The Right Side Of 40: A Midlife Reawakening free porn video

This is my first complete novella. Please comment

The Right Side of Forty: The Story of a Midlife Reawakening
By Lindsay Casco

Chapter 1: Reuniting
I faintly remember coming to this house thirty something years ago for play dates when I was allowed and then a few times with my mother to visit during the holidays and different occasions, but I never realized her family called this side entrance the “back” door. Karen did say over the phone to come to the back door near the driveway. And she was right about the front door having too much snow in front of it. She must struggle to handle such a hefty house all alone, never mind shoveling all these storms we have had this winter. I guess she is lucky she doesn’t have to shovel the snow all the way around the back. It’s been an unfriendly month, relentless with early season snow. Who thought up this plan? I bitched nervously to myself as I balanced and teetered through solid mounds of what must have been the mailman’s large, frozen footprints, which left little grip for my LLBeans. The back door is on the front of the house. How strange I thought anxiously, as I pulled myself up the icy cement stairs, clutching the veneer of rust on the iron rail with my bare hand hopeful not to cut myself. My other hand struggled to both grip the chardonnay securely and ring the doorbell. Frozen fingers held on tight as I looked at my reflection in the glass and pushed the bell.
She answered in a split second, with a huge smile. I have not seen Karen in almost seven years, since her mother died and left her this lengthy, blue house with two front doors, today covered in a mass of ice. She might have been better off if, rather than the wine, I brought her a bag of rock salt, I sneered cat-like. I get that way when I’m beyond my comfort zone. I could feel the rush of heat escaping through the mudroom as I thoughtfully stepped onto her throw rug so as not to wet the floor. She looked good; better than her shadowy Facebook picture I studied last night. “It is so good to see you, Cassie.” She said on an exhale, raising her tenor, stretching the words “see you” into their own decree. Squeezing me in a loving bear hug, her form felt warm; it felt right, like friends should. I kissed her cheek and noticed the youth was still in her skin. We held onto each other for a second or two, just looking. What a pretty smile she has after all these years. She always had that smile. Her typical, run-of-the-mill features turned to stunning with a simple smile. Strangely, middle age has improved her; and her 42 year old grin barely looks a day over 35 and still looks bright as the untouched snow on her front steps.
I love your sweater, I commented as my hands lingered on her solid wrists. Soft! “JC Penny,” she said, still wide-eyed from my entrance. “I got a gift card for Christmas. I just got it today. Day after Christmas shopping is a hoot. Come in.” I kicked off by boots and hung my coat on the striking country-green rack as we stumbled around one another politely in the small mudroom, which is connected to her dated kitchen with the same checkerboard linoleum floor we ran across as k**s; faded and worn from the years. With no family left, the house seemed too big. What must have been Karen’s most essential shoes lined the floor near the back door. Just her coat hung aside mine on the long rack. Lonely, I thought. Nicer artwork adorned the walls, however, Real paintings, not prints, striking portraits and landscapes in all sizes, and a lot of them. I followed Karen’s lead, walking through the narrow hall, past the bathroom on the right, to the big living room at the end of the house. I smiled as the map of her dwelling came back to me with profound memories. Aren’t you sick of Christmas music, yet? It is almost January, I k**ded, noticing her TV was playing yet another wearisome, droning Christmas special. I started hearing holiday music on the radio in November. It’s everywhere this year. I am so sick of it. I nagged for no other reason than to create conversation. “Christmas was yesterday, silly. I like it.” Karen said blushing. Her renowned smile surrounded by smooth, pink cheeks with the slightest laugh lines forming on her otherwise flawless face. She turned down the TV, but left it on to flicker light against her shimmering holiday decorations, likely to help occupy some of the room with us.
Karen stepped out to the kitchen for just a second to grab some glasses and a corkscrew as I made myself comfortable. She poured freely, filling my glass near the top, as we small talked for a while, mostly about my teaching career and her flower shop business, until the warmth of the wine set in. “it must be so nice to have all this time off, Cassie,” Karen said kindly yet with a tone of envy. No doubt the time off is nice. “When do you go back for the spring semester? January 20th. I admitted, looking down at my glass. Being a college professor is difficult work, but I have found nobody outside my own walls understands that. Most people look at the summers off, spring break, and Christmas recess and think that’s all there is. But the research and the never ending preparation, coupled with meeting the needs of the students and building new innovative programs and all the committee work; it’s tiring. “Well professor, how about some more wine?” She clanked my glass against the bottle. Karen’s face turned gloomy when she noticed me looking at the photo of her late mother. Her mom was always so nice to me even though our mothers never spoke. Funny, they were close friends at one time, then poof. Something happened between them that neither of us knew. Their sudden shared hatred kept Karen and me apart for many years; although we lived just miles away. Our friendship through high school never wavered but we weren’t allowed to visit each other beyond the school walls, by that point. Karen went off to the University of New Hampshire creating more distance and we lost touch completely when I got married a few years after college. Sad we missed so many years, I thought. This is so nice. Ringing and toasting to the holidays and to friendship, our topics became more interesting as the bottle emptied; thought provoking, and more personal. “How is life after the divorce?” she dared to finally probe, but I didn’t mind. Lonely, secluded mostly, I answered honestly. “Horny too, I bet,” she proclaimed abruptly with her smile saving the shame. She always was the outgoing one. “More wine?” she wailed, and almost knocked my glass over filling it. We laughed heavily, leaning into each other, our foreheads met and she hugged me again. “I’m lonely, too” she confessed.
My divorce was a matter of fact to me, but to others not so. Divorce always leaves a trail of debris. I was married a total of eight years, three months, and twenty three days, to a man who never once told me the truth. It was a play known as the myriad of lies, deception, and infidelity; me starring in the role of the victim, he the scoundrel. I repressed all my energies through those years, giving and allowing him to flourish while I floundered in weight gain, and solitude. I lost my friends; nearly my career. I ceased living only to become his trophy housewife, a blowjob with legs and a spatula. Our life together was never happy. The hostage’s life style was not for me. The fact that we made it as long as we did is a marvel. I would have done another ten years if I had k**s; I would have for them; I’m just sure of it. But no k**s, no pets, no attraction, and no strings made it uncomplicated to cut. Karen soothed me with a soft, lingering hug as we talked about my break up.
