The Pastor's Wife
Chapter 1

 

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - 52-year-old Agatha Wilcox takes a week's vacation at the shore and finds herself in a simmering affair with a young lifeguard that lasts the duration. Finding a new appetite for sex she has an affair with her daughter's piano teacher and then her own son. She shares her sexual adventures with her three best friends--all pastor's wives--who are feeling neglected at home. They found a nationwide organization called The Red Panties Society.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   mt/Fa   Fa/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Cheating   Incest   Mother   Son   Daughter   First   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Safe Sex   Clergy   Teacher/Student  

Agatha Wilcox wife of Reverend Phillip Wilcox, having recently celebrated her fifty-first birthday is spending a week at the shore by herself while her husband is attending his annual conference. Still a vibrant, attractive woman Agatha is going through a late mid-life crisis. Sex with her husband is unsatisfying in most cases. She has grown tired of the fishbowl she is forced to live in as a pastor’s wife and is desperately seeking a change in her life. She hopes this week at the beach will give her some clarity as to how she will cope with her demanding role.

Lying on the orange and blue striped beach towel her butt, shoulders back, and legs had molded their impression into the warm sand. Undoing the string of her bra she held her loosened top to her chest and turned to let the sun do some work on her back. The attractive, middle-aged woman wiggled her body, pressing her breasts and pubis while imagining a bas-relief of her frontal features being etched in the sand beneath her towel. Who would consider a pastor’s wife to do this kind of thing?

As the wife of a prominent cleric, Agatha Wilcox lived in a fishbowl where people judged her every move. This week alone for a whole week away from people who expected her actions to be saint-like, would be therapy she desperately needed. Having only been on the beach for an hour lying in the hot sun with the sound of breaking waves was already having the kind of restorative effect that she had craved. Soaking in the sun she listened to the joyful sounds of vacationers and their children being muted by the crashing surf. She was beginning to feel like she was part of something magical. It was a warm detachment from the intensity of her stodgy world.

Though her figure had once been a perfect hourglass two children and the onslaught of middle age thickened it more than she would have preferred. Yet her curves were still flowingly attractive. When she walked on the beach, she was pleased to sense the eyes of leering men gawking at her shapely legs which disappeared beneath the electric blue fabric of her bathing suit, ending in the hidden cleft of her mature bottom that she let sway a bit more than the Mrs. Reverend Phillip Wilcox should have. Though she knew vanity was a sin she had spent enough time through the years modeling in her mirror to know the value her assets garnered in a healthy male’s eyes which at this time felt so much naughtier.

Her opinion of herself was confirmed when, as she walked past the lifeguard tower, one of the guards, a blond, blue-eyed, buff young man smiled and said “Hello.” She laughed out loud when he grinned and held his finger to his ear and his thumb to his mouth in the traditional sign that said, “Call me.” I only wish I could she thought as she walked beyond the tower. There was no doubt in her mind that the young man was ogling her behind which gave her a wicked kind of pleasure. She giggled at the thought of the vibrant young man mentally undressing her, a fifty-year-old woman. From afar everything about her suggested a vibrant, perky young woman, a coed she thought. Laughing at her foolishness she was enjoying her fanciful thoughts.

A closer view of her face of course revealed classic lines with few wrinkles except for the fine crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. Her c-cup breasts were not perky like a coed’s, but they still held themselves at an alluringly acceptable level. Her tummy, although slightly pooched, was toned and firm. A scar on her cheekbone was invisible but when she smiled it formed a dimple. She’d been told by more than one of her husband’s parishioners that the dimple made her appear girlish, Elliot Grinnell for example. He was the man who made the cottage available free of charge. At Fifty-one Agatha was pleased that men still turned their heads to look at her with a certain lust in their eyes when she walked past.

