Chapter 2

“Unhook me please, David.”

~ ~ ~

That’s what Carole Wilson, my best friend Richie’s mother, said to me, after we’d kissed and walked hand-in-hand up to her bedroom where she took my shirt off and kissed up and down my chest and then kneeled on the bedroom carpet and guided my slacks and shorts down until they were lying on the bedroom floor.

I moved up behind her ‘til we were practically touching. I put my hands on her shoulders and I leaned forward and I kissed her.

And that was it. Somehow, to me, that was the commitment. When I kissed Carole’s shoulders, that was my promise. To her. That things are different now. That we’re going to be... together.

So with fingers that were amazingly calm, I unhooked the tiny clasp at the neckline of her blouse. As soon as she felt the hook release she lifted her arms. An invitation. I reached down to her waist and carefully untucked her blouse from the turquoise skirt, then slowly lifted the soft, slinky fabric up her and over her arms and laid it over the chair arm where she’d placed my shirt.

I put my arms around her, and I leaned forward and I kissed her. Her skin was soft, and beautiful, with a spray of little freckles across her shoulders. And she was the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen.

And I knew that Carole Wilson and I are going to have sex. We’re going to make love. We’re going to fuck.

I’ve had some sexual experience. In high school I’d made out with a few girls but never really had anything you could really call sex. This past year at college I had sex with two girls. One made it clear that it was a strictly casual thing and that it was just for fun for a little while. The other one was more like a relationship. We dated for maybe three months, and I cared about her and I think she cared about me. But three weeks before the end of the semester she told me that she was transferring to another school next year. We didn’t have the kind of relationship that could survive a separation like that so we smiled and said good-bye to each other.

So yeah, I’ve had some experience so I’m not a total novice in bed.

But the other thing is, I wasn’t worried. Because somehow I knew that I’d be good – good for Carole. I knew, because for years Carole Wilson – Richie’s mom – had taught me about how to treat girls, and, eventually, women.

And now, this woman.

So, no – on the brink of what would probably be the most important sex of my life so far – and maybe the most important ever – I wasn’t the least bit worried.

I reached around Carole. I put my hands under her breasts and just held them there, let their weight rest in my hands. There weren’t large, but they were perfect for her body, and they were perfectly ... breast-shaped. And as I held them I could feel the nipples getting hard – harder. I ran my fingers over them – not squeezing, not pinching, not twisting – just touching them. But I felt Carole shiver when my fingers ran touched them.

I slid my hands down ‘til they reached the waistband of her skirt. A simple flip of the polished brass clasp and I felt the skirt loosen. I grasped it and slid it down, to where Carole could step out of it. Like I had done with her blouse, I picked it up and draped it over the chair.

And that left me standing there, my arms around the lovely woman, my bare body pressed against her almost-bare body. She was wearing panties, but just barely. Two tiny triangles of red silk joined by red silken cords on each side. And I knew from the lessons Carole had taught me over the years that girls – women – appreciate a boy – and man – who takes the time to enjoy what’s there.

And that’s what I did. I enjoyed what the gods were giving me, right now. A very pretty woman, looking probably a lot like she did when she first entered college, with incredibly soft skin that is smoother than the fine silk of the expensive panties that now highlight rather than conceal her intimate parts, and her hair that’s the color of wheat in the autumn sunshine and smells of cinnamon, or peach, or perhaps both. And there’s no need for me to remove those fine panties from her.

Yet.

She slowly disengaged from my arms and turned around and put her arms softly around my neck and pulled my head down to her, and she kissed me, a wonderful, slow, loving kiss.

And somehow then I knew – I didn’t actually think it, but I knew,

“I’m not in love with Carole Wilson...

” ... but I will be...”

“David, take me to bed.”

She took my hand, and together we walked the few steps to her bed. Soon, our bed. She sat down, then scooted over to the center of the bed.

There’s a lovely woman, in bed, and she’s making room for me to join her!

She lifted her hips from the bed, and with her fingers beneath the silk side-cords of her panties, said, “Don’t you want to unwrap me, David?”

And that was so perfect. She was offering me a gift, and those tiny red panties were the wrapping, and she was inviting me to unwrap my gift.

I think I smiled as I kneeled on the bed. I leaned forward and took the silk bands that she was holding out for my excited fingers, and she lifted her hips to emphasize the present she was holding out to me. I peeled the crimson silk over her hips and down her legs, carefully slipping them over each foot.

And there she was. Mrs. Wilson – my friend Richie’s mother – Carole – in all her loveliness, completely naked, inviting me to look at her.

Inviting me to become “her man.”

With her lying there like that I thought that now would be the time for me to fall between her open legs and begin to make love to her pussy. The first girl I dated last year in college taught me that women like a man to “get them ready,” and the very best way to get a girl “ready” is by showing some serious mouth-and-tongue attention to their pussies.

Not Carole, though. Or, at least, not this time.

Instead, she held out both arms to me.

“Fuck me, David – fuck me like you’re my man and I’m your woman. Fuck me like that, David.”

And that might have been the moment when I realized: That Carole Wilson – Mrs. Wilson, Richie’s mother – is the girl – the woman – of my dreams – the woman I hoped I would find one day. I just didn’t realize that that day would come so soon – or that the “girl” of my dreams would be 39.