The night was wearing on, and the wine turned into rum with a hint of Diet Coke. There was no chance of me reclaiming my car keys at this point. Besides, I felt completely comfortable with my old friend in her warm house, just like so many years ago. The memories and the jokes and the witticisms, and the booze; then suddenly, in one of those deadly, muted moments of absolute silence during a stretched conversation, even the faint murmur of the TV had temporarily hushed as if it was planned, but certainly it was not, I did the most ungodly, humiliating thing a woman can do in public. I leaned my head back, my jaw hung unbolted and from the depth of my paunch I released a lengthy and profound, baritone belch; a loud and hasty and horrible, open-mouth eruption, all my bubbles flushed and sounded out, like a tuba screaming one note. I was immobilized with my hand covering my mouth; Karen froze, too, her face showed surprise in the stillness of the embarrassing aftermath. Then abruptly Karen broke out in hysteria. She roared backward, lunging then she immediately and uncontrollably flung her tanked-up body down into my lap, where she began to recoup a bit. “Cassandra Keane!” Karen scolded me; a motherly bark of my full name. I liked hearing it. I felt my identity returning to my soul. We laughed until our sides hurt, rolling around like puppies on the couch. “Oh, shit! I haven’t had this much fun in years.” Karen said, wiping her eyes from the laughter. We need to calm down; I scolded her with a drunken smile. “And you need to stop belching like a truck driver or I might die, right here laying on you,” she warned. I instinctively rubbed the back of her soft Christmas sweater.

Chapter 2: Breaking new ground
“Want to watch a movie?” she asked still laughing, as she wrenched herself off of me and began to flip through the channels. She kicked off her white sneakers and kicked them to the ground. Our feet met in the middle of the couch; me on one end, Karen on the other. I don’t know if I can stay awake through a whole movie, Karen. She looked at me, glaring at me in her drunkenness, “oh I’ll keep you awake.” She said, pushing at my legs with her stocking feet. I did the same. It felt so good to stretch after sitting curled up for so long. We stretched together, with our toes straining to out due the other. I pushed; she pushed, like a tug of war for the clinically intoxicated. Her foot nestled my inseam and under my butt for just a moment during her longest stretch, as if she was challenging me to a duel. I did the same right back. Unrelentingly, our battle wore on. We pushed and pressed on each other’s crotch for several strange minutes, forgetting all about the television, until I finally gave in. I quit. I smiled and brought my head backward to the cushion. You won this battle, I announced with a dreamy slur to my voice. Karen stretched her legs out fully, claiming the victory, taking her captured space, and continued to push back on my legs until her big toe inside her thick, white sock was pressed firmly against my heated crotch. Without a word, she slowly ground her foot again my pubic bone, which was protected by only the thickness of my jeans. I rested my head back, taking it all in. I felt tingles moving through me. Over and over she surged her toe with a plunging effect, and it was driving me nuts. My friend is trying to get me off, I thought. This is messed up. I pushed back against the arm of the sofa, forcing my crotch down harder to her foot. I peeked down the length of the couch and saw Karen’s head leaning back like mine was, as her foot was making slow circles on my pussy.
Then suddenly in the dead silence, during one of those awkward moments foot fucking with your girlfriend has, Karen blurted in a funny voice so as to mask the ominous question, as if it were a joke, “Want me to eat you, Cassie?” She stared at me so straightforwardly, so seriously, despite the cutesy voice, as if she was at the Dunkin Donuts drive through, asking for extra Equal. “Um ya, I’d like a large decaf with cream and five equal, and do you want me to eat you?” Did she just ask me if it was okay to eat me? Fuck! Again I froze for just a split second or two or ten, in the room’s uncooperative hush. Yes, I exhaled a whisper, confused in a dream, without rationalizing what was going on. She moved up quickly, flipping her body over not wanting to miss this open door, and her hands got busy unbuttoning my jeans. I heaved and wiggled and she tugged and pulled. All the while we maintained strict eye contact. My buckle didn’t quite make it past my ankles when I felt her fingers prying the edge of my cotton panties aside, as she buried her tongue in me. Oh my God! No dancing around, just so deep. I can’t remember ever being so turned on. She lapped at me with the full width of her thick, flat tongue. She coated all of my pussy with her mouth, taking in my scent with all of her wits, eyes tightly shut. She worked like a professional, digging her hot tongue into me, with a confident and famished force. Her mouth shielded my pussy with a tight seal, and she sucked my outer lips into her mouth, while she explored me deeply. She just drew my nectar full open mouth, cavernously, with a hum that sang a beautiful song I have never heard. Karen’s curly and twisted blonde hair hid her face as it worked on me, but I could feel her mouth moving from side to side, and I could see her head shifting left then right and up through my thick pubic hair and down to my ass, forcing her nose into me at times. I sat up a bit and held her head snug to my pussy with my right hand as my large clit began to pulse. My left hand dug down through the disarray and roamed under the neck of her new Christmas sweater and found her breast. I squeezed her tit, feeling her swollen nipple on my palm, as she sent me into orbit. My hips were springing up off the couch, pushing back hard, riding her concealed face. I held a full breath, my pussy puffed and pulsed once, twice Ah My GOD, I squealed, and I climaxed right into her mouth. Karen’s ruthless tongue slowed but didn’t stop. She began to carefully and precisely kiss my pussy lips, sucking each one gently into her puckered lips, like a mother cleaning her cub. Without pause, she licked just the side of my swollen clit so tenderly, so deliberately, in small unhurried circles, just as she did with her stocking foot a few minutes ago; kisses softly left to fade down below, just her breath was left for me to savior. I opened my eyes and flopped back to earth.
I broke the painful silence. That was really good, I wheezed with embarrassment, gasping for air. Karen looked up at me with caution and obvious attentiveness. Her dripping wet smile glistened in the light of the TV. “Have you ever done this before?” She asked with a worried tone No, I shot out, have You? “Maybe, a little, once or so, yes, you taste so good.” She stumbled using her funny voice again, and broke eye contact, wiping her open mouth with the back of her fingers, while my hand was motionless, still holding her tit.
We both settled back into our original positions on the couch; only this time my pants were off and my panties were soaked. I just came on my friend’s face, I thought as I swigged my drink, staring into Karen’s eyes. Without rupturing eye contact, I picked up the yellow pillow that had fallen off the couch during our impromptu oral, and covered my wetness with it. “Are you cold?” no, I answered quickly and awkwardly without thinking. We sat and glared. “What? Say something” she smirked at my frozen face, silently begging and pleading for me to speak. I need to go pee, was all I could muster, and with a polite smile, I slid my naked legs past her and onto the floor; wobbly from the alcohol and the unexpected orgasm. I seized my pants and stammered off to the bathroom, while Karen, no doubt, got a good show of my bottom side.
I shut the bathroom door and looked straight into the mirror, holding on to the counter for dear life. My face drooped as I inspected and scrutinized my post lesbian experience look. Soundlessly and deliberately I watched my reflection mouth the words what-the-fuck as if it wasn’t really me. My jaw stuck wide open while thoughts fluttered around my head. Who am I? I’ve never in my life; my friend, oh my God, it was so good. I ran the cold water and splashed my face seeking soberness, and an escape hatch. The woman in the mirror was worried. What will she think of me, was all I could assemble in the chaos going on in my mind. I paced the tiny floor, back and forth, and then I flushed the toilet for no better reason than to buy myself another few seconds. Still holding my pants with the same hand that caressed her tit, Karen knocked on the door. “You OK?” Yes, I replied, again with an awkward quickness. “You’ve been in there a long time, want to come out and talk?” Almost finished, I lied as I brushed back my hair behind my ears.
