Silver Fox Ch 01

I'm ass-to-the grass on a heavy squat when I notice her in the gym's mirrored wall. She's probably pushing her mid- to late-fifties. Spiky salt-and-pepper hair. Cute little nose and green eyes. A nice figure beneath her shorts and tight spandex top - - apple-sized tits, well-defined thighs, and trim shoulders. I groan and my quads bulge as I raise 320 pounds of iron plates back into the rack.

There are cougars. And then there are pumas. If she's hot and over fifty, she's a puma.

While she hoists a pair of light barbells over her shoulders, this particular puma is giving me the sideways eye-fuck as I step out of the squat rack. I smile into the mirror, wipe the bar down with my towel, and start unloading the big round plates.

I've been lifting since I was sixteen. True, I started hitting the gym to impress the ladies. But now, at twenty-two, I do it because it makes me feel good. Through my dad's death, dropping out of college, and multiple break-ups, lifting keeps me centered and steady. Better than therapy, as one of my gym buddies constantly opines.

It's good therapy, sure. But, it does also help with the ladies. And, to be honest, my taste in ladies has changed a bit over the past couple of years. Not too long ago it was all tight, fresh-faced gym-bunnies and yoga instructors. These days, I've developed a taste for more mature pleasures. That's one good reason why, after clearing out the squat rack, I grab a pair of dumbbells and take a seat on the bench next to Mrs. Puma. (Yep, she's got a shiny band of gold on her finger.)

She pretends to ignore me and keeps pumping her arms up and down, focusing on her own reflection in the mirror. I rest my dumbbells on my knees until I feel my heart rate settle back into the comfort zone. I glance at her mirrored reflection and she flashes me a quick look. She pauses.

"Great form," I say to her reflection.

She blinks, startled perhaps that I've noticed her.

"Thanks," she answers with a little smile.

I grin back at her. "When you push up," I say. "Try not to press the weights together."

She raises her eyebrows.

"You work the delts better when you push straight up."

She looks confused.

"Here," I say, standing up and moving behind her. "Can I show you?"

She smiles a little unsteadily.

"It's easy." I reach down to touch her elbows.

"Okay," she says and raises her arms back up.

"There you go." I place my palms under her elbows and guide her arms upward. "Keep them separated."

She smiles at me again as the dumbbells rise over her shoulders.

"And, lower them nice and slow. Excellent." Her upper arms press down against my hands as I add a little more resistance to her eccentric contraction. "Very nice," I say, leaning down and lowering my voice. "By the way." I'm almost whispering in her ear now. "You are in beautiful shape."

She's flustered by my compliment, smiling and turning her eyes away from me at the same time.

"Keep going." I encourage her by nudging her arms back up. "Let's do some more reps."

When she finishes her shoulder presses, I compliment her some more and we trade names.

"Pleased to meet you, Vince," she says. "I'm Naomi."

"Pleasure is all mine Naomi," I answer. "How about some water?"

She nods and I pass her the pink water bottle next to the bench. We chat. I like her laugh - - it's deep and throaty. I also like the way she begins to tap me on the shoulder as I tease her about putting all the younger girls in the gym to shame. She asks me if I can help her with her lateral raises and I stand behind her as she raises a set of dumbbells up from her hips.

By the time she's done working her shoulders, we've agreed that we should have coffee. She suggests a place over on Howard Street and I offer to drive. After showering and changing, we meet in front of the gym's reception desk. My hungry eyes devour her petite body and the promises made by her tight shorts and clingy blouse.

When I pull in front of the coffee shop, I turn and rest my hand on her bare knee. We look into each others' eyes and she blushes. I lean toward her and we kiss. She seems hesitant at first but then, with a deep sigh, she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls my lips hard against her mouth.

When we break our kiss, we're both panting. Wordlessly, I turn the key in the ignition and pull back out onto the street.

"Where are you going?" She says breathlessly.

I leer at her. "My place. It's just over on Jackson. I make great coffee."

"Oh my god," she practically squeals and throws her head back. "I don't believe this."

I chuckle and steer the car to my apartment. I open the car door for her and she steps out, looking up and down the street warily.

"Come on," I say, sweeping my hand toward the door to my second-floor walkup. "It's just coffee."

She rolls her eyes and I follow her up the walk. I climb the stairs behind her and watch her curvy ass roll back and forth. Inside the apartment, she stands uncomfortably in the middle of the living room. I toss my gym bag on the couch and walk toward her, tugging my sleeveless t-shirt over my neck.