Though she maintained the austere standards of a preacher’s wife Agatha Wilcox was becoming concerned about her increasingly rebellious thoughts. I wonder, she mused, what these people would think if I simply sat up, let my top drop, and bare my breasts. She chuckled at the image of a pastor’s wife waggling her boobs for all to see. Through the years she had fantasized about illicit pleasures with other men, thoughts that had been laced with guilt. Masturbation provided shallow release, but it was never accomplished with peace of mind. “I’m stuck,” she said to herself as she thought unless Phillip undergoes a sexual epiphany what I’ve got is all I can ever expect.

The afternoon sun baked her back and legs, soaking through the thin fabric of her blue bathing suit and toasting her bottom. She wondered if Phillip when he would see her naked at the end of the week would even notice that she had no tan lines on her back. He never notices anything I do to make myself more attractive to him she thought. But I have such a nice body, lamenting the fact that no one else would ever see it.

Resting her chin on the backs of her hands she watched children splashing in the surf, screaming, throwing sand, digging, and making sandcastles. Couples walked on the beach, many together. Her peripheral vision caught a young couple strolling toward her. Shifting her eyes, she noticed the cute brunette woman’s lithe figure and alluring breasts. The man, about six inches taller wearing tight, electric blue Speedo trunks, was bronzed and muscular with six-pack stomach muscles. His hairy, athletic legs flowed to his bulge the sight of which made Agatha tingle between her legs. I should be ashamed of myself.

The couple passed by just above Agatha’s head. His arm was draped over the girl’s shoulder. Unable to stop dwelling on the image of the bulge that was still etching itself on her brain Agatha thought, Lucky girl. She imagined how the package beneath the Speedo would become elongated and rigid as he became sexually excited. Her eyes followed the movement of his tight buns and captured the girl’s bottom, watching as the two swayed side by side. Visualizing their coupling, moving, and wiggling their tight asses to the thrusting of his glistening, rigid shaft plunging and withdrawing in between the girl’s tight young legs.

She thought of her wedding night, her honeymoon. She had been a virgin nervously anticipating what Phillip would do to her. When he finally pushed that formidable giant of a “thing” inside her vagina her fear was confirmed by a sharp pain. But it was quickly replaced with an ecstasy that was certainly more sexual joy than what she had pondered as a high school girl, at the time going steady with the sexually challenged Garven Milroy. Having once handled young Garven’s erect phallus she had been pleased that she had waited until marriage to consummate sex. That was the gift she had given Phillip, the gift of herself in such a joyful and accepting way that made her feel special. When after six strokes, he exploded inside her on their honeymoon night: she was pleased that he cried out so excitedly. But when he rolled off and turned over on his side, going to sleep without so much as a “goodnight,” she felt hurt. For the next ten days, they made love three and four times a day. Each time the newness of having him inside her was thrilling. Each time though he came so quickly that she began feeling a growing lack of fulfillment.

Alone on the crowded beach with her sexual thoughts, Agatha realized a cooling sensation between her legs. Fearing that the wet spot had become so pronounced that someone might be able to notice it shadowing her swimsuit she was troubled though this “condition” should have been blissful. Phillip had always complained about her copious wetness, calling it “off-putting.” But like a rebellious, naughty girl who liked to pee her pants, she enjoyed the feeling.

After leaving the beach she went back to the cottage, showered, and read a few chapters in her book. At 7:10 she was seated at the railing of an outdoor restaurant by the boardwalk. The sun was on its downward arc. Since her skin was tingling from overexposure to the afternoon sun she was pleased to be in the coolness of the shadows. Dressed in white Capri’s, a low-cut white and blue, striped T-top that showed a demure offering of her sun-coppered cleavage, she was relaxed. Her auburn ponytail hung through the hole of her dark blue baseball cap. Blue canvas wedges on her bare feet completed her outfit, its hue drawing out the indigo color of her eyes. Her full lips were elegantly colored by lightly applied coral lipstick.

As she took another sip from the sweat-beaded glass of chardonnay she heard, “Excuse me.” It was a young male voice. Certain it wasn’t for her ears she didn’t look in the direction from where the voice came. “Excuse me, ma’am,” the voice came through more loudly.

