Jim McGuire skidded his bike to a stop in front of the large blue sided house. Setting the bike up against the white picket fence, the eighteen-year-old glanced at his watch. He smiled as he saw that he was right on time. Not that Mrs. Burke would've been angry if he had been a little late, but it was a matter of pride to the sandy-haired young man that he showed up places when he said he would.

Originally, he had planned to spend this week in Florida. His parents had promised him a trip to the Kennedy Space Center as a graduation present. He'd been interested in space since he was ten and had been looking forward to the trip for years. But the Challenger disaster last January changed all that. He told his parents that he'd go when the Shuttles flew again, even through some critics were saying that might not be until 1987, or 88.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Burke." he called out as he spotted the silver haired woman waiting on the porch.

"Afternoon James." the fifty-two year old waved back as she pulled a large stack of mail from the box.

Christine Burke had been a fixture in the neighborhood since long before Jim McGuire had been born. Almost every kid in the area looked on her as sort of an adopted Aunt. Without any children of their own, she and her husband, Doctor Ron Burke had made up for it by getting involved in many of the youth oriented activities in the small town. In fact it was as a Den Mother that Jim had first met her when he joined the Cub Scouts. A few years later, when he graduated to the Boy Scouts, Ron Burke had been the senior Scoutmaster.

The memory of his days in the Scouts made Jim think once again what a shame it was what happened to Dr. Burke last year. He had been coming home late one night after visiting a patient and was involved in a head on collision with a drunk driver. The police said the other driver had been doing ninety miles an hour when he slammed into Dr. Burke's station wagon. The fact that he didn't survive the crash either was a poor consolation.

It was because of Dr. Burke that Jim had been coming over these last few days. After a year, Christine Burke had decided that her husband of almost twenty-eight years would want her to get on with her life and not spend it mourning his death. So she had begun to clear out some of his things. Clothes to various good will agencies. Parts of his library to the local boys club. And now, most of his scouting gear to the troop.

Technically, Jim wasn't a Boy Scout anymore, having passed his 18th Birthday three weeks before. But he had been filling in for the one remaining Scoutmaster who was away on vacation. Besides, with all the Burkes had done for the troop over the years, it was the least he could do.

"You know where everything is, James." Christine said as she stepped off the porch. "I'm going to run a few errands before it gets much hotter. Although I can't really imagine how it could." "I heard over in the drugstore that it's supposed to drop to a cool eighty-five degrees tomorrow." Jim grinned as she walked passed him.

"I'd better dig up my winter coat then." Christine laughed.

As he watched Christine Burke get into her car and pull out of the driveway, Jim was glad she had decided to put the tragedy behind her. In fact, he'd heard more than a few of the older men at his Dad's hardware store remark that they'd love to date Christine now that she was a widow. Of course a few of them had put it in a lot blunter terms. They'd been friends of Ron Burke and many times over the years had envied the woman he went to bed with each night.

Jim had thought that if he were thirty or so years older, he'd probably want to date Mrs. Burke too. Aside from her personality, which was reason enough in his mind, Christine Burke definitely wasn't what you thought of when you tried to picture a woman in her early fifties.

It wasn't so much her looks, although she did look younger, the result of paying attention to both diet and exercise all her life. It was a matter of attitude. Someone once told him that age was just a state of mind. That a person could be pretty much the same person at 50 as they were at 20.

Originally, he found it hard to believe, simply because he couldn't image his own parents as teenagers. That had changed when he got to spend time with the Burkes.

It wasn't hard to imagine the Burkes as teenagers, because there were times when they acted like they still were. They had a zest for life that getting older hadn't diminished. Jim smiled as he remembered the All Scout Camping Trip they had gone on his Junior year of high school. An overnight trip, the Cubs had come along, and with them Mrs. Burke. Jim had gotten up to make a bathroom run during the night and had almost run into the Burkes in the woods. He didn't get close enough to actually see anything, but from what he heard it wasn't hard to tell what they were doing. He couldn't imagine his parents doing anything like that, even though they were almost ten years younger.

