Mr. Callahan was a sweet old man. He was a resident at the retirement home I worked art-time at in the evenings and on weekends. He was 61, and really didn't need to be there. His wife had a moderate case of emphysema. From what he'd told me, he'd taken care of her himself for the last five years, but his arthritis was making it more difficult. Green Meadows wasn't a convalescence home, but there were nurses on staff 24 hours. So his children and he decided it would it would be better economically for he and his wife to move to the home, instead of paying for a nurse, a cook, and a maid.
Mr. Callahan told me a lot about his family, his childhood, and his businesses. None of it was particularly exciting, but him telling me while I was sitting naked on his lap was very exciting -- for a number of reasons. Mr. Callahan was white, and I'm black. Mr. Callahan was old, and I was young. Mr. Callahan was fully dress, and I was fully nude.
I didn't have much of a figure when I was young, and guys my age didn't pay too much attention to b-cup girl. Mr. Callahan had never been intimate with a black woman, though he had bough magazine and seen movies with them in them. So the arrangement he and I worked out for the both of us.
It started a little after I turned 18. Because I was born in November, I couldn't start school until the year after my 5th birthday, which put me technically a year behind my age group. I was a server at the home; I worked dinners a couple of nights a week, and then either breakfast and lunch, or dinner on the weekends. Mr. Callahan was always happy to see me, and always asked me how my grades and social life were going. I played field hockey and ran track, and he liked hearing how well I was doing with sports too.
On a Saturday that I was scheduled to work dinner, I had a movie date -- finally. He watched me playing field hockey against his school's team, and said he liked my legs. For our date, I wore a miniskirt. But after the movie, we lost track of time and he had to drop me off at work or else I would have been late. Lucky for me the cook on duty was the lenient one, and didn't give me grief about being out of uniform.
A lot of the residents were a little shocked as I was serving their food. My skirt wasn't inappropriately short, but the standard uniform for servers was long pants and white shirt. Nobody was mad at me though, particularly Mr. Callahan. He actually complimented my legs, and joked that he was going to demand skirts become a uniform option.
After serving the food, cleaning the tables, and washing the dishes, I waited in the foyer in the main section of the home for my ride home. Mr. Callahan saw me waiting and came to sit with me. It was about 10PM, and the rest of the residents were in bed. He said he was out for his nightly walk, and thought he'd keep me company. He complimented me on legs again, and encouraged me to wear skirts more often.
He asked me why I had worn one that day, and I told him all about my date -- almost like I was telling my own grandfather. Typically my social life is so boring, he knew the date was special to me. I was so excited I hadn't noticed for a long time that his hand was on my knee. And when I did notice, I didn't move away. He hand was soft. It had a few rough spots, from where he probably had calluses, but age had made his hand a little puffy. His touch kind of excited me, a little.
When I finished the story of my date, there was an awkward silence for a second. Then he asked if he could ask me a favor. I said sure, and he asked me to stand in front of him so he could get a good look at my legs. The nurses' station was over in the residential area, and the cook had left already.
I stood in front of him, and he asked me to turn around. With my back to him I had to keep looking over my shoulder to see when my ride arrived. He asked me to move my feet apart a little, and then asked if he could touch them. I was getting more excited, and said that he could. His first touch was right around my knee, and I got a chill. His hands went down to my calf first, and then halfway up my thigh.
"Your skin is so soft! Oh my, it's incredible!"
My heart was racing, and I fought the urge to close my eyes and just enjoy his touch -- my ride would be there any minute. My Callahan switched legs, and moved his hands up and down again. When he got to my thigh, he squeezed, and I flinched.
"I'm sorry, did that hurt you?"
"No, not at all."
"You sure?"
"Well, I had a Charlie horse from the last game, and it was in that area."
"Would it be all right if I massaged it for you?"
My ride pulled up before I could answer, and I moved away to grab my things. I was embarrassed that I had enjoyed him touching me like that, and didn't know what to say. He seemed kind of embarrassed too, but then thanked me for letting him touch me and said he hoped he wasn't making me feel violated. I assured him that he was, and gave him a quick hug before I left.
I worked breakfast and lunch that next day, and was nervous about seeing him. He spoke to me about as normally as any other time, so I did the same -- though our usually flirtations after that didn't occur. After breakfast was over, I found a piece of paper with my name on it at his seat. He had written me a note saying how much he enjoyed touching my legs, and he hoped that I still didn't feel like he was violating me. He also said I was all he thought about the whole night, and was looking very forward to seeing me that morning. He said he may not be totally normal with me because he didn't know how I would feel about what happened.
The note made me smile. His concern was just another example to me of how sweet he was. I thought about his note all while I washed dishes and set up for lunch. During my break I decided to write a note back to him. I thanked him for the note, and I told him I liked the way his hands felt on my legs. I told him that I thought about his hands being on my legs all night, and that I wouldn't mind it happening again.
I left the note in his napkin, and he found it when he and his wife came for lunch. He excused himself from the table, and when he came back he winked at me. I had such a fluttering sensation in my stomach the rest of my shift, it was hard to act normal. He and his wife were sitting on "our" bench in the foyer when I left. I gave him a quick wave on my way out the door, and he gave me a big smile. That night I masturbated myself to sleep for the second time in a row.
Over lunch the next day I asked my best friend if any older men had ever paid attention to her. She wasn't a whole more shapely than I was, but at least she had a couple of boyfriends. She said some older man was always smiling at her or checking her butt as she walked by. I asked if it bothered her.
"A little, especially from the ones that are with their wives, but it's also kind of flattering too. Do you get any attention like that?"
"I get about as much as I get from the boys around here -- little to none." I ate for few minutes, then asked, "Has one ever done more than look at you?"
"You mean like try to talk to me?"
"Yeah."
"I've had a couple help me bags, say something when they held a door for me, but not like talk talk to me."
"How would that make you feel?"
"Weird, I guess." She looked at me, then her mouth dropped open and she moved her chair closer, "Is an older man coming on to you?"
I nodded my head, and she screamed.