“I think they call that the walk of shame.” What? I pleaded through the wall. Karen slowly turned the knob and opened the door a crack, “Walk of shame,” she stated with a devious grin. “You know in college, when you have to run down the hall naked after sex.” I wasn’t running, I said with a smile. Karen’s silliness broke the tension. She eased in the bathroom with me. We stared at each other like teenagers and beamed. You know, I whispered softly, purposely attempting to re-light her fire. You know, those two girls in the mirror are watching you look at me. I liked her reaction to my soft voice. Karen’s eyes widened with excitement. Without warning, without authorization, Karen leaned into me and kissed my closed mouth. I inclined backward as she pushed. “You’re really hot Cassie. You taste so” she paused to kiss “Good, oh Goddamn good.” She said fading into a quiet whisper only meant for me. Our lips squished together, her tongue worked side to side under my lower lip; our teeth clanked, void of grace. I was kissing another woman and it was bumpy and jarring like new kisses sometimes are. I could feel her fingers roaming my face, as I began to lean in and kiss back.
My thoughts were out of control; my mind started to race: I never kissed a girl before. Was this really happening? I never knew lips could be so soft. She is perfect. She’s my friend. No one can ever find out. What should I do? She is so warm, and smells so good. Oh, her hair. I just came on her mouth in her fucking living room. I can taste myself. Holy shit I can taste myself!
Our dance in the small bathroom became obsessive. Unfamiliar hands were finding new-fangled toys. Karen held my head tightly as I threw caution to the wind and traced the plump sides of her lovely breasts. Our mouths locked in place; moaning into the hollow of each other’s souls; singing the song we had just written moments ago. Her right hand roamed my back so delicately, so tenderly, perfectly and magically arousing my nipples all the way around the other side of my body. Her braveness seemed to have no limit. Karen’s fingers, oh her soft, velvety fingers worked on my freckled shoulders under my blouse, up and down my spine, as we kissed with unbreakable, brutal force. She began working wizardry on the tight elastic of my panties; shimming them down over my hips until they fell, lifelessly to the cold tile floor. Unexpectedly she broke our embrace, sunk her head swiftly, clutching my midriff as she balanced on the toilet seat and pulled my soft belly to her face. She licked around my belly button with thoughtful swipes. I raised my body on tippy toes and pushed downward with only one purpose in mind, to deliver my gift directly to her famished mouth. Lost in the moment, I ground my hips in deep, unhurried undulations. I could hear Karen’s muffled moan through my thick, brown pubic hair as she hid her tongue inside me once again. I couldn’t take another second of this madness. I held on to her cheeks with both hands moving her skull up and down in rhythm as she ate me. I need to lie down, I commanded in a harsh whisper. My legs weakened under the influence of wine and rum and lust. Karen inserted a finger in me and our eyes connected as she kissed, with her soaking wet mouth, the distinct line where my dark chestnut pubic hair meets my milky flesh.
The lovely woman in front of me stood and held my hand as she silently guided me into her bedroom. Only we filled the air. No music, no television, no sound at all. In the hush and warmth of her bed we fell together like old lovers. Our practice in the other rooms had paid off. We locked in a soundless kiss as we peeled each other’s clothing. Rolling about the bed lip locked, I ended up on top and began to devour my first breast. Her nipple, as big as the tip of my thumb; a beautiful tight knot holding her large and dark areola in place, filled my mouth. Her spongy breast covered much of my face as I sucked, pleasing my pallet like never before. Oh, this was certainly a delicacy I waited way too long to enjoy. My left hand found her sweet spot, as I sucked her tits. My fingertips danced through her reedy wet fur. Karen spread her legs wide, allowing me carte blanche. She was extremely sensitive and her body shifted and contorted as I explored her beautiful mound with a ginger touch. Gradually, I slid my middle finger into Karen’s folds, surprised to feel its depth and the heat of another woman. It was sucking me in. Her wetness overwhelmed my single finger, so I eased in another all the way and then I pushed up and pulled back, just a bit, on the inside of her pubic bone. I had found her spot. The harder I sucked her nipple the more she groaned; the more she bucked against my hand. I was pleasing her with all my might and she loved it. Like a mad woman, Karen pulled my head to hers, threw the pillow to the floor causing a crash somewhere in the room, and moaned long and hard into my open mouth, as she came on my hand.
Shattered with sexual exhaustion, we held each other, fulfilled without a worry, no care of time or place. She kissed my naked neck for several minutes and whispered, “You’re so sexy.” So are you, I breathed into her ear, licking its lobe. Then I nestled my hand down to the scene of the crime. My palm found a resting place protecting her moist, horrible, magnificent mess. We slept.

Chapter 3: Repercussions and reverberations
The long shadows of late December, coupled with a pint of rum and two bottles of wine allowed a deep sleep well into the morning. Strange dreams agitated my slumber. Consciousness was not immediate nor wanted. I was barely able to lift my pounding head as I struggled and squinted in the dense obscurities of the unfamiliar room. Yellow curtains? My mouth filled with cotton, in a daze, I was lost. I panicked for a split second. Oh My God! What the…The bewilderment became unacceptable reality. The pieces started to come to me. In a distressed motion I gasped; my hand covered my open mouth; it smelled. The evidence was pure and very real. There she was. Karen, curled up naked, sleeping, breathing with calm, even rhythms, facing the other way, her breasts exposed as only her bottom half was bound by a comforter. I held my forehead and scooted to the edge of the bed, carefully so as not to wake my friend. What am I going to say to her? I dreaded. What will she say to me? My attention raced from one vivid detail to the next. Does this make me a lesbian? A LESBIAN! No, I claimed, but it was good, oh my god. We fucked. What did I do? Holy shit we fucked.
I snuck to the bathroom without a sound. I leaned on the counter for precious life. Déjà vu, I whispered to myself as I smiled for the mirror. No toothbrush, I scouted the medicine cabinet for one. I’m sure she won’t mind if I steal this, I smirked as I opened the new brush. I ran the shower and stepped in. The warm water felt just right. Karen’s shampoo was top shelf, much better than I buy. The peach aroma and the suds refreshed my soul and straightened out my pounding head. I was awake and I was scared and I was horny and I was alive for the first time since my divorce. I lathered in circles, daydreaming all the while. I paid special attention to each part of my body. I concentrated a palm full of shampoo on my pussy as I washed. It somehow felt different this morning. Touching myself was pleasurable for the first time. I felt uninhibited under the blast of water. My eyes were held hostage as the soap oozed from my hair. My ears filled by the magic waterfall. I danced in place as last night’s memories came back to life. Then from out of the dense steam, I felt her hand touch my shoulder. “Can I get in?” She smiled that great big smile. Her teeth are better than perfect, they’re cute. The tiny gap that separates her two front teeth adds character and the slightest hint of gum in her smile just makes it a knockout. I held my breath. It was okay, everything was alright. She accepted me, we’re in the same boat, and it’s a pretty exciting boat. I have nothing to be ashamed of. She is so sexy. I exhaled. Yes, I nodded, as Karen stepped under the warm flow.
