked that she was barefoot too.

When I stepped in she kissed me, a terrible kiss actually, with puckered lips as if she was kissing her son or something. She reached down for my crotch.

I chuckled and pushed her away, holding her at arm's length.

"Easy Madonna," I said.

I could feel the tension in her body.

"Calm down," I said in my softest voice, "I'm here and there's no hurry. Now, where's my sandwich?"

She looked a little nonplussed at that.

"Yes," I said, chuckling, "I do need to eat something."

It was fun watching her putter around only in her slip. She made a ham and cheese sandwich, put a pickle spear and a few potato chips on a plate, and put the plate on the table in front of me.

When she went to the refrigerator to get me some iced tea I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

She's a very small woman, barely over five feet tall and certainly not weighing over 100 pounds. Her breasts, which I had known were large, sagged well down and swayed wonderfully when she moved.

She came and sat across from me and met my eyes.

I smiled and took another bite.

We sat like that, her watching and me eating.

Between bites, I would flash her The Grin, but mostly I stayed quiet.

Finally, I finished the sandwich, took a final drink from the tea glass, and stood and offered her my hands.

She looked up at me and took my hands.

"Show me your bedroom," I said.

She didn't say anything, just led me down the hall.

In her bedroom, I turned and put my hands on her shoulders.

"Madonna," I said, "you asked for this and you can say no at any time and I'll understand. But if you are still interested we need to do it on my terms."

She just nodded.

She watched my hands as I unsnapped (the work shirts I had ordered had snaps rather than buttons) my shirt and then shrugged it off. When I sat on the bed to untie my boots (you don't work in a small engine shop in tennis shoes or flip flops) she just stood and watched and when I stood and undid my belt, unzipped, and stepped out of my jeans she actually took in a sharp breath.

I sat on the bed in my shorts (tidy whities if it matters) and patted the bed beside me.

She moved slowly, holding my eyes.

When she sat I took her hand.

"I'm not sure what you think is going to happen today, but here's the deal," and I paused, holding her hands and her eyes.

"We," I said softly, "are going to lay here, embracing, and kissing, and seeing how much we enjoy each other."

She got a bit of deer-in-the-headlights look and I smiled.

"Think of it," and here I took her hand and kissed each knuckle, "as your first lesson."

She finally smiled.

"Now come here," I said, stretching out with my hand under my cheek.

She came slowly and laid down beside me.

I put my hand on her waist and leaned forward to kiss her.

Again I met those puckered lips.

I sighed.

"Madonna, part your lips," I said.

For the next half hour, we worked on her kissing technique. I guess I'm a reasonably good teacher because before I left she was getting pretty damn good at it.

My hands had roamed over her body, lightly caressing pretty much every square inch of skin covered by the red slip.

Her hands had been timid at first but she had gotten bolder and by the time I gently pushed her away to swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sat up she was lightly caressing my erection through the material of the shorts.

We were both a little breathless as I stood, dressed, and offered her my hand.

She stood and came into my arms.

The kiss that followed was a very good kiss, lingering, with my hands slowly moving from her neck down to gently cup her small ass and then back up.

"Okay," I said, gently pushing her away, "enough for now."

She giggled a little and kept looking up into my eyes with what can only be described as hunger.

"Okay," I said, taking a calming breath and putting my hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length, "take the night to think."

She giggled again and said softly "as if I could think after this."

I chuckled and said "I'll be back tomorrow for lunch. This time I want you to greet me wearing absolutely nothing."

Her eyes got big at that.

"And yes," I went on, "I'll want something to eat."

She smiled and nodded.

I kissed her again, a quick kiss this time, and left before I lost my control.

That night I told my wife about Madonna and our "lessons." We always had a fairly open marriage and she seemed fascinated.

"Soooooo," she said, smiling a little wickedly, "you think you bagged yourself a cougar huh?"

I grinned back and said "something like that. But the thing is, she's nice, I like her, and I think you will too. And the way she's acting, well," and here I reached over and rubbed her pussy a little, "I know you enjoy a little girl on girl action from time to time."

She giggled and returned the rubbing on my cock.

"And you like to watch you pervert," she said.

My wife is a sexy woman in that pear-shaped way of some mature women. She has very small breasts with large dark nipples, a small waist, and 42 in hips. She hadn't had any children at that time and her breasts still pointed straight out and her pussy was a plump little slit. She was a decade my junior, still in her 30s, and a professional working as the chief accountant of a local bank.

I made love to her slowly that night, carefully, bringing her to orgasm a half dozen times before allowing my own release.

We slept in each other's arms.