Looking across the railing she saw a gorgeous young man. No more than a few feet away his fit and muscular body of about six feet appeared darkly bronzed. He wore blue boxer swim trunks and a blue tank top, both with red trim, both with lifeguard insignias. His clear, cerulean eyes gleamed below a mop of curly blonde hair. His white teeth seemed to sparkle in the waning sun. She realized that it was the same young man from the lifeguard tower who had signaled with his thumb and pinkie finger, “Call me.”

“I hope you don’t mind Ma’am,” he said, “but I’ve been watching you all day. If you, do I apologize.” Without smiling, Agatha raised her eyebrows. “You look just like my aunt,” he went on, “my mom’s younger sister. I ... I couldn’t keep from looking at you ... to make sure you weren’t my Aunt Carol.”

What a line she thought, trying not to be obvious that she was scanning his body. “And just how old IS your mother’s sister?”

“38,” the young man replied. “It’s wild how much you look like her.”

Wanting to look like she was only 38 she blushed. She knew he was just being kind. She smiled, causing the fine lines of her crow’s feet to crinkle the corners of her eyes. “Well young man,” Agatha said, “that’s quite a compliment.” Holding him in her gaze she smiled almost laughing at the impossibility of such a fantasy. “Ahem,” she emphasized, “I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“Wow,” he replied, “you’d never know it. You look much younger ... like my aunt Carol.” Seeing that she was blushing he said, “I-I’m sorry ma’am, I guess I’m kind of a dweeb when I talk to girls. I’m sorry.” He backed up as if to leave.

He was so young and so incredibly sweet; his words made her tingle even though she considered them naively insincere. It had been so long since Agatha had flirted that she felt unsure of herself. “Don’t be sorry for the compliment,” she said. “You’re sweet.” Cocking her head, she grinned and asked, “And um may I ask just how OLD you are?”

Shuffling his feet the young man said, “I, I’ll be nineteen in October ma’am.”

Nineteen, she thought, just a year older than Malcolm (her son). “May I know your name?”

“ ... name’s Bart ma’am.” Chucking she extended her hand, feeling more at ease. “I’m pleased to meet you, Bart. I’m Agatha Wilcox.” The young man took her hand and shook it. Smiling, he looked around as if he were trying to find somebody. “Am I holding you up, Bart?”

“Nah, it’s nothing like that Mrs. Wilcox.” She corrected him to call her Agatha. “It’s just that I was looking to see if my buddies were around. I guess I ... I must have acted kind of rude.”

“Oh, if they’re expecting you, go on. I understand.”

“I, I’m sorry Mrs. I mean Agatha. I pointed you out on the beach to them ... told them how much you looked like my aunt ... thought, if they were around, I wanted them to let them get a closer look.” With a foolish smile, he blushed and said, “Is that dumb, or what?”

Feeling a small thrill in the pit of her stomach Agatha’s cheeks tinged a deeper pink. The young man wants to prove to his friends what an attractive woman I am. What an incredible breath of fresh air THAT is. She giggled and said, “So Bart, where ARE your friends?”

“Dunno Mrs. um ... Agatha, they could be along anytime soon; or they stopped somewhere or met some girls. Ya know how it is with guys in college.” His smile was disarming.

Yes, she thought, Malcolm’s just starting his freshman year. Charmed with Bart’s youthful enthusiasm, his lack of sophistication, and his proximity to the age of her son she coughed, trying the ruse of covering her mouth to hide her flushed face. Feeling like a young girl she giggled but felt the need to dismiss him. “Go on Bart, go on and find your friends. You have better things to do.”

“N ... No. What I’m trying to say Mrs ... Agatha is It’s good for a change to be away from them. I’m kind of a loner. I just thought they would get a kick out of seeing what a knockout my aunt is, is all.” His face reddened again. “I mean...”

