"I am not going to apologize." He was adamant. He refused to apologize. She was not going to convince him that he owed Patsy an apology, neither was he was going to tell her what really happened. She might explode.

"Dad, just call her, alright? She wants you to call. You do not need to use the word, "apology," but you do need to call her. She said you left, just walked out."

"Oh, alright, Mary Ann, I'll talk to her later, but I'm busy right now." He thought if he offered a good enough excuse to his daughter, she would hang up and leave him alone.

Mary Ann wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily. "Do it now," she said persistently. The exasperation in her voice was over and above the command she was issuing. "It will only take one minute, maybe two, and then you can go back to your whatever."

"Yes, yes, Mary Ann, I will talk to her in a little while. I promise. Is that enough? Can I go back to what I was doing?"

"Yes, Dad," Mary Ann said, finally calming down. "I'm sorry. Thank you. I should have already said that. I'll talk to you later."

Woodson Crossman, or Woody, as most of his friends called him, was busy. He was always busy, or at least he tried to stay that way. When his daughter called, he was trying to finish some research online so he could complete a letter to the editor of the local newspaper. The city workers who collect trash continue to leave his trashcan in the street, causing a hindrance to traffic. When he finished the research, he planned to go back to the woodworking project he started earlier that morning. The bottom fell out of one of the drawers in his kitchen and he was rebuilding the drawer. In addition, he still had some vegetables to gather from his small garden and then he would fix his supper. He wanted to finish the letter after he had eaten.

The vegetables caused the problem. His daughter mentioned that her friend, Patsy, would like some fresh tomatoes. She was tired of the flat tasting ones she buys at the grocery store. Instead of leaving the whole bag of vegetables with his daughter, Woody took half of the tomatoes to Patsy.

Woody was retired, but he was not tired. He was not yet fifty years old. He worked for one company for twenty-five years. He started as a high school student, in the warehouse, and ended up as the Warehouse Manager when he retired. When the recently widowed wife of the owner sold Ceramic Tile Sales and Distribution, Woody took his portion of the employee stock plan in money. He paid off his house and invested the rest, which gave him enough income to do what he wanted, though he didn't consider himself wealthy. However, most of what he wanted to do was putter. That is what his late wife called it. She would tell her friends, "Oh, he's out in his workshop puttering around with something."

Although Woody was still healthy and active, he began to realize something was missing from his life. He knew what it was, but he was not interested in the offers he received from other single people he knew, or met, and he was tired of his friends trying to set him up with another date. Until a little over a year ago, he and his wife had a satisfying life. Their two grown children were leading lives of their own. Woody and Louise had friends, took vacations, shared some household chores, and still enjoyed sex, although not as often as he would have liked to enjoy it.

Louise was beginning to have some problems with menopause. She had recently gained some weight and her sex drive was dwindling. Rapidly. To Woody it was frighteningly rapid. He did not realize her depression was so bad. In fact, no one realized it was that bad, not even her doctor. It was apparent that taking a whole bottle of pills and going to sleep was her solution to the depression.

Woody was still a good-looking man. He was not truly handsome and girls never described him as a hunk. Nevertheless, he was always popular with the ladies. He maintained his weight, stood up straight, and still had most of his hair, but it was about half gray. Oh well, his father was white haired by the time he was fifty, so Woody figured he was ahead of the game. That was the problem, as he saw it. He was healthy, active, no longer needed to work full-time, still had his hair, and was handy around the house. Someone was always calling him for help with a handyman chore. Friends told their friends. Many, or most, of them were women, and he went to their houses to assist with whatever project they had that needed his skills. Those friends, or friends of friends, and other women introduced to him, were the women who wanted him. They cooked lunch or supper and took the food by his house, frequently offering to serve the meal to him. They also invited him to intimate dinners and tried to set him up with dates with their friends. In general, they simply would not leave him alone. Despite all of this attention, Woody didn't want to have anything to do with them. Not a single one. He knew what he wanted, but he also knew he couldn't have it.

