The affair with Mrs. Lambert began easily, sweetly and comfortably, and just got better after that.
Jerry Lambert is by best friend. We go back a long way, clear back to the third grade. We were each, for each other, the special friend who knows just how to get you into trouble and then back out of it again, help you through heartaches you'd never let anyone else even see, helping you with homework, girls, sports, girls, dealing with parents, girls, money problems, girls, and--girls, in that particular capacity pretending that we actually had enough wisdom about that particular subject to be able to offer each other advice and support that were worth anything. In fact, what really happened most of the time is we helped each other with damage control.
I was all of twenty-two when Linnie, my girlfriend of about four months, and I lost our virginity together. There was maybe a little awkwardness, just because of how monumental an event it was, but that's about all you could say was much less than perfect. Age twenty isn't exactly ancient, but it was a little older than a lot of our friends, and maybe being a bit more experienced and wise to the world left us better prepared than a lot of others. Without even mentioning we had just let it happen when it happened naturally. No pressure, no performance expectations, just sweet, loving sex with a sweet loving girl, and she--I hope, honestly--said it was just the same for her.
Linnie was far away now, at a college in another state, and we were realistic enough to not try to lock ourselves to each other by long distance. If we were meant to be together, we'd know it when it was time. So, now you could say I was between girlfriends, and left me with all of the physical pressures most every guy gets when he's been getting his share and then hasn't for a while. My experience with Linnie left me uninterested in superficial relationships just for the sake of a willing pussy, but I had contented myself with Rosie Palm and her Five Daughters longer and more often than I cared to think about.
I remember the day Jerry told me about his dad's death. Aneurysm of some kind. He was away on business, and they had found him in his hotel room. It devastated Jerry. His dad wasn't any closer to perfect than anyone else, but he was a good man, and he would be missed.
I wasn't just Jerry that would miss him, though. Karen Lambert was the kind of wife Linnie will probably be some day to some lucky dude, maybe me, maybe not. While she and Jerry did what they could to help each other through the time of grieving, I spent a pretty fair amount of time with them, one or the other, or together, just to do what I could to help. There wasn't much, but sometimes it's just that someone cares enough to take time to be there that does more good than anything else.
Time, as usual, did the real healing, and the smiles returned to their faces. As they did, I was surprised to discover how Jerry's mom had taken on a subtly different place in my thoughts. Probably a lot of things went into that. The time I'd spent helping her through her pain had the natural effect of drawing us closer, getting more personally connected, more emotionally intimate. Then there was the way that a pretty regular stream of fantasies about her stretching back several years, formerly moderated by simple respect for the fact that she was a married woman, got a lot stronger now that she no longer was. Nonetheless, they were still just fantasies that I enjoyed like a familiar movie and, just like a movie, they would forever remain confined within the boundaries of personal fiction.
It wasn't long before I could see that this shift in the way I saw Karen wasn't only on my side. She was an exceptionally attractive widow, a free woman, and was behaving like one. Not that she had fallen into the trap of complacency as a wife, but the instinctive drive to attract a mate had led her to make those subtle changes in dress, her behavior and the like. And they were not lost on me, even if I didn't exactly notice at first, not consciously.
Then came the day that I was over visiting Jerry while she was busy with some project calling for a lot of lifting and crawling in the basement--more of a crawl space--under their home. She needed some help and called out to Jerry. Jerry had other obligations, though, so I volunteered to help out instead. Jerry drove away and I headed down to the basement to help Karen with her project.
"Hey, thanks Brad," she said with a sweet smile.
"No biggie, Karen," I replied. For some time now I'd had a pretty pleasant feeling being in her company for whatever reason, so I was grateful for the circumstance that had taken Jerry away. Little did I know that my gratitude for that little happenstance would one day be multiplied by hundreds.
"It's just these three boxes here," she said, grunting slightly as she lifted one of them. "Just help me move these over...there," she continued as she pushed that box into place. The other two were a good deal heavier; she could never have handled them alone. It was a fairly tight space, and it took a little maneuvering to move ourselves, much less those boxes, where we wanted.
"Of course," I replied. She slid the second box in my direction and guided it into place while I dealt with lifting its weight. It was especially nice now; I could take a few moments to really enjoy the sight of her lithe, shapely body without fear of being caught ogling her, but I wasn't prepared for the sight when she stretched all the way back and her sweatshirt fell forward, offering me a perfectly unobstructed view of her breasts.
I'd have been bug-eyed and tongue-tied enough if I'd been expecting it, but there's a hell of a lot more impact when it hits you like a bolt out of the blue like that. I'd done plenty of imagining of what those sweet melons might look like over the years, but even in my idealized fancies I hadn't built as fantastic a picture as the one that left me half-paralyzed in wonder.
She seemed to be taking plenty of time with whatever little task had drawn her to where she was, and I was hoping it would take a lot longer. I even indulged the daydream that she was prolonging it just for me. The leisurely pace eventually gave me time to recover a little of my lost mobility and turn my sight elsewhere before she caught me staring. If she'd had any inkling of what had just happened she showed no sign of it. I grabbed the third and final box and repeated the process, this time shifting my position just a bit so I might get another snapshot of heaven even if she didn't shift her position again the way she had the first time.
As it happens, I needn't have worried. I didn't have to fake anything to find the right position to study those tits once again, this time even while I was lifting the box for her as well as afterward. It was obvious that I could not possibly have been of any help that time if I hadn't been in position to see that show, and I just prayed she'd stay too engrossed in the business at hand to notice.
Like I said, it was a pretty tight space. It would be a lot easier to get herself out of it if I helped pull her than if she had to wriggle out on her own.
"Thanks, Brad," she said as I gently lifted her legs to take off the weight. Now she could easily guide herself out of the tight space. There was really only one possible way I could have helped her that way, and that meant that the show would have to continue. Hadn't it occurred to her yet that not only were her tits right out there in plain sight, but they had been for most of the past several minutes, and I couldn't have been the perfect gentleman and looked another way even if I'd wanted to?
Apparently it hadn't, because she now led the way out of the basement and back into the house just as casually as she might have any other time, with no sign she'd been aware of anything more than that we'd just completed a simple chore.
This prolonged sight of such a thing as I'd only dreamed of ever seeing, and being totally blindsided by the appearance, left my heart racing, my breath labored, and my cock raging against the confinement of my jeans. Karen looked at me and suddenly looked a bit worried.
"Are you OK, Brad?" she asked.
"Sure, Karen, I'm fine," I replied. "Why do you ask?"