She was thrilled with his compliments but felt guilty that she was flirting with such a youngster. My, my, my, she thought, if I were only 30 years younger. At the same time, she didn’t want him to leave. “You seem quite taken with your aunt Bart. How much older is she than you?” He had already told her that she was thirty-eight, twelve years younger than Agatha. But just for fun, she wanted to extend the conversation.

“Nineteen years,” he volunteered, a wave of prideful pleasure rippling over his face. “She’s an airline flight attendant, still not married. She’s hot. I mean...”

This is just too silly for me to carry on. “So, Bart, you should probably be looking for greener pastures. You’re young and should be with girls your age.” Chuckling she said, “They’re probably at the same place as your friends.”

Bart smiled and shook his head. “If you wouldn’t mind Mrs ... Agatha I would prefer to stay with you.”

Feeling that she was about to make a complete ass of herself, something he would yuk up with his buddies, she figured what the heck and offered, “If you have nothing else to do, maybe you’d like to keep this old lady company ... for dinner I mean.” She blushed at her faux pas.

His eager response caused her heart to quicken, you silly old fool. “You’re a poor college student Bart so I’m buying.” Shuffling his feet and rocking back and forth the young man’s eyes penetrated hers as if to say, ‘I don’t want you to do that,’ she thought that’s a nice traitjust the way I would like Malcolm to act.

“Are you sure Agatha?” he asked. “Are you sure that you would want to spend time with a kid like me?”

Not giving a verbal reply she looked at him with a compelling gaze. The dimple in her cheek deepened when she heard him say, “Sure Agatha, I’d love to.” Like the brash young man, he was he didn’t bother with the door, merely vaulting the railing and sitting down.

Embarrassed by his impulsive act Agatha looked around. Seeing the stares from a group of single older women she shrugged her shoulders at them saying loudly enough for them to hear, “I should teach my son better manners than that.”

They talked about Bart’s family, his studies in college, a girlfriend.

“I date. Agatha but haven’t hooked up seriously.”

When he asked about her family, he was shocked when she said her husband was the pastor of a church. “Ya mean you’re religious, like one of those holy rollers.

“My goodness no Bart,” she laughed, “We’re not Holy Rollers. Those folks are extremely conservative. We’re Methodists who are moderate. I can’t help but live a spiritual life.” She caught Bart’s look of avoidance. “As the wife of a Pastor, I certainly support my husband. Besides Bart, I’m a woman of faith as well and would be regardless of whatever my husband’s profession would be.” She looked resolutely at Bart for emphasis. “But I’m a human being as well Bart; make no mistake about that ... probably just as much a human being as your aunt.” As she tried to imagine what a thirty-eight-year-old flight attendant might be doing she blushed. Catching herself she said, “Oh Bart I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned your aunt.”

With a broad smile, Bart replied, “Don’t worry about that Agatha, Aunt Carol wouldn’t mind. I GUARANTEE you.” With a wink, he added, “There’s no question about Aunt Carol human being.” His face turned crimson. “I’m sorry Agatha, I, I didn’t mean...”

Even though a bit shocked at what Bart might have been suggesting she held up her hand and said, “Don’t worry Bart. I have a son your age, I understand.” She asked the young man if he liked being a lifeguard. He told her it was an easy life, “sometimes kind of boring, other times exciting, particularly when I get to make a rescue.”

“I bet girls make themselves available to you,” she said, wishing she hadn’t. At the same time, she couldn’t explain why though she was glad she did.

“Yeah,” he said, “that’s one of the perks.” His eyes came back to Agatha’s. “You know what though?” She bit on the question. “You wouldn’t believe the number of older women who come onto me.”

Startled at what he said Agatha didn’t know what to do with her hands. She wiped them on her napkin and then brought them to her lips, dabbing at the corners. Putting them into her lap she looked away and said, “I’m sorry Bart, I was being nosy. I don’t know what got into me.” An awkward quietness caused them to look out at people passing on the boardwalk. As Agatha sipped defensively on her chardonnay and Bart sipped on his coke each scanned the restaurant while continuing to avoid the other’s eyes.

