Sex at 40 - 1 of 10  


Kathleen had been in her new home three days before she met the
neighbors. Reversing her battered Lexus out into the bright morning
sunshine, she noticed that the woman next door was patiently waiting
on the strip of grass that separated their drives. She was tall and
slim, in her mid-30s perhaps, with long, dark hair, and she reminded
Kathleen of an elegant gypsy.

Kathleen climbed out of the car. "Hello. I was wondering when I'd see
you. I came over and knocked on my first day here. Guess you were
out."

"I'm Maria," the woman said, and extended a hand.

"Kathleen. Or Kath. Or Kathy. Whichever you like best."

"Welcome to the neighborhood." The woman had a warm, reassuring smile.
"Anything you need?"

Kathleen considered the matter. "I could use someone to help set up
the computer. It can't see the internet for some reason."

Maria smiled. "There's a local girl in college. She's very good and
very reasonable. Let me see if I can find her number." She reached
into her bag and pulled out an organizer and made a note. "What else?"

Kathleen shrugged. "Nothing that I can think of. Not right now."

"Well, we'd love to have you over one evening."

"Thank you." The past three days had been lonely ones. "I'd like
that."

"How about something impromptu tonight? We can cook out. If you're
free, of course." Maria said these last words with concern, as if she
might have pushed too far, and Kathleen liked the glimpse of humility.

So, she went about her errands with a slight air of anticipation. She
attended an appointment with her doctor, spent far more time than she
would have liked at the hairdresser's salon, then sought out a
bookstore where she browsed for an hour. She found a pair of arm
chairs, both unoccupied, and sat and watched the shoppers. There were
plenty of men, browsing alone. Many of them looked appealing and
Kathleen cursed herself for being so timid. Other women knew how to
approach a man and ask for a date. Some knew how to seek out an
afternoon of torrid sex, she was certain, but she did not. So she
lived in a world of frustration, wanting to reach out but not quite
knowing how.

A man in an expensive suit smiled at her as he walked by. She returned
the smile and he paused for a moment, looking at her. From that angle,
her cleavage probably showed to good advantage. Then he pointed at the
book she was holding, a new biography of Whitman. "That's on my
reading list. How is it?"

She tried to keep her calm and make proper eye contact and keep from
rambling. "The first chapter's going to hook you," she managed to say.

He lingered a moment longer. He was worldly but not arrogant, strong
but not macho, amused but not mocking. At last he spoke three simple
words. "Good. Thank you," he said, and he was gone.

She sat for a moment, wanting to follow but needing a moment to think,
as a scene played itself in her mind's eye. She would wait for him to
stop at a shelf, and he would select a volume and open it and leaf
through the pages, and then he would glance over his shoulder at her.
When she caught his eye, he would offer a courteous smile and then
return to his browsing. She would rise, leaving her own book on the
arm of her chair, and walk elegantly to a shelf adjacent to his own,
indicating her availability but leaving him to join her. When he
arrived, she would show him the book she had selected, careful to hold
it in her left hand to make sure he saw the ring on her third finger.
He would say something charming, and she would answer with something
funny and then, without any fuss or tension, he would ask the
question. "Say, would you like to go someplace for a cup of coffee?"

"Sure," she would answer, and they would leave the store, walking
together like old friends. She would follow him to his car, abandoning
her own where it stood. Once inside, she would shiver slightly in
anticipation and he would lean across and kiss her closed lips, and
move his left hand to her ribs. They would kiss. She would groan when
she felt the wetness between her legs, and then he would drive her to
a motel, taking a room with the minimum of fuss and delay, then
escorting her indoors and making love to her passionately.

She knew it was a fantasy, but she also knew that it would never
happen if she did not open the door to the possibility. So, feeling
just slightly bolder than usual, she set her book back on its shelf,
where she paused to check that the man was still in sight. Her
underwear had become slightly sticky as the fantasy had made her
hormones race. Kathleen took a deep breath and set off purposefully,
determined not to lose her nerve. The man was absorbed in his book and
did not look up until she was just five paces from him. She drew
breath to speak, but suddenly a girlfriend appeared out of nowhere,
hugging him and standing on tiptoe to kiss him. As Kathleen kept on
walking, the girl was telling him about her day.

Angry with her own foolhardy naivety, Kathleen slipped behind the
car's steering wheel and cursed herself. "Idiot!" She piloted the
Lexus home, went straight to the bedroom and threw off her dress,
peeling the sticky underwear away. She ran a cool bath, climbed in,
and tried to forget the matter, but it would not go away. Instead, the
fantasy came back, as she soaped her stomach and imagined how the
encounter might have played out.

In the motel room he took control, kissing her and slowly unfastening
the buttons of the dress and then taking it from her. He lowered her,
very gently, down onto the bed and kissed her, taking his time, making
her wait. Eventually he unfastened her bra and helped her to wriggle
out of the straps, and then moved to the bathroom, returning with
talcum powder. He sprinkled it carefully under her breasts, and then
caressed the skin tenderly, teasing her for a long time before he
began to lap at one nipple with his tongue.

"You'll have me purring soon," she whispered. The sensation was
indescribable, and an orgasm began to stir.

In the bathtub, Kathleen moved her hand to her clitoris and began to
caress it, turning the climax in her mind into something much more
real. Yet she maintained the fantasy, in which she was now begging him
for more.

"Soon," he would only answer, and she sensed that he was trying to see
if she could come before he had even touched her below the waist. He
lapped harder at the nipple and then gently bit it, all the time
stroking the underside of her breasts with his right hand.

"You have beautiful breasts," he told her.

"No," she protested. "They're too small. I spoke to the doctor today.
I've having a breast enhancement."

"No," he whispered. "Why mess with perfection?"

On the bed, the fantasy-Kathleen kept her knees pressed tightly
together and began to rub her thighs against each other. The stranger
paused and kissed her lips. "You're beautiful just as you are," he
told her.

That did it. The orgasm struck and she gave a short, loud gasp as her
body went rigid. It was not the most intense climax she had ever
experienced, but it was one of the most welcome. The real Kathleen
shared the imaginary relief, rubbing frantically as she came into the
bathwater. Even when the spasms ended, she continued the massage,
fantasizing that her lover wanted more. He slid down her body, pulled
her Victoria's Secret panties down, and moved between her legs.

"You smell wonderful," he told her. He gave her a single lick and then
tasted her juices. "You taste wonderful, too."

He was an expert. He brought her to the plateau of her orgasm again
quickly but he kept her there forever, waiting until she begged for
relief before he put her out of her misery. With his tongue and his
fingers, he brought her to three orgasms back to back, and he seemed
intent on provoking a fourth but she wriggled away, unable, for the
time being, to take any more.

"I don't even know your name," she sobbed.