Over an hour passed as Jim worked up a good sweat going through piles of Mr. Burke's stuff, despite the air conditioning in the den. It wasn't so much the camping equipment that took a lot of time, but a lot of records and troop plans that filled several boxes. Then of course they were mixed in with a lot of other folders, magazines and such that had to be sorted. It looked like the man saved everything he ever read or wrote over forty years. As much as many of the Scouts liked to think otherwise, Ron Burke was far from perfect. His haphazard filing system was just one example.

"He's got Time and Life magazines here from the 1950's." Jim said to himself as he pulled open the lid from another storage box. "I'd better be careful with these, I've heard some of these books are worth a lot of money to collectors.

Carefully putting those magazines aside, Jim's eyes lit up when he saw the pile below them.

"All right, Playboys!" he said out loud.

Actually, it was a few issues of Playboy and a couple of men's magazines he had never heard of. Still naked girls were naked girls.

"I think it's time for a break." he laughed as he sat down at the desk and opened the first magazine to the centerfold. "Let's see what they have to say about Miss June of 1960."

Miss June had a 36-20-36 figure, Jim read as he opened to the centerfold. 5 foot 2 and 108 lbs she'd been born on October 17, 1937. Her ambition was to do a Broadway show. Turn ons were the color black and strawberries. Turnoffs included hypocrites and snobs. Hobbies were swimming, sketching and dancing.

"Now why can't I meet a girl like that?" Jim laughed aloud as he spread the 22-year-old's centerfold to its full length.

Looking again at the data sheet, Jim realized that Miss June had been born six years before his mother. That put a little damper on the fantasy that had popped into his mind. Jim closed that issue of Playboy and picked up another. This one was an even earlier edition from 1955. The centerfold in that one was a really cute redhead with short hair. Her pictorial was shot in what was at the time a very modern bath. It was a perfectly natural setting for a woman to be nude, yet he found it to be very erotic. Much more so than the spread pussy shots he'd sometimes seen in current magazines. A third publication, one that he'd never heard of before, held similar photos. Pretty women nude or semi-nude in natural soundings. That and another issue of the same book dated from the early 1960's.

"God, these girls must've given thousands of guys hard-ons!" Jim thought out loud as she flipped through yet another old title. "I know they're giving me one." he added with a smile.

Taking in a few more pictorials, the eighteen-year-old wondered what these women were like today? Grandmothers most likely he mused as he remembered the publication dates. He'd love to see a picture of them now, just to compare. Not nude of course, he didn't think he wanted to see old women in the buff. Still, some older actresses he'd seen in movies and television still looked pretty good.

Jim's blue eyes noticed that one magazine toward the bottom of the pile was wrapped in plastic. Curious, he pulled that one out. The tape holding the flap in place was yellow with age, signifying it hadn't been opened in years. It was another one of those old titles that Jim had never heard of, dated Summer of 1955.

Looking at the first two pictorials, Jim wondered why Doctor Burke had bothered to cover this book with plastic. It didn't seem to be any different than the other half dozen books he had already looked at. In fact, if he rated the first two girls he looked at, they would be on the bottom of the list.

"Wait a second!" the young man exclaimed into the empty air as he reached the third photo shoot. "This girl is definitely an 11!" The woman he referred to was 21 years old with baby blonde hair. It was cut short in an elaborate hairstyle that could only be called elegant. That simple word applied to the rest of her as well. Bright blue-green eyes sparkled out of the glossy centerfold, the jewels of an exquisite face. Lips bright red in the style of the day framed a perfect smile, instantly captivating the young man.