She started when Bart asked, “Aggie?” Her eyes snapped to his. “Does your husband call you Aggie?”

The question caught her off guard. “Nobody has EVER called me Aggie Bart; I’ve always just been called Agatha.”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you just don’t look and act like an AGATHA. She looked at him askance. “To me, you look like an Aggie. I would think EVERYONE would want to call you Aggie.”

With an amused smile, she asked, “And just what makes you think of me as an Aggie, Bart?”

“From what I have seen so far you love life. You have a wonderful sense of humor, and you seem an adventurer. To me, that’s an Aggie. I would like to call you Aggie if you don’t mind.”

I should extricate myself from this young man’s presence she thought. But she was thrilled with his assessment. She was enjoying the harmless flirtation. As she smiled broadly, she felt her heart beating on her lips. “To be honest Bart, being called ANYTHING but Agatha seems strange to me. But just for fun, I’ll try it on for a bit.” He’ll be gone soon enough anyway.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Aggie?”

Being a pastor’s wife never allowed her to be completely honest with any of her husband’s parishioners. Most of them didn’t want honesty. They just wanted her to act like a holy woman. The only opinions they wanted from her were good ones. Impressed with the mature way the young man was handling himself and the fact that she’d been having such a refreshingly wonderful time she decided to be daring. “Feel free to ask any question you like Bart. Whatever it is I’ll try to give you an honest answer, as long as your question is not inappropriate.”

Through his intense gaze, she could see his Adam’s apple moving like he was silently clearing his throat. Cocking his head, he asked, “Can a minister and his wife have sex like ordinary people?”

The question hit her in two places, like a punch in the stomach and a knock on her funny bone. As she struggled to catch her breath she thought, my word he must not consider this question inappropriate. She wondered if Malcolm would ask such a question of a woman of her age. With a feigned laugh, she said, “We ... he ... I have two children Bart.” She could never understand why people had the impression that ministers and their wives didn’t have sex.

Bart’s face reddened but he pressed on, “I-I’m not talking about biology Aggie.”

This youngster wants to know if the good Reverend and his wife frolic in bed. At the same time, she found it refreshing to be with someone—young or old—who was willing to treat her like a normal human being. “My goodness Bart, I didn’t expect your question to be THAT personal.”

His eyes never wavered. “But Aggie, you said you would answer ANY question.”

“If it were appropriate is what I said, young man.”

“Why would you consider it inappropriate Aggie? Youth wants to know, ya know?”

Though she admired the young man’s candor she was intimidated by his line of questioning. At the same time, it was all she could do to keep from giggling. Besides, there had been no one she had been comfortable confiding her frustrations to. “But do you think it is an APPROPRIATE question, Bart?” It was as if she was having a conversation with her son Malcolm fencing with him about not remembering that he was a Wilcox. But she didn’t have to worry about being a parent to Bart. And he was treating her like they were on an equal plane. When have I ever had a confidant?

Realizing he was more mature than his years she took the chance. “I’m sorry Bart,” she answered, “the question just caught me off-guard. Not accustomed to this kind of directness from someone so young she glanced to the side and brushed back her hair with her palm.

Recognizing her discomfort Bart said, “Maybe I AM being off base, Aggie. Maybe we should talk about something else.”

She silenced him by reaching over and touching his lips with her finger. “You’re asking me Bart if my husband and I ENJOY...” She could finish the sentence.

“Sleeping together,” Bart offered.

“But you were referring to more than sleeping, right?” He nodded, his eyes piercing hers.

“Goodness Bart.” Lost as to what to do with her hands she lifted her glass, laid it down, fumbled with her napkin then wiped the residue of palm-dampness on her thighs and finally folded them back in her lap. “I’ve never talked with ­ like this before to be perfectly honest with you.”