We washed each other like they do in the dirty movies; her back, my back. We giggled as we played in the water. I couldn’t remember the last time I giggled. “You know.” She said in a seductive tone, “you never did eat me last night. I think you owe me. Will you eat me now?” She licked the tip of my nose, melting me further. My mind raced. I’ve never done that before. I mean I have never done any of this before. But I dreamt it, oh do I dream it. Who would ever know to look at me? I’ve wanted this for a long time; ever since I can remember. This is my fantasy, but I have never ever told a soul. This is all I thought of when my slug of a husband used to attempt to fuck me. What a dark woman I am. Am I filthy? I looked up into her needy eyes. I don’t know if I can, I answered Karen’s request. “Yes you can.” She whispered, easing me to my knees right there in the shower. My face found her delicate nest. I inhaled the peach perfume and whisked away the remaining suds and pulled her lips open and began tentatively licking at her unprotected clitoris. I was eating my first pussy. Her taste was weighty and complex, that of an interesting oaked wine. The bright red of her inner pussy was a real turn on. I tentatively licked deeper, becoming more apt, more daring, more willing with each nibble. I could feel the same heat and the same pulsing I had with my fingers last night, only this time it was much more intimate. It was she who now ground back at me, pushing me back into the pelting spray. My eyes strained in their sockets to connect with hers. She leaned over me and shut off the water. My head popped out from her legs and she crouched to meet my face with hers, and we kissed hard; Karen licked her own juices from my face with an untamed eagerness that drove me mad. Our bodies dripped dried while our mouths toiled for quite some time.
All I had with me were last night’s clothes. I tried to hide that fact as we sat at the kitchen table for coffee. I stirred the clouds floating in my mug and crossed my legs for protection. Karen unwrapped a package from the bakery she bought yesterday and went right to work on the muffin. “Hungry?” she asked with a mouthful. I’m always hungry, but I’m more hung over than hungry, I explained. She leaned across the small table and softly caressed my cheek with the back of her fingers. “I’m glad I found you, again.” She said, staring at me with that smile. I didn’t know I was lost, I teased with a dreamy tone. “Oh you were lost, and in so many tragic ways.” I knew she was talking about my bad marriage, but I refused to respond. I politely grinned and sipped at my coffee. “What are we going to do, today?” Karen asked, as if we had plans. I need to go home and clean up, I said, clutching the collar of the blouse I was wearing two days in a row. “Okay, but its Sunday and I have nothing to do. Can I go home with you?” She pleaded. You do work fast, young lady, I k**ded. How about we meet up later, after some laundry and maybe a nap, I instructed as I slid my chair back and got up for the door. Karen followed. We leaned on the mudroom wall for a moment, neither one of us wanting to part. “About this,” Karen blurted. This? “You know what I mean, silly.” She weakened, turning away from me, “I really had a good” She stopped dead in her sentence. She just stood there looking for the word. Awkward and stubborn silence bounced around her mudroom. She started a new sentence. “I really loved being with you, so so much, it was, loved it,” She stumbled about her words, then killed me with that smile. I hugged her lovely, shapely body and kissed her one more time, but never spoke. My tongue darted around her lips for just a moment, just long enough to stir the butterflies in my stomach. I turned and walked to my car. She watched from the cold of the open back door. I sc****d the dusting of snow from the handle and shouted back, Hey, isn’t this the walk of shame? I could see her big, delightful smile as I pulled away.

Chapter 4: Salisbury Beach
I could still feel Karen’s lips on mine when I got home. My keys rang out as they hit the granite countertop and slid to the edge of the kitchen island, threatening to fall to the floor. I stood and watched the action of my careless toss, like a bowling ball rolling awry along the ally; I offered body English, hopeful not to have to bend over with this pounding headache. Karen, I said out loud, alone. Wow. I swallowed a mouthful of water from the fridge along with two Advil and hobbled through the dining room dropping my clothing to the floor, piece by piece. My trail was proof of my exhaustion. Naked, I climbed the stairs to bed.
The big four bedroom, three bath in Newburyport was lost in the wake of the divorce, but my new condo, albeit rented, was nicely appointed and less than a mile to Salisbury beach. Everything is clean and new, comfortable and safe. I didn’t want to leave my house, but there was no way of keeping it and ridding myself of him. A walk in closet in trade for dignity. Freedom’s price.
The bed felt especially cozy after a long night of sex and drinking. I lay there dreary, on my back attempting sleep, but my hand was relentlessly reaching for something. I couldn’t stop thinking about licking Karen’s pussy. Was I obsessed? I was a girl gone mad. My pubic hair felt incredibly soft to the touch, despite the dismay it had just gone through. Must be her fine shampoo, I thought as I filled my lungs slowly and deeply, then held onto my air as my fingers grazed. On my exhale I could distinctively feel wetness as I soothed my fire with relaxed circles. My clit is bigger than it should be and protrudes stiffly when aroused. It bumped against my ring. I rubbed the length of my wetness to oil my finger tip, then went to work vigorously rubbing the side of my clit, pressing hard on the pubic bone, digging in with all the vigor I could muster. My eyes tight and my mouth acting out last night’s adventures with Karen’s enormous nipples. I moaned quickly, as my body shifted from left to right. I rolled effortlessly into my nest. Contentment. I napped peacefully.
My cell phone’s ridiculous tone jolted me to life a couple hours later. I leaned on an elbow to reach out for it in the bright-noon, sun-filled room. A text from Karen: Need to meet with you asap. What is this? Her message was too quick, too stern. Something was wrong. She must want to tell me how foolish we were. She must be figuring out a way to regain dignity. Oh I feel like such an idiot. What a whore. Why did I follow along? I should have just left after the wine. What is wrong with me? I’m such a slut! I must be going through a post-divorce stage, sowing seeds and all that. I’ll tell her that. I responded to her text: OK, half hour @ Salisbury Beach State Park, main entrance. I hit send and instantly felt remorse, guilt, all the bad things a girl feels after a one night stand. I should have asked her to come here, like she wanted to. It’s freezing outside. What the fuck was I thinking, the beach. The beach! What will we do? Stand out in the empty parking lot crying and screaming at one another? This is a disaster. My head spun.
I pulled my shoulder length russet hair back in haste, not wanting to take the time for a shower. I dressed rapidly, unconcerned with colors, this time armed with gloves and a thick winter hat. I started the car with the remote while I heated some tea for my travel mug and wrapped myself tightly in my angora scarf. I felt protected. The short drive to the beach barely let my engine warm. I saw Karen’s flower shop minivan a couple hundred yards ahead of me, turning the corner of the entrance. She must have left right after I texted her back to get here so fast, I thought, as she came from way over the Memorial bridge on the other side of town, from the grand shores of Newburyport. I sped up with anxiety.
