All characters in this tale are well past 18 years old.
Should I? Could I? Would I? I was at my daughter's for one of my regular visits. For the last few years every time I visited for any length of time my desires had grown each and every time.
The state I now found myself in was the most intense yet and had been building steadily for days.
The last three days had been the hardest. I had to find a way out, or through, to some kind of resolution, to release, relief, to peace. Whatever I did it would have to be decided during this visit.
It was obvious to me there was nothing for it but to go ahead and get it all out in the open if I was ever to move on.
I must have tried a dozen times already this morning, actually touched the doorknob half a dozen of those times and even opened the door a crack twice before shutting it again and taking another look out the window.
He was still out there. The pile of split wood beside him had grown ever larger. It was a pretty warm spring day and he'd started about half an hour earlier.
Just watching had really affected my state of mind. I had looked out when I'd heard the first two or three dull thuds to see well placed blow after blow split one hardwood chunk after another.
He didn't even appear to be straining, just rhythmically placing the ax completely through the wood on the block right between his spread legs.
In the few cases when the wood failed to split on the first blow he'd just picked up the whole huge piece, more than I could have comfortably lifted, still on the ax and really leaned into the next few blows till it did split.
I had lost track of time watching before finally going back to try and wash dishes. It was hopeless. I was starting to feel weak and fluttery inside in a way I had almost forgotten years ago.
Even at my age my panties had started to get wet some time ago just thinking about what I was trying to convince myself to finally do. Now however, having seen him at work out there I could feel things sliding around inside them whenever I took a step.
I could just picture myself out there as the object of his attention instead of those blocks of wood. I'd be bent over the chopping block holding to it for all I was worth.
His strong hands held not an ax handle but my hips, and he swung not an ax but his very own tool deep into the cleft I had ready for it again and again till I shattered in my climax with an echoing cry!
Harder and harder he'd swing himself as the blows smacked against my backside shaking my entire body with each thrust. I not only no choice but no other desire than to surge backward into each onrushing entry to help him penetrate me as deeply as possible.
I snapped out of it to find myself wringing a poor innocent dishcloth half to death with my hands resting on the edge of the sink while actually thrusting my hips to the thuds still coming from outside.
I could feel the moisture between my legs starting to cool as it crept down the inside of each thigh.
This was ridiculous! I wasn't a school girl, not at 75. This was no romance novel. "What is wrong with me?" my mind asked. "Nothing at all," another part shouted, "He's got it and you know you want it!"
He was in his early forties but he was also my eldest daughters husband of some twenty plus years. That thought had put me off for several years now but it just wasn't enough anymore.
Right or wrong I just had to let him know and get an answer.
Plucking up courage again I carefully straightened the poor dish towel, laid it on the sink, walked to the door for what I told myself was the last time and was promptly undone again. He was just tossing his shirt aside.
My knees actually buckled and I had to hold the door handle to steady myself! Before I could collect myself he began splitting again at an even more rapid pace.
Finally he began to shine in the warm air which only highlighted the play of those coordinated muscles from shoulder all the way down to his waist. That waist with his leather belt riding low on his hips did it.
It had been many years since my husband had passed but I knew what lay beneath that belt buckle. And oh how I wanted it.
The close proximity to those imaginings becoming reality was so much more intense that I could swear were it not for my panties I'd be dripping on the floor.
This was getting silly. I marched to the refrigerator, got two glasses of iced tea, raised my eyes upward in an earnest plea, and went to meet my fate.
We exchanged pleasantries and he took the drink, tilted his head back and inhaled half of it in one swallow. I had found a chair nearby in the shade and sat with my drink while I tried to find the words I now knew I'd have to say soon.
It was a good thing I had sat, for after putting the rest of his drink aside he raised both hands over his head and gave a tremendous stretch preparatory to picking up the ax.
The play of muscles and light across his chest, and as I dropped my eyes, his narrowed waist, actually gave me a tremendous flash of heat. For the first time in ages I realized my breasts were starting to strain a bit against my bra. My nipples were especially sensitive too.
I was probably blushing madly and was thankful for the shade. He must have thought I was fanning myself because of the weather for he made some comment about it which I barely heard.
I tried to settle down as I settled back to watch him work. I was trying hard to find the words and the rest of the courage I'd be needing to go with that which had already carried me out there.
Almost before I knew it, he was done. He picked up the rest of his drink and came over to sit facing me in the shade as he sipped it.
"I know I've said this before, but my daughter is very lucky to have you for her husband," I said hoping to start the conversation I wanted to have.
"Thanks but of course I've always thought I was the lucky one," he replied and took another drink of tea.
I was going to have to be a bit more direct. "Well here goes," I said to myself.
"I mean she is fortunate to have such a good husband and lover."
That made him pause but he said nothing as he looked closely at me.
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," that little voice said. I tried again with, "For some years now Hope and I have talked about the kind of lover you've been to her."
He cocked his head and looked at me curiously.
Then with a gulp I really took the plunge and said, "Explicitly, in detail, at length. And I am so glad we have."