I recently met a strikingly attractive woman somewhere in her mid to late forties. Unlike some other beautiful women her age I've known, she did not dress or style herself to look younger than she was; she seemed perfectly comfortable with her age. She was also smart, confident, funny, earthy and although it was a business meeting and her behavior entirely appropriate, still managed to flirt with a roomful of guys while leaving no doubt that she was completely devoted to her husband, who I imagined she fucked into sweet oblivion seven days a week. I decided to write a story around her character, albeit with my recurrent theme of incest.
Chapter 2 of this story has been drafted and is being edited. It should arrive relatively soon.
As always, all characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.
* * * *
We pulled up to what Mom had called her mountain cabin. Not often, but sometimes, Mom had a gift for understatement.
"Wow," was the best I could come up with.
"This place is amazing," said Scarlett.
Scarlett, my girlfriend, had just finished her third year of college, I my second. Mom had invited us to spend a long week end at the new digs.
I'd removed the bicycles and was pulling two bags from the trunk when I heard Mom's throaty voice. "You must be Scarlett, its so good to meet you."
I turned, a bag in each hand. Mom was wearing sunglasses, a wet white tee-shirt that clung to her body, revealing a bikini top underneath, and a tiny bikini bottom.
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Waliss."
"It's Joni."
Scarlett stuck out her hand; Mom enveloped it with both hers and kissed Scarlett's cheek.
"You'll have to excuse me, I was in the hot tub."
She turned to me, an eyebrow went up, and in a half-happy, half-scolding voice said, "No hug for your Mama?"
I settled into her arms, her massive breasts pressed to my chest. Her recently deceased husband had deemed them large enough, but with a bit of a sag; their Carribean honeymoon had included a brief visit to a surgeon for some firming up.
Yeah, she told me that. She told me everything.
She kissed my cheek, said, "I've missed my beautiful young man," and reached down to pick up the heaviest bag, showing off the well-defined muscles of her arm. "Let me show you your room."
I picked up the other bag.
We walked onto a spacious desk, past a hot tub. The front of the house was composed almost entirely of glass. The view of the mountains and lake below must be stunning.
Scarlett said, "Thank you for inviting us. Your house is magnificent."
"Part of the deal with Billy. It wasn't until the fifth one that I figured out the problem with husbands. You marry them looking for love and fun, but the young ones can't keep their dicks in their pants and the old ones can't keep theirs up. So with Billy I made a straight-forward deal. I'd take care of him, show him a good time, and honey I certainly did that, and I got this and a tidy pile of cash."
Billy, twenty years older than Mom, owned the real estate company at which she worked. Although he was based in New York and she in Atlanta, they'd been occasional lovers. When he learned he was dying they made an arrangement; they'd marry, travel, she'd take care of him and, I'm sure, fuck him til he couldn't move. During the last painful months of his life she'd minister to him; she'd been a nurse before she decided there was more money in real estate. In return she got this house and a significant inheritance.
I was, of course, appalled when she told me, but I spent time with them during their two year marriage and had to concede it worked. They were happy and Billy, I suspected and in his own way, came to love my mother. And, although I wouldn't call it romantic love, Mom clearly had a deep respect and genuine affection for Billy.
"My lawyer told me, as his wife, I could have reneged on the deal and taken the estate for a lot more, but I figured this house and a healthy bank account would do me just fine. I'm even thinking about getting out of the husband business for awhile."
I didn't bite; I knew better. Scarlett didn't.
"And what business would you be getting into?"
"Well honey, if you're a good little girl I might just show you."
We followed Mom up a short flight of stairs and turned into a large bedroom overlooking the deck. Mom tossed the bag on the bed and said, "Take a few minutes to freshen up, get comfortable. I'll mix the margaritas."
Mom made a mean margarita: top quality alcohol and fresh ingredients, no mixes for her.
She left; Scarlett stared after her, then turned to me.
"That's your Mom?"
"Yep."
"You told me she was out there, but I had no idea."
"She's hard to describe."
"I'd say."
* * * *
Scarlett emerged from the bathroom, she had freshened up and combed out her hair - naturally a light brown, she highlighted it blonde and let it hang to the middle of her back - and put on a light blue peasant dress while watching Mom on the deck.
"She's gorgeous."
That Mom was. She'd spent a lifetime honing her looks, paying relentless attention to her body, skin, and hair. She ate right, slept the right amount, stayed out of the sun. She kept her dirty blonde hair (although, for the first time, I'd noticed some silver strands) shoulder length and layered, had a narrow face featuring big emerald eyes and a wide mouth (I'd heard way too many cracks growing up about the potential uses of that mouth), and a deep husky laugh. Endless hours in the gym resulted in a muscled build that radiated health and strength. She was not skinny; she had a curvy figure with a few more pounds on her butt than ideal, but what was most striking about Mom was that she looked 45, a beautiful 45, but 45. I'd met a lot of women in their late thirties or forties trying to look like they were still in their twenties; Mom aged, she just aged well. She made no pretense about being younger than she was and had a certain command, a maturity that underlined the fact that she was a generation ahead of you.
"So what kind was your Dad, couldn't keep his dick in his pants or couldn't keep it up?'
"Definitely dick in his pants, still can't. He was her first. He's ten years older then she is, but every time I see him he has a new girlfriend, always pretty and always much younger, and they make a lot of noise at night."
Scarlett turned to me and, hazel eyes flashing, said, "When I meet him I'll bring a whip, unless he likes that kind of thing. Your Mom shaves her pussy. Whatta ya think? Should I shave mine?"
I could have done without that detail - but as I pictured Mom's tiny bikini bottom in my mind I realized Scarlett was right - and, thinking of Scarlett's thick wild bush of brown pubic hair, said, "No, I like yours just fine."
Scarlett took a step forward, said, "God, I'm horny," and ran her hand the length of my erection. We shared a nice long kiss.
So was I, but Mom was working on the margaritas. I shrugged, said, "Duty calls," and put on some loose shorts, better to hide the woodie.
* * * *