There was no other traffic on this frigid and dry Sunday afternoon. On my way to the state park beach entrance, I passed by the desolate remains of a once grand American honkytonk; ghostly, vacant skeletons of brick stood to remind us of what once was. Salisbury Beach was formerly a famed vacation spot for the north east. Massachusetts’ northern most gem once offered carnivals and shows, fireworks and all the great attractions the 1940’s and 50’s made famous. Not to mention one of the most beautiful stretches of ocean beach in America; six miles of undisturbed, pure and soft, golden and tan sand; so breathtaking. Salisbury Beach is a rock-less paradise that hugs the mouth of the Merrimac River, and still attracts thousands in the summer but nobody today. It was a wicked blast walking the boardwalk as a teenager; flirting and tanning, occasionally hooking up with a 1980’s boy of summer, wearing day-glow tops tied at my belly and bright green shades. Today it is my melancholy home.
I pressed to catch Karen. The road was dry with an edge of old snow. Unexpectedly, out of the cold blue of the day a Siren! Loud, and frightening. Intense blue lights flashed in my rearview mirror. Son of a Bitch! I exclaimed harshly, raising my tone to my most pissed off octave. I drudgingly pulled to the side, head held low with anxiety. I watched the officer bounce out of his cruiser through my mirror. I opened the window; my face winced at the cold and the probability of trouble. “Afternoon ma’am, Massachusetts Coast Security, License and Registration, please.” What did I do, officer? He paused looking at my registration, “I clocked you at 48 miles per hour; this is a 30 mile per hour zone.” I’m sorry, I was trying to catch up with a friend, I didn’t realize. “I’ll be right back with your license,” he said cutting me short. The officer removed his sun glasses with his black-gloved fingers, and for just a split second, looked me dead-on in the eye. He couldn’t be more than twenty five years old. Cute, I thought. His small build was not typical for his line of work. Thin, couldn’t be much taller than my five foot, seven inches. What am I thinking? He’s going to give me a ticket. He’s not cute. He’s making me very late. Oh NO! What if Karen leaves? What if she thinks I blew her off? This just sucks. Coast security? What the hell is that? The officer took only two or three minutes to run my plate, and strolled back over to me slowly, staring at my license all the while. “How long have you lived in Salisbury, ma’am?” He asked. Less than a year, I responded with an innocent tone. I moved from Newburyport. You know, divorce and all. He leaned down gazed closely at me and into my car as if his cold cheeks were looking to borrow some of my heat. His face was just inches from mine “Well, you’re just getting a warning, today Cassandra.” He smiled, handing me back my license. I watched as he buckled up and raced away with a roar. He wanted to fuck me I thought, amused as I turned the corner to the beach.
Karen was sitting in her van keeping warm. She smiled that smile through the icy glass when she saw my car. I pulled up close in the opposite direction so both drivers’ windows were next to each other. We shared a look, my hands were shaking. “Hi.” She blurted. Is everything alright? Your text message scared me, said asap. “ASAP scares you huh? Everything is wonderful. Get out I have something for you.” My head tilted in curiosity. I just got pulled over for speeding. I tried to complain “Get in my van,” Karen robustly scolded, not hearing my dilemma. I walked around to the other side and somehow, she pushed a magic button that automatically slid open the hefty side door of her company minivan. It was empty and very warm inside from the blast of the heater. Where are all the seats? I asked. “Stow and Go, they fold into the floor. Come in, I have a surprise for you.” On her command I ducked in and plopped down on the carpeted van floor. What is it? I pleaded. Karen turned swiftly, and presented me with a perfectly shaped red rose. I smiled looking into her wide eyes. It pays to have a friend who is a florist, I joked. “You mean a friend with benefits, who is a florist,” she corrected me with an upward slant to her mouth. With that, she leaned in and we kissed. Her mouth felt so right. She was not trying to regain her dignity, she didn’t think I was an idiot; I beamed with my tongue hunting for hers. “You got pulled over?” she asked with a muffled tone while our mouths were playing. Yes, by Coast Security. I got a warning, I hummed proudly. I dropped the rose and brought my empty hand up to her sweatshirt-covered breast. I squeezed with confidence. Oh, she has such wonderful, large breasts.
Our kiss broke with another giggle and we sat there on the van floor in a body-hugging grip, rocking silently. “Want to take a walk on the beach?” She asked eagerly. It’s pretty cold, I don’t know how far I’ll make it, I announced affirmatively yet with great caution to my voice. She pressed the magic button, and the door drew open slowly, like a curtain on a stage. We rolled out into the spitefully cold air. The beach was ours to have and to hold. No human, no a****l, too bitter for even a gull. We walked without fear of being found out, glove to glove. “I’m glad you didn’t get a ticket, Cassie,” she said as we walked past the padlocked ladies room and up the boardwalk. Me too! Have you heard of Coast Security before? I said. I could see my breath. The sand is much easier to walk on in the winter. Most people don’t realize that. ”I think they patrol the beaches since 9/11.” She answered. Areas of frozen sea spray covered the only rock jetty over to our right making the landscape brilliant and contrasting. Salisbury Beach has but two fools today, in full winter armor. The packed and rippled sand of the low tide added even more private acreage for us to explore; warmth was our only issue. We turned to face each other about 100 yards down the beach to protect one another from an ungodly, penetrating frozen gust. We locked together, the surf as our soundtrack, and began to sway in rhythm as a lone fishing boat kept us company, dancing in the swell, until he made it past our horizon. We kissed in the arctic air, and this time Karen pulled off her right glove and swiftly tucked her cold hand deep into my crotch; digging like a sand crab at my mound. You are so bad, I roared over the volume of the breaking waves, breathing my hot air into her neck. I’ve never in my life let anybody take me like I have let you; I spoke softly into her ear. “I have a surprise for you in my van,” Karen whispered through my unkempt knitted cap. The rose, you already gave me it? I love it. I smiled. “Something better,” she shifted her weight in the sand, deviously winking. The anticipation and the bitter wind were too much, so we headed back to the parking lot, maneuvering through the pot holes and billows in the sand, very careful not to get our feet wet. Walking back with high wind is always difficult.
