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“I’d like you to demonstrate exactly what you were doing.” I gawped at her. “Fuck off!” She grabbed a chair, sitting down in front of me, eyes raised in expectation. She leaned forward, one elbow propped on a knee, her face cradled in her hand. “I’m waiting.” I pouted, grimaced, tutted, shook my head, but Lucy just sat there. Locking eyes with her, I spread my legs, lifting my left leg and planting the ball of my foot on her Ikea coffee table, knowing it would annoy her. I slapped the foot down hard on its surface. Lucy didn’t even blink. Damn her, the bitch. I sat forward on the sofa, and leaned back. I began to slowly unbutton my top, just enough to show the swell of my breasts. My hands ran down over my tummy, and then caressed my hips before I ran my fingers up the insides of my thighs, coming to rest either side of my pussy. My left hand began to caress my mound, lightly twirling the pubic hair. The dampness from before was still there, the situation and the way Lucy had. ’ Hardly the way any two people want to thought of, at least to my way of thinking. As I mentioned, she was a local teacher, in her early 50’s, in the final stages of a rather contentious divorce. At five foot seven, she was a shapely, busty, vivacious redhead. As for me, I’m 68, semi-retired, recently widowed, tall, grey haired, and not ready to wander into the sunset years without a fight. After an hour's worth of pleasant conversation, a little off color flirting, followed by her planting a foot in my crotch, a couple of deluxe black-and-blue burgers, and a bottle of red, we decided to call it an evening. I offered to drive her home, which she declined, adding, “You could walk me home if you wish. I live right around the corner.” Little did I know! We got to her front door and I thanked her for a most pleasant evening, suggesting that we make a date for the next weekend. “I’d love that!” she said. I took her face in my hands and gave her what started out as a chaste kiss. I say.
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