Good grief, he had known Patsy all of her life. She and his daughter Mary Ann were inseparable from the day they started school. That's like more than fifteen years ago. When she was eight or nine years old, he fixed her bicycle when she had a flat tire. He drove Patsy and Mary Ann to the movies on Saturday afternoons. He took his own ladder to her house to hang a swing from the big tree in the back yard. She may have been twelve or thirteen years old at the time.

Now that her mother had remarried, moved in with her new husband, and given the old house to Patsy, Woody had been back to that house on other occasions. One day he replaced the doorknob on her bathroom door. He is no longer Mister Crossman, or Uncle Woody, as her mother instructed her to call him when she was a very small child. He is not her uncle. They aren't even related. She is the daughter of his sister-in-law's brother. To Patsy, he has been Woody ever since he helped her build some shelves in the second bedroom, the room she now uses as her office. That was when he explained the reason he was frequently called Uncle Woody. Since then, she has not used the word uncle a single time. However, she is not a little girl any more. She is a woman.

Considering the way she looks now, he definitely could not help notice the transformation from a child into a woman. Patsy is pretty, well somewhat pretty anyway. She has brown eyes, along with short brown hair, which mostly curls, and the most luscious lips he has ever seen. Her bust is a nice size, at least larger than a double handful. Woody found this out when she sort of mashed herself against him while she was holding one of the shelves in place so he could mark where she wanted it. Although she is not particularly tall, she has the longest legs and she wears the shortest shorts that look like she her body was liquid and poured into them.

She does some kind of writing, or editing, maybe the word she used was condensing. She spends hours in her office, her fingers flying over her keyboard at a speed, which amazes Woody. She told him she buys a new keyboard almost every year.

Patsy seldom leaves home, yet she is not particularly a loner. She just seems to prefer her own company. Mary Ann said she has tried to set Patsy up with an occasional date, but Patsy usually turns down Mary Ann's matchmaking efforts. One of the times Patsy gave in, Mary Ann helped her dress for a night on the town. Their preparations included a curling iron, hair spray, and make-up, and finished with Mary Ann lending Patsy a dress. By the time they left Patsy's house, she was wearing high heel shoes, stockings, and looked like a magazine model. Mary Ann said they spent only a few hours in one of the local clubs. The attention Patsy received, from a changing line of men who wanted to buy her a drink or dance with her, frightened her so much she finally pleaded with Mary Ann to take her home.

When Woody took the tomatoes to Patsy, she didn't answer the front door, so he walked around the house, thinking she was in the back. Not finding her there, he knocked on the back door but she still didn't respond. However, he heard a radio playing, and figured she was home, so he simply walked inside and stood in the kitchen for a moment, calling her name. Still no response. Placing the tomatoes on the kitchen cabinet Woody went toward the short hall looking for Patsy. He thought that maybe she was in her office on the left side of the hall and didn't hear him because the radio was playing so loud.

Entering her office, Woody was surprised she wasn't there. He was about to call her again but then turned around when he heard her singing along with the song on the radio. He took a couple of steps and looked into the open door of the bathroom.

Oh! My! God! Patsy was sitting on the bathroom countertop with her feet planted on either side of the sink. A mirror was propped on the opposite side of the sink and she was naked from the waist down. She had a pair of scissors in her hand; using them to trim her pubic hair.

Woody wondering if what he was about to say was very smart, simply asked, "Do you need some help with that?"

Patsy stopped singing and looking up, her mouth half-open, nodded her head.

Well, hell, what was he supposed to do, just stand there? He took a couple of steps forward and held out his hand for the scissors. "Lean back a little," he told her. Wide-eyed, with a shaking hand, she handed him the scissors and did as instructed.

His wife did not trim her hair, at least, not that hair. He did not know if his daughter does, and he sure as hell was not going to ask her. Woody thought the idea was wonderful. At least he thinks that now.

Almost as if he knew what he was doing, he asked humorously, to make light of the situation, "Is this supposed to be a close trim or just cut off some of the length?"