Nibbling on her lower lip she looked away. There were so many things she wanted to know about this boy. She thought of her son Malcolm, a young man the same age as Bart. But in her mind, he was nowhere near as sophisticated. She considered how inappropriate this conversation could become. But she realized that she was enjoying being “Aggie” with him. How perverted can this be? Surely, I’m misreading him. This is just an innocent conversation.

She wanted to reach across the table and take his hands in hers, like a date. The way he pressed the issue of sex with her husband reminded her of Malcolm’s curiosity. She had tried to broach the subject with her husband, but his closed-mindedness made such a conversation taboo. I could have instructed Malcolm that it was all right to treat a woman romantically. But I was afraid that Phillip might find out and start lecturing me. Focusing on Bart she wanted to answer his question. But she needed time ... time to build a better bridge. Throwing an obstacle in his path she hoped she wouldn’t be sorry.

“Were you bragging when you said that older women made themselves available to you Bart?”

He nibbled on the corner of the nail of his little finger, scraped his tooth below the fingernail, and rubbed the saliva dry with his thumb. Inspecting it he said. “I wanted to see if you were like any of THEM.”

“Like them in what way Bart?”

“They hit on me all the time Aggie. Most of them do it right on the beach. Some of them ask me to come to their rooms. Sometimes they invite me to dinner, just like you have.” He was backtracking when he said, “But you haven’t hit on me.”

“Were you expecting me to?”

“Kind of...” Stopping in mid-sentence he reformed his answer. “I was um kind of HOPING but wasn’t expecting...” With an apologetic smile, he rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.

She was shocked. But she realized her surprise was pleasant. What can this young man not much older than a boy see in a fifty-year-old woman with whom he would want to have sex? At the same time, she sensed a “perverted” thrill. I wonder how many women he’s done it with if he isn’t BSing me. He’s such a BABY.

“Goodness gracious Bart, I-I have never had a conversation like THIS before.” She wondered if Malcolm had sex with girls his age; if so, how many times? She tried to put it in perspective. I’ve been married for twenty-five years and have had sex with only one man. I fondled Garven’s penis once when we were in high school but that all seemed so innocent. She felt a surge in the dewy moisture between her legs. Guilt overwhelmed her. I’m a sick person to even think of lusting after this young man. She knew she had to extricate herself from this conversation. I’m a pastor’s wife! But she couldn’t stop the question, “Are you disappointed that I haven’t uh, hit on you, Bart?”

With his head cocked to the right he was silent for what seemed a long time, “No Aggie,” he said with doe eyes...” actually, I’m glad you didn’t.”

She was afraid that he said that to make an easier to escape. He knows I am too old. Twisting the thin gold chain of her bracelet she was afraid their conversation was ending. Feeling compelled to forge ahead she said, “Why is that, Bart?”

He did the nail thing again with his teeth then put his hand on his knee. The muscles of his jaw rippled. He exhaled then captured a piece of his lower lip between his teeth. Thinking that he was struggling for the right words she was afraid he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But he surprised her when he said, “Those women are sad and desperate Aggie. They make me feel cheap like I am a ... a GIGOLO.”

Feeling that she had been given a reprieve she asked, “And you don’t like them hitting on you?” The term ‘hitting on’ seemed strange coming from her mouth.

Lowering his eyes Bart cleared his throat. It seemed to Agatha that he might be embarrassed. His answer surprised her. “A young guy like me would be CRAZY to say that he wasn’t turned on by a woman, particularly an attractive woman who was hitting on him. Fidgeting with his hands he said with a sheepish look, “I-I love that they WANT me, Aggie. I love WHAT they want from me and...” He cleared his throat, “I love DOING it but...” He blushed. “Geez Aggie, lots of guys would fight me to be in line for women who throw themselves at them the way they do me.” Embracing himself with his arms he rocked back and forth a couple of times before going on. “But mostly, I don’t WANT to be with them for long.”

She noticed the childlike relief that crossed his face. It reminded her of the way Malcolm looked when he thought he was in trouble but found out he wasn’t.