"Oh my god," she whispers. "What am I doing?"

I smile and slide and my arms around her waist.

"Doing what comes naturally," I say as I lean down to kiss her.

We kiss, tenderly at first and then crazy and sloppy. I pick her up in my arms and carry her into the bedroom with our lips mouths still glued together. I lower her to the bed and yank her shorts and panties down over her knees.

"Oh my lord," she whispers.

I slide my face between her thighs and she's already wet. I grunt with happiness and start licking and nibbling her velvety lips. Her knees rise and I feel her hands pushing my head tighter between her thighs. Wrapping my hands around her thighs and squeezing, I gobble up her clit between my lips.

Naomi is noisy. She grunts and groans and gasps as I lap at her. I reach down and push my shorts off my hips and my cock bounces free. I lick my way up her stomach and she pulls her blouse off her shoulders and yanks her sports bra down to offer me her nipples. While I munch on one big strawberry and then the other, I reach down and guide my cock into her warm, wet cunt. With a shove of my hips, I drive deep into her.

I attach my mouth to hers and, as our tongues wrestle together as we fuck hard and fast. The headboard knocks against the wall and the bed hops up and down on the floor. Naomi smacks me on the shoulders with her palms and I bury my lips into her neck. She yelps once or twice and I can feel her body tremble. My cock grows thicker and heavier. Our sweaty and slick bodies slide together and I drive my hips forward. My cock explodes deep inside her. She half-sighs half-groans and sinks her fingers into my muscled shoulders.

Later, after cuddling in my arms, she licks and sucks my cock back to attention. We fuck again, slower and more sensually, our fingers and lips and tongues exploring each other. I come even while she's still twisting her hips furiously against my cock.

She lies naked on top of me and we doze.

When I wake up, she's gone. But, there's a note on my nightstand.

I need some help with my curls, it reads in long, spidery letters. Wed. at 10 a.m. Naomi. She's written her cell number beneath her signature.

It's Monday. I roll over and catch some extra z's before I head to my job on the loading docks at Orange Freight.

Life goes on. I eat. I sleep. I work out. I put my hours in at Orange. Early Wednesday morning, I text Naomi.

Ready for your appointment. Jackson Street gym. Your personal trainer.

If Mr. Naomi snoops, he'll find this a lot less shocking than what I really want to text. Which is: I'm hard. Get your horny ass over here.

At 9:30, my doorbell rings. I wrap a towel around my waist and pull the door open. Naomi is standing there with a smile, dressed in black training pants and a sleeveless pink t-shirt. She brushes past me and I shut the door.

I drop my towel to the floor as I enter the living room. Naomi raises her hand to her mouth and I spread my feet and push my hips forward, pointing my fat, hard cock at her.

"You're early," I say, sliding my hand up and down my cock. "Ready to warm up?"

She nods and walks toward me. We kiss and I lay my free hand on her shoulder and gently push her down. She drops to her knees and presses her warm tongue against my cock.

"Suck it," I whisper, pushing my hands into her thick, short hair. "Taste it."

She does some heavy sets of cocksucking for a while and then we switch up to more aerobic exercise - - fucking. Amongst other things, I discover that Naomi turns beet red from head to toe when she orgasms.

She returns on Friday morning. And, after fucking like demons, we cuddle together on the bed.

I'm siting against the headboard and she's lying against me, her hips between my thighs and her back to my chest. My arm is draped across her tits and she lazily sketches something on my forearm.

"You know, lover," she says. "I shouldn't be greedy."

"What?" I murmur. "Greedy?"

She smiles. "Uh huh. Greedy. I mean I don't own you. Right?"

I laugh. "Hardly," I answer. "But not for lack of effort."

She smacks my forearm. She pauses and then continues. "I could share you. I think I could."

I kiss her hair. "You mean like a threesome?"

She taps my forearm again. "No, silly. Not like a threesome." She twists between my legs until her torso is turned toward me. She rests her little hands on my chest and her bright green eyes peer up into mine . "What if I had a friend?"

I smirk. "I bet you've got plenty of friends."

She pecks me on the chin. "I do," she says. "But what if I had a special friend."

"What if you did?"

She slips a leg over my left thigh, rests her damp crotch on my thigh, and leans her cheek against my chest. Her hand strokes my shoulder.

"What I mean is . . ." She pauses as if reflecting. "You make me feel so good."

I run my hand along her shoulder.

"What if I had a friend who really needs to feel good?" She looks up at me. "A really nice friend."

