I’d seen her sometimes in the supermarket, and my Mom had once pointed her out as the wife of one of the directors at the company for which my Dad worked as a storeman. Although I guessed that she was in her late forties or so, I found my admiring gaze drawn to her each time.

I was twenty years old and, due to my shyness, was still a virgin, though I didn’t admit it to my friends. To a twenty-year old virgin, she was intriguing and arousing: she oozed class, but with a hint of teasing, she was more than twice my age and, as if that were not enough, she was married. I sometimes fantasised about her. I wondered how many times she had had sex. I knew how many times I had done so.

She was slim, well-toned, and although she was of average height her slim build made her legs look long. Her breasts were ripe, and jigged alluringly but subtly as she walked. I wondered whether in fact she selected her bra to

allow for some movement, though. It was appealing to think that she dressed to catch men’s attention, however unlikely it seemed, given the classiness that she exuded. Her dress sense spoke rather of a woman who was confident in herself – and in her appearance.

Her clothes looked well-tailored and expensive. Usually was wearing a business outfit. Sometimes she wore a silky shirt under her jacket. If wearing trousers, they were close-fitting, emphasising her long-looking legs. If wearing a skirt, it was usually modest in length – knee-length or just an inch or two above it – but often with a teasing split in the back or side, offering tantalising slight glimpses of thigh. Her auburn hair was short, and, like her glasses, enhanced her confident and elegant appearance.

On the fateful day, I was walking home from playing pool with my friends, and spotted her as I cut across the supermarket car park. She was pushing a trolley full of groceries. Her legs looked shapely in a sheer film of tan-coloured nylon; in my imagination she was wearing stockings rather than tights, though I knew this was highly unlikely. Her skirt reached mid-way down her thighs, and its hem flicked enticingly against their backs as she walked. Her heels were high, causing her hips and shapely bottom to roll in a way that drew my eye – and, I noticed, the eyes of some other blokes, too. Her pin-stripe jacket fitted her closely, and looked smart.

She was about ten yards ahead of me, and I slowed down to match my pace with hers. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that no cars were approaching as she moved between two lines of parked cars. I avoided her eyes and pretended to look at my watch. I blushed slightly, suspecting that she may have noticed that I was eyeing her up.

I hoped her car was be parked on the far side of the car park, to prolong my view of her, but all too soon she stopped by the a large, black 4x4. I speeded up slightly, trying not to make it obvious. As she opened the truck, her skirt rode up a few inches; despite my sense of shame I couldn’t resist checking out the sight.

I was just a few yards from this classy, sexy woman. My heart was beating more quickly and I felt a bulging in my shorts. She seemed to be messing about with one of the carrier bags, and, as she lifted it, one of the handles must have snapped. The contents fell to the ground. A bag of sugar and a bag

of flour burst and shed their contents. A cabbage rolled away and under an adjacent car.

“Oh, shit!”

The expletive shocked and excited me. Although I didn’t know her, it seemed at odds with her classiness, and, in my imagination, it hinted at another, less lady-like side to her. She squatted on her haunches to pick up some of the items. Her skirt rode up her nylon-clad thighs. To my shock – and delight – I saw a darker band just below her skirt hem, and realised immediately that she was indeed wearing stockings and not tights.

I gave a low cough to avoid startling her, and tried hard to avert my eyes from her well-toned thighs and stockingtops.

“Can ... can I help you?” I offered.

She looked up and smiled.

“Thank you. That’s very kind.”

She smiled at me. Her eyes were brown. Shyness at having eye contact with me made me look down at the ground – though I couldn’t resist glancing at her thighs as I squatted beside her. I’d never seen a woman in stockings for real, and lust grew in me to be beside a woman wearing them – and an older, married woman at that.

I placed my pool cue on the ground and picked up some of the grocery items. I felt hot with desire and embarrassment. Inside her pin-stripe jacket, the top buttons of her blue satin shirt were open, revealing a short, pearl necklace, and I could see the crease between the tops of her mature breasts. Between her throat and cleft her skin was marked with faint lines and wrinkles.

I knelt down and retrieved the cabbage from under the adjacent car. Between us we scooped up the carrier bag from underneath, and lifted it into the trunk of her car. She smiled at me again, and rested her hand on my arm. Although I was sure that it wasn’t intended in that way, it struck me as erotic. I glanced down and my eyes rested on her wedding and engagement rings.

“Thanks again. It was good of you.”

I looked briefly into her smiling eyes, framed by her designer glasses, at her slightly lined face and at her short hair.

“Don’t mention it. It was no trouble,” I replied.

“Whereabouts are you heading? Perhaps I could give you a lift – as a way of thanking you,” she said. Her voice struck me as sexy, but maybe any voice coming from her would have seemed so.

“I ... it’s okay. I ... I don’t mind walking...”

My shyness annoyed me. She smiled again.

“I’d like to give you a lift, at least part way. Where do you live?” she persisted. I smiled shyly and told her the area.

“That’s on my way,” she insisted. “The least I can do for your kindness is to give you a ride part way ... get in.”

I was sure that her double-entendre “give you a ride” was unintentional, but it aroused me. I sat in the passenger seat, and tried, unsuccessfully, not to look at her legs as she got in and sat beside me. Once again, I noticed the darker band of tan just below her retreated skirt hem. She shuffled and eased her skirt hem lower down her thigh to cover it. As she swung to take the seat belt, her jacket gaped open. The tailored fit of her shiny blue shirt partly showed the shape and ample size of her breasts.