Almost reluctantly, he let his gaze move down her body. A body that matched her visage. She had flawlessly rounded breasts that were perfectly proportioned to her 5'5", 115-pound form. A snow-white fur coat she had loosely wrapped around her hid the nipples of her breasts, but Jim just knew they had to be as perfect as the rest of her. In fact, when he thought about it, you really couldn't call this and any of the other photographs of this young woman nudes. In every shot, even though you knew she was naked, either the coat or a strategic shadow covered her vital areas.

There was something strangely haunting about the young woman as Jim stared at the headshot that finished the pictorial. A sense that those blue-green eyes were looking right at him across the years. A feeling that he'd looked into those eyes before.

"Holy shit!" Jim cried out as he finally looked at the model's name.

Again and again, he read the little fact sheet, stopping once more at the name Christine Ann Kimball. It had to be a coincidence he thought.

Then in a flash of inspiration, Jim jumped up from behind the desk and went to the large cabinet on the other side if the room. On his last visit over here he had helped clean it out and remembered seeing the Burke's wedding album in there. Mrs. Burke had said another time she'd love to show him the photographs but that it was still too painful for her. Of course he understood he'd told her.

He had to move a few other items to find the thick book. A large smile filled his face as he lifted it and carried it back to the desk. Laying the magazine spread across the top of the desk, he opened the album beneath it. Quickly passing the many group shots and church pictures, he stopped at a large portrait of the bride. A loud whistle passed his lips. The sandy haired teen looked into the same bewitching eyes he had seen in the old centerfold.

There was no mistaking it as he kept switching from the album to the pictorial. Even the dates matched up. On the bottom corner of the wedding scrapbook was the date 11/24/55, only a few months after the magazine had been on the newsstands.

"Wow!" he exclaimed once more to the empty room. "Who'd have ever imagined that?"

A "I know a secret" smirk formed at the corner of his mouth when he remembered all the men at his Dad's store that had admired Mrs. Burke. Imagine how they'd react if they knew she'd been a centerfold. They'd be beating down the door to her house to be first in line.

Jim suddenly became aware of his own reaction to his discovery. The erection he had developed from looking at the other magazines had jumped to epic proportions - straining against his jeans. He couldn't remember being so hard since the first time Jenny Morgan had let him take off her bra. The sight of those big nipples had been enough for him to come in his pants.

Undoing his belt and the clasp on his jeans, Jim had his cock in hand before he realized it. It felt good in the refrigerated air and the sudden release reduced the pressure he felt behind it.

His gaze returned to the semi nude photos of the former Christine Kimball and he found himself stroking his cock.

"God she was hot!" he though as he rubbed his manhood, adding a moment later that in a way she still was.

Running his fingers up and down his hard cock, Jim couldn't remember ever feeling this good simply jerking off to a bunch of magazine photographs. Then again, none of the women in the magazines he'd used before had been the Cub Scout pack leader when he was 8. That thought brought back the memory that when he'd first discovered masturbation later in the 7th grade, Mrs. Burke had been an often-used image in his self-gratification.

"Oh yeah, baby," the young man murmured softly as she closed his eyes and pictured an image of Christine Burke in her Den Mother's uniform. Or rather partially out of that blue skirt and yellow blouse.

The sandy haired teen could feel the familiar explosion building in his balls. He slowed down the motion of his hand, realizing that he had better get out his handkerchief quick or he was going to shoot all over Mr. Burke's desk.

As he opened his eyes and reached into his back pocket, Jim's gaze fell once more on the glossy photo of Christine's 21-year-old breasts.

"Oh man, I wonder if her tits still look that good?" he asked himself out loud as he brought his handkerchief to the base of his cock.

"Well maybe not that good, but Ron always said he thought they were still pretty nice."

The coldest fear Jim had ever felt in his young life suddenly gripped him as the sound of Christine Burke's voice filled the room. His head snapped up and his hand released his cock as if it had suddenly become a hot iron. For a moment he hoped it had been his imagination. A hope that was quickly dashed when he looked to his left and saw Christine standing in the doorway to the study.