"Cl-close, I think," she answered. "I don't know. I've never..." but she didn't finish her statement, because about that time Woody put his hand on her inner thigh to move her leg so he could get a better view. He heard a low moan and it was apparent Patsy was trying everything she could to suppress it.

After some gentle snips, Woody made sure he did not look up when he mentioned, "I've heard some women shave. Have you ever thought about that?" As he asked the question, he gently ran his finger up between her labia, to check that he had cut all of the hair. Woody thought to himself, she had the sweetest pussy he had ever seen, and wondered what she would taste like. He had only tasted a few in his life, but this one looked very sweet. The lips were tight, close together, and very warm to the touch. They were also slightly pink and swollen, showing Patsy was feeling some kind of arousal.

Patsy grabbed Woody's wrist and said, "Oh please, please, Woody..." She shuddered, took a deep breath, leaned forward, and put her thighs together, trapping his hand.

The scissors clattered to the sink, Woody straightened up, and leaned closer to her. He had noticed that she was beginning to breathe faster and he could feel she was getting wetter, but didn't know what to do about it. He could smell the faint musk of her arousal and instead of leaving, as he probably should have done, he put his arm around her and held her.

"It's okay, honey. It's okay," he told her. He may have said several other things, but he really couldn't remember. One thing he does remember though is that she turned her face up to him. When she did that, he gave in to his urges and kissed her. He kissed her very thoroughly. The kiss was not the sweet little kiss he should have given his daughter's best friend. It was a passionate kiss, which she permitted, rather than joined. He knew she liked it because she put her arms around him and opened her mouth for him to explore.

Woody could not resist slipping his finger inside her. He knew she was wet; her sex was swollen and hot. He had already kissed her and he simply could not resist. He was able to hide his growing erection while he was trimming the hair, because he was bending over to see what he was doing. However, when Patsy moved her hips forward, just a little, he inserted his finger inside her and pressed his erection against her hip. Woody held on to her when she shuddered through her climax, squeezing his hand between her legs and throbbing around his finger. It felt like she was sucking his finger farther up into herself. A small trickle of fluid ran down his finger.

He held her for as long as her arms were tight around him. When she opened her legs, to free his hand, he stepped back. Despite a voice ringing in his head, "This is probably a stupid thing to do but I just have to taste this." Woody put his finger in his mouth and closed his eyes, savoring a taste he has missed for many more months than he cares to consider. When he finally opened his eyes, he was pulling his finger out of his mouth and Patsy was watching him. She dropped her eyes to look at the tent at the front of his pants and had a slight worried look on her face as she tried to smile.

Ignoring his thoughts about wanting to pick Patsy up and carry her to the nearest bed, Woody asked, "Is that what you wanted?" Then afraid she would think he was asking about her climax, instead of the length of the hair, he asked, "Do you think it's the right length?" That made it worse if she thought he was talking about the length of his penis. Finally, he simply stated, "I enjoyed that. Let me know when you need it done again. I'll be happy to oblige."

Before he put his foot any deeper in his mouth, Woody turned and walked out of her house, drove home, and stood in the shower for a very long time. With cold water spraying on his back and running down his chest, he thought about Patsy as he masturbated. His erection did not fully subside as he expected because he was still thinking about Patsy, how warm she was in his hand when she trapped it between her thighs. Reliving how he kissed her, and the taste of her on his finger, he added hot water to the spray hitting his back and masturbated again. Finally, he left the shower, dried off, and stretched out on his bed, right under the air conditioning vent, to cool off. He could not remember ever being so aroused, not even when he was just barely old enough to drink. His older brother took him to a strip joint and one of the strippers leaned over to shake her breasts in his face. He proposed to Louise that weekend.

