Felt sorry for the old geezer, did she? She gave me some relief, a "bee-jay," she called it. Felt all right at first, but mostly it just tickled. I patted her on top of the head as she was working hard at it. Nice girl. Meant well. But I don't think I'll ask for an encore.I remember the first time I took a woman in the back passage. That has more class, somehow, than "fucked her in the ass," as the kids say nowadays. Nothing against realism and honesty in language, but somehow earthiness loses its bite if overdone. Try telling that to some of those hotshot millionaire writers, though.Anyhow, I had already been married and divorced. It was early in Ike's second term, as I recall, that I met Margaret, or Meg, as she insisted on being called. We were all over each other like minks in heat almost from the start, no matter that we were introduced at a church social. Good dancer. She knew the moves. All the moves. We were already in bed that first night, and I was sleeping over regularly. Her whines were building to a climactic frenzy and I though I was going to shoot my load there and then but I continued to watch her until she slumped, motionless to the bed, and then I quickly left for the living room to turn on the television, so that I could pretend that I had been watching it the whole time. After a few minutes, I heard her in the kitchen, rattling pans, getting ready for dinner. She called me in shortly thereafter, and I went to the kitchen to eat. Mom was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, and I couldn't help but think about how she looked without them on. It wasn't until she got under the light at the kitchen table that I could clearly see that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her nipples showed clearly through in that light, and I stared at them the entire time I helped her set the table. Dinner was a casserole that she had fixed, and we exchanged the typical small talk throughout. She asked about school and work, and I provided the usual, boring answers. When she got up.
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