We rambled slowly up the beach protecting our faces from the harsh wind, with a sensation of liberation when we spotted the sand dunes next to the boardwalk; much easier walking. I could see the cars, and I could see something else; a small, black wallet half covered in sand, barely peeking up from under the wooden walk; unearthed, no doubt by the high wind. Look! I gestured down. Karen’s pretty mouth opened wide when she at last spotted the wallet, too. The wallet was at least four feet beyond our reach, forcing us to hike off the walkway, down a slight embankment and into the snow and tall, dry, winter weeds. “Don’t get wet,” Karen commanded me in a caring voice, cupping both hands to her mouth to project her warning. I gave her an assuring glare as I took my first deep step into the mound of snow. In order to make my return trip easier I kicked a path through the foothill of slush as I inched closer to the wallet. Unfortunately, this method completely filled my boots with snow. I broke Karen’s rule; I got wet. I struggled to position each leg, as the snow became deeper with each step. My pants were saturated, my jacket buttons were packed with nature’s white wash, ready to melt and soak me, but I was close. This was quite an adventure for two, dare I say, middle aged women. I could see the wallet now, my rescue mission almost complete. I reached under the decking, wondering what else is hidden under this massive walkway, and plucked the weathered, black wallet from its frozen tomb.
Back at the car I dumped out my boots, threw my wet coat in my trunk, and crawled back inside Karen’s van. I knew she had a surprise waiting for me, but we just had to investigate the wallet, first. “It’s good you live so close. We can dry you out fast,” Karen said in a caring tone, or perhaps she was just inviting herself over to my place. I have to get these wet pants off. I’m soaked to my panties. I said, Karen laughed and opened her eyes wide, hungry-like then said. “Oh, I like that idea.” She helped me pull my wet pants off and then she propped her shoulders against my belly and without even a blink, began to lick the cold pale skin of my inner thighs. I spread my legs with an action so natural it startled me. I held the wallet securely as Karen went down on me. Sucking gently on my clitoris, I leaned back to enjoy her loving determination. Is this my surprise? I whispered in a dream state. “Nope,” Karen yapped licking the flavor from her own lips. “I have something even better,” she claimed. Then she spun over and wedged her body between the two front seats, reaching with all her might to snatch a shoe box sitting on the passenger seat floor. “Here, for you,” she handed me the box. I gazed at her silently, shaking the box like a girl on Christmas morning. What is it? “Open up!” And with her command I pried the tight cover off the box to see a bottle of baby oil and a huge, bright red, jelly dildo. Are you serious? How did you become this way? I sarcastically uttered with an open mouth and a very worried gaze. “I’m going to fuck you with that cock,” was her rebuttal.
Karen meant business this time. I had never met someone so sexual in my life. Granted it was all very new, but the passion and the emotion and the sex, my God the sex we shared the past forty eight hours! It was all beyond belief. I wasn’t quite able to put clear thoughts together. But I knew I liked the companionship very much. I couldn’t even attempt a guess at what made Karen come this far out of her shell. One time, during a rare college visit we were having lunch together with a few of her acquaintances from class. I recall one of the guys at the table asking the women what they thought about different, risqué sexual situations. He was obviously trying to play one of us, but his questions were titillating nonetheless. I remember him asking us whether or not we would try lesbian sex, and he developed quite a scenario. He asked if we were out of town staying at a hotel where no one knew us, and we met a woman who was willing, would we have sex with her. Of course I shied away from the question completely, but I do remember Karen answering him with a resounding NO. She seemed repulsed at the idea twenty years ago, or perhaps that was simply a protective face she put on. She is quite the free thinker, today.
Like a fly in her web, I was trapped and miss spider was ready to thrust her red jelly fang into me. My pants were off; Karen pushed my torso backward, forcing me to hold my weight with my elbows as she oiled her ten inch weapon. I needed no baby oil, and she knew it. But she was kind, and greased her rod. I felt the tip playing with my large clit. The soft jelly offered some semblance of penis authenticity. I’ve never used a dildo on myself, yet another first for me. The van’s heater roared, creating ample warmth and enough white noise to soften the sex sounds around us. Karen lowered her face to meet up with the bright red cock. She licked at the back of it, as the tip entered me. It felt so good. Her touch was delicate and loving. She eagerly traced the length of the cock with her tongue, stopping to suck on my clit, which was now fully aroused and protruding nearly an inch out beyond its normal position. The jelly dong was deep inside me, bottoming out and stretching me with unreserved pleasure. Karen’s ability to please me was limitless. “Feel good?” she hummed with her sexy voice, drawing out her words methodically. Oh, it’s perfect, I murmured. Karen’s mouth sucked me in. I could feel the sensation of baby oil leaking down to my crack, tingling my ass button. I began fucking her toy with great hip thrusts; her mouth, along for the ride. The tension within me bred anticipation. Suddenly, I felt Karen’s oil-covered thumb plunge entirely into my anus. She wiggled it gently creating a hurricane in my pussy. Out of control, I climaxed with authority, and shook all at once. Karen slowed the pumping to a slight pulse and bent to drink my juice. She eased her beautiful lips along my thick pubic line and kissed my belly with the touch of a butterfly, up and down, over and over, her tongue and lips twirled until my cream churned to butter.
Come home with me, I pleaded in a senseless, orgasmic daze, raking my fingers through her thick, golden curls, still catching breath. Karen opened up her smile and jolted “ABSOLUTLY,” as if she was starving and I held all the bread. Figuring my condo was a mile away, I neglected putting on my wet pants. Instead, Karen gave me one of the industrial flower blankets from the back of her van to cover my sex for the short ride. She turned on the interior light, as the 3:45 sun was nearly gone. Winter in New England is a sight for those who love the season of the night. Long spells of darkness cascade into brief, cold, shadowy days. So, 3:45 in December, as any New Englander knows, is getting late. I raked together all my clothes and my pocketbook and that wallet we found an hour ago. She pressed the magic button and the sliding van door began to yawn and hum and drag, as if it was begging me to crawl out. I unenthusiastically transitioned myself to my own freezing car seat, while Karen followed me in her body-heated flower van.


Chapter 5: Making Plans
I felt a hint of awkwardness and embarrassment as we pulled up to my condo, filling the short driveway with both vehicles. I wondered how many neighbors will see me running into the door wrapped in a blanket with my new female lover. Will they be able to tell we fuck? Oh my God, I said audibly, watching Karen in my rear view mirror. I froze in that position for just a moment, just looking. She really is sexy. Her face is so pure and innocent; doesn’t show her age. She looks an easy ten years younger than her 42. Why me? Am I a lesbian? I can’t stop thinking about her. What a fool I am, this can’t work. Oh, her boobs are so big. Am I a boob girl? Karen woke me from my trance with her knuckle on my cold window. “Let’s get in I’m freezing!” She smiled at me and I got goose bumps. She affects me in a way I can’t explain. It’s only been forty eight hours since she made her move, and now I can’t stop thinking about her and her mouth and her smile.