The car set off. I tried to keep my eyes ahead, but they did stray to her legs from time to time. She made easy conversation. I explained that I was working as a waiter in the evenings, but hoped to go to college the following year. She asked where my dad worked and nodded when I told her, adding that that was where her husband worked. I thought it nicely modest that she didn’t add that he was one of the company’s directors. She asked me about my pool playing, saying that she quite fancied learning to play to surprise her husband. Her next words, though phrased innocently, sent a shiver of excitement down my spine.

“You don’t fancy giving me a lesson, do you?”

I was taken aback. Married. More than twice my age. Asking me, a total stranger, back to her house. It was ludicrous to think that she might have ulterior motives towards someone like me. If she was toying with me, rather than my imagining it, I was sure that she must be exacting a kind of gentle revenge for my ogling of her. In any case, I feared giving the impression of reading ulterior, and especially sexual, motives into what was surely intended as entirely harmless.

“I, er ... I could do, er, Mrs...” I stuttered.

She laughed softly, but without any hint of unkindness.

“You can call me Wendy. And you’re... ?”

“Daniel.”

“Well, Daniel, I hope I don’t make you nervous. I’m only asking you to give me a pool lesson,” she said reassuringly.

I tried to regain my composure.

“No. I ... I’m just a shy bloke, that’s all, er ... Wendy.”

I glanced at her hand on the steering wheel, and briefly focused on her wedding ring and flashy engagement ring. Using her first name made me blush, given that we had only just met, and given our wide age difference and her married status.

“You’ll give me a lesson, then, Daniel?”

“Okay. I just can’t help noticing – Wendy...”

Again, the use of her first name sent a tingle of excitement down my spine.

“ ... I mean, you’re married, aren’t you? It might not look good if...”

She laughed softly again.

“My husband’s working away this week. He has a lot of business trips. He loves playing pool with his mates and ... I feel a bit left out sometimes...”

Her voice trailed off wistfully. I couldn’t help wondering whether her tone of voice was slightly contrived, to be honest.

“I reckon he’d be surprised – and delighted – if I could have a game of pool with him!” she enthused.

It seemed pathetic to find further excuses. Besides, I was finding it arousing to be alone with her, and the thought of being with her longer was very appealing. On the other hand, I was afraid of making a fool of myself. I was already half-hard, and feared that she would notice. And if – far-fetched as the thought appeared – if, by the remotest possibility she was to make a move, however slight, I dreaded revealing my lack of experience.

I forced a smile.

“Sure. Yes, yes if you like ... Wendy...” I faltered.

As we drove along the road that almost passed my house, I hoped nobody would see me who knew me. Meanwhile, however, although she didn’t speak non-stop, Wendy made a fair bit of light conversation. I enjoyed the sound of her voice, and enjoyed shooting secret glances at her legs and breasts.

We entered the wealthier end of town, and I looked enviously at the immaculate, detached houses and well-tended lawns and gardens. After a few more minutes and a few turns she slowed the car down and pulled onto a driveway in front of a double garage.

I got out of the car, feeling excited and nervous, and held my pool cue across my groin to hide the bulge in my jeans. She slid out of the car and I followed her to the front door, trying in vain not to watch the mesmerising sway of her hips and flicking of her skirt hem.

We walked down the hall. I glanced into the open doorway of the lounge, and noticed the quality carpet and expensive-looking suite and display cabinet. We passed the dining room, similarly affluently furnished, and she led me into a games room off the kitchen.

As well as a high-quality pool table and lighting, there was a refrigerator, a long, low, leather sofa, and a small table made of some exotic wood, maybe teak. Wendy slid off her pin-stripe jacket, and draped it over the arm of the sofa. I glanced furtively at her breasts. Her blue satin blouse shimmered. It fitted her enticingly, neither clinging to her nor quite hanging loosely either. The size and shape of her ample breasts were discernible rather than obvious.

She looked me in the eye and smiled. Her lips were painted red, and her brown eyes looked kindly through her glasses.

“Would you like a beer or something, Daniel?”

“Thanks. A beer would be nice, thanks ... Wendy.”She kicked off her shoes and walked into the kitchen. Her bum was nicely rounded under her plain black skirt, and the subtle slit in the back gave a tempting glimpse of her lower thigh.

She arrived back a few moments later with an open bottle of Budweiser and a glass upturned over the neck. She passed it to me, and I took it from her hand. Again, my eye rested briefly on her wedding ring and at the large diamond of her engagement ring. A shudder of excitement and guilt ran through me at the evident reminder that I was alone with another man’s wife. She had a glass of red wine in her hand. I thanked her and placed the beer on the small table.”I know you may prefer to drink it from the bottle, but I thought I’d give you a glass in case, hun.”

HUN! I could hardly believe my ears. Surely this couldn’t be innocent speech – could it? – I wondered, yet her face betrayed no emotion. Either she was naïvely unaware of the effect she was having on me, or she was teasing me, I decided. The possibility that she was genuinely flirting with me seemed too far-fetched to consider.

I set up the fifteen balls on the table and unpacked my cue. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her run her slender finger around the rim of her glass. It seemed oddly erotic. I glanced at her face, her slightly lined throat, and at the rise and fall of her ripe breasts under her satin shirt. I was about to demonstrate how to hold the cue and how to angle it for the break.

“Whoa!” she laughed. “You need to explain the rules and what the aim of the game is first!”

I tried to make myself speak slowly, anxious that my voice and speech didn’t betray my excitement and nervousness. She nodded her head intelligently as I explained.