Woody's thoughts did not change. He couldn't stop thinking about Patsy, not even after his daughter's phone call. He was still adamant about not apologizing to Patsy. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing to apologize to her about. Nevertheless, he should have been more considerate. He should have told Patsy how pretty she was and he could have kissed her again. And now, thinking about it, dammit, he should have taken her to bed and made love to her. That's what he really wanted to do, and what he has wanted to do for three whole days, and truthfully, longer than that. Like a teenager, he wished he hadn't washed his hand. He drove all the way home with his hand over his nose and had a dream that night that he could still smell her. When he woke up he was holding his erection and it was throbbing.

So, why wasn't he doing something about it? Because he was aware that he is twenty years older than she is and he does not want to be thought of as a horny old man chasing some young pussy. She is not even twenty-five and he's getting close to fifty, for God's sake. However, he still was not going to call her and apologize. The real problem was that Woody was afraid he would say something dumb if he did try to talk to her and make the whole situation that much worse. (Woody doubts Patsy knew anything about it.) He has never been sure how many of his friends know. He certainly hopes his daughter does not know. And if she doesn't know, Patsy probably doesn't know, either. Louise admitted she told a few of her friends. How many she told, he is not sure, but one was too many. It is possibly one of the reasons all those women wanted him. They may have heard some sort of gossip.

The truth is his penis is big. Not just long, it is also thick. Louise was a virgin when they married and it took more than a week for them to get his whole penis inside her. The first few nights, it was painful for her and uncomfortable for him. Maybe he pushed too hard, and too fast, because he was young, aroused, and in a hurry, and did not know how to make it easy for Louise's body to accept him. She was determined though, because she wanted children. But she was also a very small woman. Now, thinking about it, he cannot forget the look on Patsy's face when she looked down at the front of his pants. He was afraid she had heard some of the gossip.

Young boys are curious and competitive. One incident and his name, Woody, was permanent. To her dying day, his mother called him Woodson. She always called his older brother Richard, but to his friends, he was Dicky, for good reason. When Dicky was in the military and was overseas, he claimed instead of him paying the whores; they wound up paying him. Woody isn't sure he believes his brother, but Dicky swore it was true. Dicky is also on his fourth wife and probably fucking, as often as he can, the one who will be number five.

The situation was not going to resolve itself without some kind of action on his part. After a shower and a shave, and waiting as late as he dared, Woody was on his way to see Patsy. He was as nervous as he was the time he proposed marriage to a woman. What he was going to ask Patsy may not be quite that important, but he hoped he was a little smarter than when he was twenty years old, too. He just hoped he wasn't as tongue tied as he was almost thirty years ago.

When Woody knocked on her front door, Patsy was at the door quickly. Woody assumed she heard his car door close after he pulled into her driveway. Patsy didn't say a word. She took a step back and opened the door wider. Woody opened the storm door and stepped inside, and grasping the doorknob in his hand, quietly closed the door behind him.

"I hope you don't mind, but I thought a visit would be better than a telephone call."

"Oh. Yes, I guess so. May I ... would you like a cup of ... or, maybe, ah, do you want something stronger?"

"Coffee sounds fine, Patsy." At least the ice is broken allowing them to talk to each other without too much embarrassment.

Patsy's hair was damp and she was wearing an oversized t-shirt that reached about half way down her thighs, which probably meant she was getting ready for bed. Looking at her, Woody was not sure what she was wearing underneath the shirt, because the dark blue color was not transparent. She was not wearing a bra that much was obvious, her breasts swayed smoothly when she turned to walk to the kitchen. If his fingers tingled to touch her, he hid it well. Woody leaned against the kitchen cabinet across from where Patsy stood to set up the coffee pot. He crossed one of his ankles over the other and folded his arms across his chest. It was the same place, and the same position, in which he stood several times during the three days he worked on the shelves in her office. He was comfortable in her kitchen. He may have been nervous, but not because he was standing in that room.

When Patsy had the coffee pot filled and turned on, she turned around and leaned against the kitchen counter across from Woody. She wasn't necessarily avoiding looking at him but she did not turn her face away from him either. She was just not looking him in the eye as she had done so easily a few months earlier.

"I wish I had stayed the other day," Woody admitted quietly. She may have nodded, but he is not certain. Her head just went down the one time and then back up. "Patsy, will you come over here and kiss me, or let me kiss you?"