Jim was speechless as she calmly walked across the room, acting as if she walked in on young men jerking off to her nude pictures every day of the week. As she got to the edge of the desk, she looked over and saw the magazine that Jim had been masturbating to. A warm smile filled her face.

"That was my first photo shoot," she said as she turned the page with an outstretched hand. "I did two more after that, but Ron always loved this one the most. That's how we met you know, at that shoot. The photographer was a friend of Ron's and had invited him over to watch. Not that he needed his friend to see a naked woman, even way back then. He was in his first year of residency then and well acquainted with the nude female form. Ron was more interested in the technical aspects of photography than another look at some tits and ass. Of course that's not the story we told people when they asked how we met."

Jim was now more in shock over Christine's casual manner than his being caught in the act. In fact he forgot all about his cock still being out, never mind that it had quickly deflated.

"It's not what you might think," she continued in that same calm tone. "A lot of people back then just assumed that any girl who would pose for pictures like that also had to be a slut. Truth was, I went virginal to my wedding bed."

Jim was fascinated at the hidden glimpse into her life, yet at the same time wondered why she was sharing it. Still he wasn't about to ask.

"I bet you're pretty confused right now." she grinned as she sat down on the edge of the desk. "A woman walks in on you sitting in her house, playing with your cock and instead of screaming in outrage she starts telling you aspects of her personal history."

As she answered part of his unasked question, Jim remembered his now shriveled cock. He was unsure if he should now make some attempt to cover it or just ignore it. Since Christine hadn't mentioned it, he finally figured that drawing attention to it might not be a good thing to do.

"I just mentioned that because I want you to know that I wasn't a slut back then," she went on. "Just as I'm in no way a slut now."

"Why would I think she was a slut now?" Jim thought. After all, he was the one who had been jacking off in her house.

"Actually, my walking in on you has a positive side." she said in a quieter voice.

"I don't understand." Jim replied, finally finding his voice.

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about, something of a somewhat sensitive nature." she answered, more than a trace of hesitation in her voice. "If this isn't the ice breaker to beat all, I don't know what is."

Jim actually laughed, feeling a little relieved for the first time since he'd heard her voice.

"There's no easy way to ask this, so I guess straight out is always best."

The older woman paused for a moment as if searching for words. Then she simply asked.

"Jim, would you like to sleep with me?"

"What?" Jim asked, the word practically dying stillborn on his lips.

"Would you like to sleep with me, you know ... sex? I'm sure you've heard of it."

"Me... ?"

"Yes you. You have done this before, haven't you? I mean you're not a..."

"No, I've done it before." Jim said, although he could count the number of times he had on one hand.

"Good," she beamed, a smile that transcended the years between them.

"Why me?" Jim asked. "I can think of a dozen men who'd jump at the chance to date you."

"Not the answer I really expected." she laughed. "I though young men your age were perpetually horny."

"We might be. But this young man tries to think with his big head rather then his little one."

"Not so little from what I saw." Christine laughed. "But the fact that you even hesitate is one of the reasons. But I guess you do deserve more of an explanation."

Christine moved off the desk and settled into a nearby chair. She took a minute to think about what she wanted to say.

"You're right about a lot of men wanting to date me," she began. "I can't tell you how many propositions I've had since the funeral. How many men, some of them even married, want to help console the grieving widow. The problem is that none of them interest me. I'm not looking for a new husband. And if I'm going to just have a casual lover, then I think I could do a lot better than what choices I've been offered. As a result, I've gone to bed alone ever since. It's not something I've enjoyed."

"That doesn't explain why me? Not that I haven't fantasized about you more times than I should admit." he replied.

"A few months before Ron died," she went on. "We actually talked about this. Not that we ever expected to do anything but spend the rest of out lives together. It was just some play talk late one night. About if we were going to pick a young lover, who would it be. You were my choice. And I have to say, I gave it a lot of thought. In many ways you remind me a lot of Ron. And you can take that as a pretty big compliment."