“Nice,” Karen complimented my condominium, her eyes roaming about. I leaned in to pull her hair off her face, and then I surprised her with a lingering lick on her cool neck. “Oh you are so sensual; I love it.” Karen cooed and caressed the back of my head with her capable fingers. “Where’s the wallet?” Karen broke our embrace. Here, look, I handed it over. We crouched down on the floor, using the vestibule settee as our workbench. Her hands shuffled the wallet, opening the snap that held it tight. “It’s full. Imagine if it had $100,000 in it?” She fantasized. We’d have to give it back, baby. Karen’s posture became crisp and statue-like. “You just called me baby.” She kissed me. “I like that.” We melted together for just a second. I nudged her shoulder with mine and brought our attention back to the wallet. “Chloe Olson, 54 Pembroke Ave., Portsmouth New Hampshire.” Karen read the owner’s information off her driver’s license. Should we call her? “Yes, but let’s go through the rest of this.” How old is she? “Born in 1974.” I wonder how she dropped this, and how on earth did it get all the way up the dune under the boardwalk. “She may have dropped it on her way to the sand, but it was tucked pretty far under the walk.” Karen held her cell up to her compassionate face. “Portsmouth New Hampshire” she paused looking into space. “Chloe Olson, Pembroke Ave., she’s getting the number,” Karen mouthed in a whisper to me, not wanting the 411 operator to hear, then pecked my lips hastily, just barely sticking her tongue out; enough to make me tingle. “603-740” Karen pointed at me, sign language meaning that that part of the number was mine to remember. “5473, 5473, 5473,” Karen’s memory chant went on and on as she attempted to call Chloe. “It’s ringing,” Karen stated with big, bright excited eyes. I held a towel around me for warmth, eager for a shower. “Hi, Is this Chloe Olson? My friend and I, well really you can thank my friend Cassie who got all wet rescuing your wallet at Salisbury Beach, this afternoon.” Karen winked, giving Chloe my number. I moved around her while she made arrangements to reunite the wallet and the owner. Purposefully trying to distract my new lover, I ran the length of my arm against her crotch from back to front, pressing hard against her pussy. I could easily hear the affect in her voice.
Karen finished her call with a lazy toss of the cell phone. Suddenly life began to slow, to simplify. I was now in charge, Karen was the hopeless object. I Held her face tight. I’m going to eat you until you cum in my mouth, you fucking little sexy bitch, roared out from the deepest extent of my soul. I did all I could to rip her pants off, but it was tougher than I had hoped. She wiggled silently, freely offering assistance until both her panties and jeans flopped like dead weight to the granite. Comfort was secondary; sex, primary. We wrestled to the unfriendly chill of the stone floor. Pleasure overtook suffering. My lips went wild on her creamy thighs. Her spattering of freckles put me over the edge. My fingers worked their new found magic inside her folds. My tongue seemed experienced for having such slight practice. I sucked her pussy like a starving whore, Conquering her natural, disheveled pubic hair with the whole of my face. My neck muscles strained to push harder. Slurping her soaking wet vagina, Oh the taste! I ate her with pristine passion, deeply digging, devouring and pleasing this beautiful middle-aged woman; I sucked her clit hard into my mouth, adoring the tang. I could sense her blood rushing through her clit; it throbbed on my tongue. Karen shook, arms stiff, holding tight and trembled and cried to the angels and to whoever else could hear: “I’m coming, so fucking, oh you I’m coming.” She bucked and I drank her juice relentlessly; satiated for the moment.
The hot shower cleared our system. Karen sat tight to me on the couch as we ate some leftover chicken in front of the TV. “We can drop off the wallet on Thursday and then spend New Year’s Eve in Portsmouth.” Karen suggested. “Unless you already have plans.” No plans for me. I haven’t gone out on New Year’s since before I got married. You like Portsmouth? I don’t know much about it, I strangely and for no reason at all admitted “Oh, sure! I love Portsmouth. I’ll show you a secret spot in Prescott Park where you can meditate in absolute peace.” Too cold for that, I smiled. Karen’s head rested against mine, “I’ll keep you warm,” She whispered. In a synchronized move, we both set our small plates to the coffee table and Karen stretched all the way out. Her head now dormant on my lap, her eyes connected to mine. How many other women have you been with? I just had to ask. “Oh, not many.” Her whisper was reassuring. How many is not many? “Just a few.” Who was your first? I asked with sexual curiosity in my tone. “Oh, years ago back when I was a freshman at UNH, I slept over Noel’s dorm. Do you remember her? I introduced you once when you visited” No, but this sounds like a porno, I joked. “Noel was in three classes with me. Her dorm was across from me.” And what happened? Were you drunk with her, too? I smiled touching the tip of her chin with my finger. “No, it was just one of those nights; dark and rainy. We were just talking about classes. We were pretty close friends. She was actually my only friend at college.” Karen sighed. So what happened? I urged more persuasively. “That night? It was a back rub job. It was so bizarre. She massaged me through my T shirt, kneading my shoulders while we talked, then her hand went plop! Down the back of my sweat pants.” No k**ding? “Yes! She rubbed my bottom for a few minutes. I thought it was weird, but it felt awesome. Then she slowly started to finger me. I didn’t say a word during this whole thing.” Karen’s story was turning me on. Her face was flush. “We ended up in bed topless, sucking on each other’s nipples and kissing. I fingered her, but I did nothing to her with my mouth, that night.” Did you ever eat her like you ate me? “Yes, but not that night. We became secret lovers for a while, almost two years. Noel was always horny; you would have liked her.” Karen tugged at my neck expecting a kiss. Instead, I slowly licked her impressive and dense eyebrows with the very tip of my tongue. The gentle gliding forced her eyes shut. With the weight of a butterfly, I touched my lips to the tips of her eyelashes, sending Karen into a long, throaty moan. What else did you do to Noel? I mouthed into her ear. “We did everything together.” Karen confessed pulling me close, she kissed me hard. This was not a typical kiss. This was one of those noisy, messy kisses two lovers share right before a climax. But there was no orgasm waiting this time, just absolute want and desire. There was no denying, I was hooked.



Chapter 6: Meeting Chloe
The New Year was just two days away, and what a way to start. Over the past weekend I had amended my happiness tenfold, and in such an unexpected way. Karen was still asleep in my bed when I began to roam the condo in search of something, anything quiet to occupy my time. I was horny all day and night since I discovered this new thing with Karen. I wanted nothing more than to go roll on top of her, but she needs to sleep. I needed to sleep. We, oh boy did we need to sleep. She is consuming my thoughts, and truthfully I can’t get the act of eating her pussy out of my mind. Why did I wait so many years? I actually ate another woman’s pussy. What a bizarre situation. But everything is okay, I think, yes, we’re good. If I only knew about this when I was twenty; if I just dabbled in it; who knows?