“You’re so pretty and nice Aggie. I just didn’t want you to be that kind of SLEAZY woman.”

She had read enough romance novels to recognize that the subject was fanning her libido. But it seemed strange to her that she was being turned on by the fact that this young man might have been having sexual encounters with older women. But is he telling the truth? Or is this just youthful braggadocio? She knew that she wasn’t desperate enough to be blatantly seduced by a young man not much more than a boy. To lower herself in that way would be unbelievable. However, being pursued by a young man the age of her son... Desperate, she thought, can I be THAT kind of woman?

As the young man’s eyes delved into Aggie’s indigo pools her thoughts both shocked and thrilled her. What shocked her more were the thoughts that had been going through her mind, the same kind of thoughts she had when seeing an attractive man in the supermarket, I’d go down on your cock if I could she thought with astounding guilt. The vision of that man along with her thoughts emboldened her. “So, Bart, what is it that you would like this Aggie woman to be?”

He pondered her question for a moment then said, “When I saw you on the beach Aggie, you reminded me of my cousin. I wasn’t bs-ing you about that. I even mentioned the resemblance to my partner on the tower. I fantasized that you would hit on me all day. But I didn’t expect it, not from a woman like you. When I saw you sitting here alone, I just had to come over. I wanted to see you closer, to talk with you.” He shrugged his shoulders, “I never expected that we would be eating together. And...”

“Yes?”

“It’s the weirdest thing Aggie but this feels like we are actually on a date. Crazy, huh?”

Yes, she thought, crazy indeed. What was crazier though was that she wanted to do more than just sit there with him. Chuckling, she reached over and put her hand on his, squeezing it. “Yes Bart, it IS crazy. And if I were the kind of older woman, you have experienced I would, as you say, probably have hit on you.”

“But you haven’t hit on me Aggie; you’re not like those other women at all. You’re uh ... CLASSY.”

Blushing she thought Classy huh? I just want you to fuck my brains out; that’s how classy this prim and proper pastor’s wife is young man.

Noticing the redness rising in her face Bart put his hand over Agatha’s and squeezed it. Searching her eyes, he said. “I’m sorry I’ve embarrassed you, Aggie. I wish I hadn’t said anything to you about those women. It makes me look like a pervert.”

“I didn’t think that Bart. I’m a grown woman who knows it’s not unusual for young men to sow wild oats.” Do I think that way? Am I allowed to? I’m sure Phillip would go nuts if he knew I was thinking this way and talking with this um boy like this. Reaching across the table she brushed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I have a son your age, Bart. I don’t know whether he’s sowing his wild oats, so to speak, or not but (God help me for saying this) I hope he is. And if he, is I just hope he doesn’t get some girl into trouble or contract an STD.”

Thinking about her husband’s sexual ineptitude she considered how she had originally thought they would learn sex together. She remembered how bitterly disappointing it was to her when he didn’t seem to care. If an older woman had seduced Phillip, maybe he would have looked at sex differently. If Malcolm could be seduced by an older woman, his wife won’t suffer the disappointment I have. She was shocked at what crossed her mind next, Maybe I could be that woman, and blushed at the thought while castigating herself. But knowing she wanted to understand what THAT kind of woman could feel she patted Bart’s hand and said, “I’ve never been with a man other than my husband Bart.”

“Aggie,” Bart said, “On the beach, you looked just like my aunt; I wasn’t kidding you about that. I stared at you all day. And I’ve been walking around town hoping I would see you. Would you be offended if I told you that I’ve been fantasizing about you since I first saw you?”

Her hair stood up on the back of her neck. “Do you mean...” She couldn’t complete the sentence, nor did Bart, though he was discreetly nodding his head. What, between her legs had previously felt dewy, now felt like a flood. As the young man’s eyes were holding her captive, she silently exhaled a long breath through her nostrils. Not believing the words that came out of her mouth she said, “So Bart, what are we going to do about this situation?”

Chapter 2 »

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