I laugh and cup her chin in my hand. "So, you're pimping me out now?"

She kisses my neck and slides her hand along my abs until she's grasping my cock. She squeezes me.

"Maybe," she says. "But she is a really nice friend."

I shift my hips as my cock hardens beneath her busy fingers.

"Nice, how?"

She bends her head to my chest and continues stroking my cock. "Sweet. Pretty. And lonely. Desperately lonely."

I murmur, enjoying her tiny, delicate hand as it massages my dick. "How pretty? Pretty like you?"

She kisses my chin. "Prettier."

"Hornier?" I ask.

She laughs and squeezes my cock hard. "Maybe."

"Dirtier?"

"Probably." She releases my cock and takes my hand in hers, lacing our fingers together. She rises on her knees, and shifts onto my lap. I slide my fingers along her pussy.

"Possibly," she teases. "But you'll have to find out."

I laugh. "Okay. You're very persuasive." My finger slips into her pussy.

"So," she purrs. "You agree?"

"Sure," I say, raising my free hand to her breast and playing with her nipple.

Naomi takes a sharp breath and raises her hips higher.

"Perfect," she mumbles. "I'll text you the details."

"My people will get together with your people," I reply before pushing my lips onto hers. Her soft hand returns to my hard dock.

We masturbate each other until we cum and then shower together before Naomi leaves for a dinner date with Mr. Naomi.

On Sunday, I'm watching a football game on TV when my phone chirps. I've got a text. I pick up the phone from the table.

Matchmaker, matchmaker.

It's from Naomi.

Details? I tap into the phone and toss it back on the table.

My team loses and I make dinner. As I'm eating, the phone chirps again. I finish my pasta and tuna and pick it back up.

Naomi again.

Rizzoli's. Monday. 7 p.m. Dress nice. Look for white dress and hot legs.

Naomi even knows my work schedule. Monday is one of my nights off. I laugh.

Pimp Mommy, I text back.

Still laughing, I head off to bed.

At this point, there are probably a few extra things you should know about me. I live in a small in upstate New York. I grew up here. My whole family still lives in town though we hardly visit or call each other. My dad passed away around the time I turned eighteen. My mom lives with her mom and my sister in the old house over on the west side. My dad's family comes from the better side of town and I haven't seen or heard from them since the funeral. I went to school here, and most of my friends still live on the west side. Given my work hours and my devotion to the gym, we rarely see each other. I guess if I could leave, I would. But I'm too lazy and life is too easy.

Rizzzoli's is one of two Italian restaurants in the area, and definitely the more upscale one. It's located in a little town about six miles up the highway. I've only eaten there once and that was because a friend waited tables during our high school days. A dinner date at Rizzoli's is about as elegant as you can get in my world.

As I drift off to sleep after Naomi's text, I grin to myself. Pumas like to eat well.

Monday rolls around. After my morning workout, I head back home and resist the urge to take my usual pre-night-shift nap. Instead, I head out to Graber's, the local men's store, and buy a new tie. I polish my shoes. I brush off my jacket and iron my shirt. I shave and shower, read some crazy book about hippies in Los Angeles, and then get dressed.

I drive north to Rizzoli's around 6:30 p.m. and end up in a freak traffic jam. Some farmer has tried to rush his truckload of hay back to the farm too quickly and I wait impatiently until the local state trooper waves my car past the scene of the crime. I wave to him and check my watch. 7:00 on the dot. Let's hope Mrs. Puma has patience and a nice rack.

I pull into Rizzoli's parking lot ten minutes later, check my tie, and bolt out of the car and through the big oak door that guards the dining room. It's crowded tonight and soft conversation bubbles up around me from the dimly lit-tables. The guy at the podium glances at me.

"I'm here to meet someone," I say and he nods at me.

I scan the tables. No white dress, though there are a few decent sets of wheels. Then I turn to the bar. Bald dude. Dude in rugby shirt and jeans. Young lady trying to imitate Charlie's smartest angel - - Jaclyn Smith. Empty stool. Bingo.

She sits with her back to me, long, lustrous silver hair cascading down over a sleeveless white dress. A little thick-waisted but her arms are toned and tanned. Naomi was right. Long shapely calves and narrow, delicate little ankles.

I straighten my tie and push past the other stool-sitters. I pause and tap her gently on the shoulder.

"Is this seat taken?" The words are barely out of my mouth when she turns to me. My body freezes as my jaw drops.