Karen went off to the flower shop late because the week after Christmas was their slowest of the year. My mind and body were alone for the first time in three days; time to recoup. Living alone meant facing loneliness on a daily basis; fronting it right in the eyes. But oddly enough, loneliness soothed me. The peace, the solitude, it is what I missed most when I was married. Just me and the tea pot, I smiled in the hush, thinking of Karen. Abruptly the phone slammed me back to reality. Hello? A big, bright voice was on the other end. “Hi, this is Chloe Olson; you called me last night about my wallet.” Oh, that was my girlfriend Karen who called. My eyes opened wide, jaw dropped; did I say girlfriend? What will this woman think? Oh, my God, she’ll think I’m a lesbian. My head spun with self-ridicule as I brought myself back to the phone. My name is Cassie Keane. We were going to call you back today to set up a meeting time in Portsmouth. We thought it would be nice to spend New Year’s Eve on Market Square. “Oh, that does sound nice, but I was wondering if I could meet up with you today to pick up my wallet. I really need my credit cards. I can drive to you, no problem. Are you free?” Yes, sure, absolutely. I didn’t even think about that. You probably need everything. How did you lose it? “Well, sort of a long story. I was just out for a drive. My father passed a couple months ago and on his birthday I took a walk, you know, on the beach. I wasn’t thinking right, careless I’m so spacey when I have something on my mind.” We all are, I interrupted. “I remember crying alone on the boardwalk and my bag fell to the ground. I didn’t even know it was gone until I got home, very late. Irresponsible, huh?” Chloe’s voice dragged with grief. No! I laughed politely. We can meet here or there or halfway. I offered. “Well, if your girlfriend won’t mind, I’d like to take you to lunch to thank you properly.” I gasped deep and choked on her words! Oh, no not like that, she won’t, we’re not umm. Chloe interrupted with a barely noticeable giggle. “How about we talk over lunch? 11:45? The Portsmouth Wine Bar is very good, new. Its right in Market Square, you can’t miss it.” Sounds like a date, was all I could think of saying before I hung up. Date, I said date what a stupid thing to say.
The drive from Salisbury to Portsmouth is about eighteen miles, all highway. I’ve done it a thousand times on my many Kittery shopping days, which typically happened at least once a month. I would shop endlessly just as an excuse not to be home. But now that I’m detached, I don’t seem to shop so much. But Portsmouth is fun, no matter what I told Karen the other day. I don’t know why I lied to her about me knowing about Portsmouth. I guess I was trying to allow her to be in control of something, anything. Even if it was a useless and foolish lie, I made her feel good. Besides, how bad would it be for Karen to show me around? It would be fun and make her feel special.
I headed downtown and circled around the block twice before finding the single remaining parking spot, not so close to Market Square, up on Bow Street. Not great, but only two blocks in the freezing cold from Market Square. I huddled with my hands tight in my pockets, doing a big favor here I rumbled, again forgetting my winter gloves. Something dawned on me at that very moment: how on earth would I know who she is? I didn’t get a description, just The Portsmouth Wine Bar. Wait, I thought out loud, her license must have a picture, of course. I fished through her wallet with my frozen fingers on my walk over to the Wine Bar. Her New Hampshire license was buried amongst a million other store customer cards. Yet the license was pristine, like new. I was surprised I hadn’t looked before but I remember having impromptu sex with Karen right after she got off the phone with Chloe the other night. Distractions! She’s pretty, I thought. I figured her age on my fingers, four years younger than me, auburn hair and heavy set but very well presented. The Bar was just ahead, so I panicked that she would see me rifling through her things. I stuffed them in roughly and haphazardly and snapped it all closed, innocent enough, I smiled and went inside, blowing warmth into my fist, ready to complete the rescue.
Chloe was standing in the doorway, leaning with her thick arm against the old, empty pay phone cover, a heavy wool coat d****d on her free arm. Her hair was shorter than her picture and she looked even heavier in person. There must have been 220 pounds of her filling the impressive scoop neck mini dress; designer, for sure, but odd for the cold season. Her Irish skin looked supple and delicate and well preserved. What curves this woman possessed. Amazing cleavage led down to ample breasts that over filled the little blue, tight fitting outfit. For a larger woman, she was gorgeous. Earnestly attractive skin painted in rich freckles that closely matched the color of her hair. Her nails were pristinely unspoiled and her wide smile was framed in bright glossy red. So this is what they call a cinnamon girl, I thought in a devious manner, my inner lesbian was peeking out. Chloe? I exclaimed wagging the wallet in the air. She hopped over to meet me and hugged me, her enormous breasts squished against mine. “Thank you so much. Oh how can I thank you?” She released me from her grip and kissed my cheek, clutching her wallet. I refrained from kissing her back though her aroma compelled me; she smelled of sweet peppermint. “It’s nice to meet you, Cassie!” She said, stirring my sap with her deep blue eyes. Chloe had a secret I needed to learn, but what was it? Something special, something was incredibly sexy about this woman. I gawked at her outrageous dress. Then, I did something I could not believe. I gently placed my left hand on her exceedingly freckled shoulder as we turned to get a seat; sort of nudging her in the right direction. This was abnormal behavior for me. I’m standoffish. I rarely put myself out to touch others, never mind perfect strangers. But she compelled me. It was essential, a mandate that I touch her milky, flecked skin at that very moment. “Let’s eat.” Chloe said with a scheming grin as we followed the hostess. I smiled at the strange double entendre that bounced up and hit me in the face, square. My God, a week ago I would never have flirted with another woman. How things have change.
Lunch at the Wine Bar was exceptional; Chloe was right. We even indulged by sharing a cheesecake pudding, smothered in strawberry, lathered in flogged cream. During lunch our conversation never slowed. Not once did we experience the typical awkward pause. Chloe and I discovered much in common, including our years of loneliness spent in a bad marriage. The only difference, Chloe’s bad marriage is still haunting her. She said they are together for the k**s. I could relate, although I never had c***dren, I could relate to that level of love and commitment. She was a good person, surprisingly wholesome, sweet, interesting, and shrewd. As the bill came and Chloe paid, she turned to me, held my hand with her perfectly tender, manicured fingers and gently whispered “You know I believe there is a reason for everything. And perhaps I lost my wallet so that we could meet.” I gave her an accepting smile as we stepped into the blast of cold New England air, which was holding Market Square hostage. Well-fed and curious about each other, we walked along the striking and historic streets of Portsmouth, our faces freezing. Talking and jesting and nudging one another with our woolen elbows, serving as exclamation points in our conversation.


Chapter 7: Bow Street
Her SUV was across from the first church, a good half mile from mine. “I’ll drive you to your car.” She insisted. I gratefully accepted. We wound through Portsmouth’s extraordinarily charming streets and turned onto Bow Street, a short one way, cut-through that is easy to miss. Bow Street is a unique C curve road that slightly climes one of Portsmouth’s few hills. Protected on the left by a long, elevated cement privacy wall covered with ivory overgrowth that guards a private parking area and a timeworn cemetery, its narrowness and the sharp bend to the road offers no clear view ahead. Chloe pulled to the side, behind my car and up to an expired up to a meter, in tight to the edge of the road. We sat in silence for the first time, warming our digits with dashboard heat. Chloe leaned forward, wiggling her weight left and right, and pulled with quite an effort to free herself from her thick winter coat. As she sat there behind the wheel her scoop neck began working on me again.