Her voice was very quiet, "Why?"

Trying for a friendly tone and giving a crooked smile, Woody said, "Oh, because I enjoy kissing a pretty woman. Or, because you are willing to show me you aren't angry with me."

Patsy looked up at him. "Oh no, I'm not angry. I thought you might be ... you know ... mad at me for letting you..."

Without saying another word, Woody uncrossed his ankle, and just stood there. He held out his arms to her and, as if Patsy knew exactly what to do, stepped between his legs, putting her arms around his neck. She lifted her face to his, and kissed him. Woody noticed her lips were stiff and tight. He broke the kiss and placed his hand on the back of her head, pushing her to rest against him.

"It's a little difficult to change the way you think about a person, isn't it? I was the father of your friend and now I'm a man. You were my daughter's friend, but now you're a woman. A woman I desire."

Rather than responding, Patsy simply nodded. Much as he told her in the bathroom the other day, Woody said, "Its okay, Honey. It really is okay." He gave little thought to his use of the term of endearment, Honey. However, he couldn't help it because it was how he thought of her. He took a deep breath, tightening his arms around her. "But I did enjoy that. Whew. For several months, I'd been beating myself up for the feelings I was having. The chance to touch you like that was more than I could resist. If I offended you, I am sorry. Honey, I am not sorry for a single thing I did. I enjoyed it and wouldn't trade it for anything in the world."

"Why didn't you stay? I mean ... I would have ... maybe."

"Yeah, maybe ... and I guess I left for the same reason. That's why it took me so long to come back over here. I was afraid. I probably still am, but I was too interested in you to stay away."

"I thought it was ... you know, just me. I mean ... I shouldn't want ... well, not my friend's..." As if a switch turned on inside her head, Patsy stepped back and said, "I'll pour the coffee."

Woody reached for her as she backed up. He put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head. "Maybe later, right now, I want something else."

"Oh? What?" Her question was so innocent, for a moment, Woody did not know if he would tell her the truth.

"You."

Patsy took another step back, ending up against the opposite counter top, which was not quite as far away as she expected. A slight surprise showed on her face as she put her hands behind her to touch the cabinet top. The movement of her arms stretched the t-shirt across her breasts, unintentionally showing Woody that her nipples were hard and prominently pressing against her shirt. He didn't have to see those nipples because had already felt them against his chest when he was holding her.

She had not rejected him, but neither had she accepted him. She tried to smile, but only managed a nervous quiver of her lips.

"Does that bother you?" Woody asked, wondering if she said no, how much farther he would go in pursuing her.

Patsy shook her head, but said nothing. "I want you now, Patsy. Do you understand that?"

"Alright, yes, okay ... I want you, too. I wanted to tell you, but ... I'm not sure I can..." Patsy did not finish her sentence, because she looked down at the crotch of his pants.

"Damn." Woody muttered under his breath. "Who told you?" Maybe he should have asked a little more pleasantly, but if Patsy knew something, she heard it from another woman. A man would not say anything to a young woman like her, at least none of the men who might know the actual truth.

"I heard Mother and Aunt Jean talking." She lifted her face to look at him but she was still not comfortable looking him in the eye. "It was a few months after your wife ... It was about ... about who would ... the woman that would get you ... next. It was like ... it was a contest. You know ... the winner was going to..." She looked away from him, still embarrassed.

Woody turned around, braced his hands on the countertop behind him, and laughed. He tried to suppress the laughter but was unsuccessful. Then he groaned, long and low, almost a growl. Patsy stepped over to him placing one hand on his back. To her surprise, he turned, put his hands under her arms, and quickly lifted Patsy up to sit on the counter. Though Woody doesn't consider himself a strong man, he noticed that Patsy wasn't as heavy as he thought she might be. He sat her on the counter because he wanted her at the same eye level as he was.

("Oh lord, honey. I don't know why those women bother." He tried to keep his comment light, but he did not like knowing she might be so concerned. "I have to laugh about it. It's not what you think.")