Her eyes pop open in surprise and she almost drops the glass of scotch in her hand.

"Ohhhh," I mutter, backpedaling into the low counter that divides the bar from the restaurant. "Sorry."

She scans me up and down and deliberately returns her scotch to the bar. A tight smile spreads across her face.

"I knew it," she says, clapping her hands together. "I just knew it."

It's my grandmother. My dad's mother. I haven't seen her in almost five years. She pushes a strand of platinum hair away from her dark eyes with a flick of her long, perfectly manicured nails.

Even back then, I recognized her elegance, especially compared to my side of the family. Mom and her mom are sweet and frumpy. Always eager to welcome relatives and friends. Always busy in the kitchen. Usually decked out in sweatpants or baggy jeans. Dad's mom was stylish and aloof, rarely gracing myself or my sister with more than a quick peck on the cheek and a cold smile. Besides her dark brown eyes, the thing I most remembered about her was her perfume - - a sweet and rich vapor that always drifted around her.

She's wearing it tonight. Her smile broadens and the corners of her eyes and her mouth crinkle into a network of fine wrinkles. I'm doing the math in my head. She's at least sixty years-old. I blush.

"Grandma", I whisper. "You know Naomi?"

She chuckles and waves a hand in front of her nose. "Do I know Naomi? Good god, Vince. We're best friends. And please." Her eyes shift up the bar. "Call me Tamara, not that other word."

I swallow. "There must be some mistake," I say. "I'm so sorry."

She laughs again and grabs my forearm as if to steady herself.

"Oh my god," she guffaws. "Good lord, sit down."

She tugs me onto a stool, her hand squeezing my forearm now. She waves to the bartender. "Two more scotches," she says as he approaches.

She takes a deep breath and releases my arm. "I knew it," she repeats. "When Naomi told me all about her beautiful Adonis. And that his name was Vince." She smiles and smacks me on the knee. "I remember how you looked at eighteen. And now, look at you!"

The bartender slides the drinks in front of us and grandma raises a glass to her lips and swallows half the scotch. I sip my drink. Exactly how much does she know about me and her best friend?

I smile. "Naomi told you I trained her at the gym?"

Grandma almost chokes on her drink. She raises her fingers to her lips and bends forward.

"Is that what you call it?" She says when she recovers. "Training?" She gulps some more scotch. "That old slut."

Now it's my turn to gulp some scotch and the amber liquid burns its way down my throat.

Grandma leans her head toward mine. "She says you've made her a new woman. Have you?"

I blush and swallow more scotch. "She enjoys training," I answer and grandma almost chokes again.

"Drink up," she says as she raises two fingers into the air. Another pair of liquor-filled glasses appears in front of us.

Grandma rests her hand on my arm. "I am sorry," she says suddenly. "Sorry that we haven't kept in better touch since your father . . ."

I nod. "It's okay. Really it's my fault. I've been busy."

She pats my arm and downs another scotch.

"Oh my god," she whispers to me. "Hell of a blind date, eh?"

I smile uneasily and she pats my knee.

"Well," she continues. "I'm out of the house and away from Mr. Couchsurfer. Let's get some dinner."

To be honest, I'm about as confused as a cat in a dog kennel. Blind date? Grandmother? I nod my head despite my confusion and stand. Grandma stands next to me, swaying slightly on her heels. She drops her hand on my bicep and steadies herself.

"Lead me on, Adonis," she snickers.

We make our way toward the guy at the podium. He clocks our approach and sweeps his arm to the left, toward a tiny table in a dark corner of the restaurant. We follow him and sit.

The scotch keeps coming and, at some point, so does our food. Grandma picks at hers but I focus on mine, hoping to end my blind date as quickly as possible. I tell her what I've been doing for the past five years - - which takes all of three minutes. She asks about mom and my sister. We talk about my dad. And, then things get quiet.

I look at her. Really study her. Big, dark brown eyes and her thin, aristocratic nose. Her wide lips, glistening red with lipstick. Her long, slender fingers. The top of her white, silk dress ends in a smooth band that circles her neck. I peek downward. Her breasts are full and taut against the fabric of the dress. She swivels on her seat and crosses her legs. My eyes drop to her fantastic calves - - arched and firm - -and then up to her bare knees. Something burns and wiggles in my groin. She swings one of her white pumps back and forth. When my eyes rise to her face, she smiles.

"Well." She leans toward me and whispers. "Do you like them?"

I almost choke. Some kind of strange, garbled words exit my mouth.