When Patsy started to move, Woody stopped her, placing his hand flat on her stomach. "I'll show you mine, but only because I've already seen yours. Okay?" When she nodded, he added, "But I'd rather do it a little more privately than the middle of your kitchen."

"Oh good. Okay," she said, as she hopped down from the counter. Woody was surprised she sounded so pleased, almost excited, at the possibility of seeing what amounted to a naked man. She took his hand and began to lead him across the living room, toward the hall.

Woody tugged on her hand to stop her. "Lights and doors Patsy. Turn off the lights and lock the doors. Unless you run me off, I'm staying the night."

"You mean..." she turned toward him, letting go of his hand, but did not raise her eyes above the top few buttons of his shirt.

"Yes. This isn't fuck and then I go home. I intend to make love to you and it may take me all night to do it."

Her expression turned serious, "But, what if I can't..." her eyes looked up to his, and then she quickly looked down.

Woody stood in the middle of her living room. "Patsy, I'm going to make love to you. I'm not asking you for anything but to allow me to give you some pleasure. It's not about what I want, what I have, or who I am. It's about you."

"But won't you want ... I mean you can't ... You'll want to..." Her eyes dropped a little further, below his belt, but she quickly raised them. However, Patsy still did not look him in the eye.

"Stop," he said gently. "I am not a young thoughtless stud only interested in myself and what I want. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Now, if we both understand that, please turn off the lights, lock the doors and we will enjoy each other as long as we can, before one, or both of us, is asleep or exhausted."

Woody stood in the middle of the living room, watching Patsy as she checked the back door, locked the front door, and turned off the light in the kitchen. During those chores, she occasionally stopped for a moment and looked at him, but he did not move. He was patiently waiting for her to be ready to go to bed.

When she walked to stand in front of him, he took her hand and looked at her, but did not move. She looked up at him, as if the ask, What is the reason for this delay? As if he could read her mind, Woody said, "I only have one more question. Are you on some form of birth control?"

Patsy looked down the hall, but turned her face back to him. "Y-yes, ah, yes I ah, I take a pill every day."

"Good. Are there any questions you want to ask me?" Woody waited a moment, and then added, "I'll tell you anything you want to know about my past sexual partners or experiences, but I will not give you any names. Is that fair enough?"

"Do you ... should I tell you ... I mean, do you want to know the same information?"

"Not right now, Honey, I just want to be honest with you and hope you feel you can be the same with me."

As they walked down the hall, Patsy said, "I'm not ... well, I don't do this. I mean, not like some girls." She talked through her nervousness, which told him more than the words themselves said. "I've been to bed with a few boys, but not ... They didn't seem to like, well, I don't go out a lot. I mean ... to meet, ah ... men."

While going to her bedroom, Woody had a quick, very serious talk with himself. This young woman's lack of experience was greater than he thought. Also, his feelings for her were much stronger than he thought. He admitted he might not be able to keep himself from wanting more than an occasional night or afternoon with her.

Woody walked to the bed and sat down to take off his shoes and socks, as if he had done this many times before. Patsy remained standing just inside the door of her bedroom.

"Come here, Honey," he motioned her over to him. When Patsy drew near him, Woody put his hands on her waist and pulled her between his knees. "Tell me one thing you like about being in bed with a man."

She grinned, put her hands on his shoulders, and looked over his head, when she said, "You're warm."

"Oh my," Woody chuckled easily. "You will enjoy me. I'm told I am a furnace." He moved his hands to Patsy's back and pressed her closer to him until he could put his mouth against her, to blow his hot breath through her shirt. She wiggled a little from the tickling sensation and Woody pushed her back a little so he could stand up.

He lowered his hands and lifted the bottom edge of her shirt. "Can I take this off, now?" Patsy nodded once and held her arms out. He pulled the shirt up and over her head. She stood before him in just her tiny pink bikini panties. He didn't want to undress her any further because he already knew what was inside those panties.