New Trainee

It had been 15 years since her Harold had passed away, and Marge had gotten used to being alone.

Of course, she had lady friends, and some male acquaintances, but at 66 years old, she had removed sex from her life, except the occasional fantasy about Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise.

Harold had been the only man, except for a brief fling with his Best Man right after he passed. She chalked that up to grieving, and they had found comfort in each other, although he felt so guilty afterwards that they stopped it after 2 dates.

Like so many women in their sixties nowadays, she didn't act or dress the part. Since she worked in a Department store, with her employee's discount, she was able to keep up with fashion trends.

Her grey hair, down to her shoulders, was a sandy brown mix, and it haloed her deep blue eyes, large and bright. She stayed fit with visits to the health club at least three times a week, jogging, or swimming, keeping her 5'3, 115 pounds frame in shape. Her lady friends swore she could pass for fifty but she knew they were flattering her.

And it was at work that she became aware of Tom.

He had started out in the stock room, off-loading deliveries from the trucks that came and went. He wasn't her type, meaning not fantasy material. He was tall, thin, and scruffy, with a head of curly hair that needed brushing and trimming, an equally scraggy beard, and the saddest brown eyes she ever saw. And he was 19.

At first, she would find herself staring when she went into the back, seeking him out, and watching him, wondering why he held her attention so strongly.

Once, they made eye-contact, and both stared, until Tom finally nodded and mouthed, "Hi." After that, she made sure to say hi first, and she would feel a rush of excitement when he was in the area.

"What a silly old biddy," she would think. "He could be your grandson."

She hadn't seen him in a week, hoping he didn't find other work, then she was summoned into Personnel.

"Marge," the Associate Manager started.

"Oh Dear," she thought, "I'm gonna be laid off!"

"We have hired some new trainees, and there is no training program beginning for a while. We hoped we could assign someone to trail you, learn from our more experienced staff."

Much relieved, she sighed. "It would be my pleasure, Joe."

"Good! We have a few, but I thought I'd match you up with a male, if that's okay. If I put him with one of the men, I just know I'd find them smoking something in the loading dock during breaks."

"That would be fine with me, I gave up the whacky weed a long time ago!" she realized she had shown a youthful indiscretion, and tried to laugh it off. Of course, Joe would never have believed that Marge was that outrageous, back when. He laughed, heartily.

He buzzed his secretary and said, "Send Tom in."

Marge's heart jumped, and she turned at the click of the door.

There he stood, in white shirt and red company issued tie, beard neat, hair much shorter, looking as if he felt as out of place as he looked. When he saw Marge, he perked up immediately.

"Tom, this is Marge Norwood, Marge, meet Tom Willis." Joe went on, explaining to both what was expected, with both glancing at each other, smiling, but not acknowledging familiarity.

Ten minute later, they stood in the Shoe department, and Marge said, "I almost didn't recognize you. Look at you!"

Tom blushed and shuffled his feet, like a kid. "Yeah, I know, real sad, huh?"

"Not at all! I was gonna say you clean up real nice!"

"Thanks, I was glad to see you when I walked in. Everybody says you're the best, so I guess I got lucky."

"Who's everybody," she asked.

"All the guys in the back, they say you're the only one who doesn't come in all bitchy and taking it out on us." "It's good to know my claim to fame is for not being a bitch!" and she laughed.

The next few days were new and exciting for both: Him for his new job, and her for her new friend.

She actually began to think of him as a friend, and she looked forward to work each day. Though most of their conversations were work-related, they learned more about each other.

She told him about her only child, a daughter, Linda, who was forty, married, with no kids. That they lived on the west coast and rarely visited.

Tom was single, and 19, and seemed shocked that Marge had a 40 year old child, but was too polite to delve deeper.

He lived in a furnished apartment, more like just a room with hot plate, and a shared bath. His beat-up Jeep Cherokee sat rusted and filthy, seemingly loaded with junk. Marge chalked it up to a youthful desire to keep all his "stuff" close by.

After two weeks, he was reassigned to another Salesperson, but their lunch breaks coincided, so they still talked. Marge felt comfortable with him and after a while, she saw how ratty his slacks were, from constant wear. She didn't say anything, but later led him to the men's section, into the clearance racks, where she had stashed a paid of Black Dockers that were his size, she figured. The hems had unraveled, and she said, "These usually go for $45, new, but they are 60% off, plus your employee discount and you can get then for about $15."

He was surprised, and embarrassed. It was hard to explain to this lady who was being so nice to him.

"Marge, listen, what I tell you, you gotta promise not to tell, I'll get fired."

She stared, all ears.

"I lost that room, the guy needed it for his cousin, he said. I offered more money, but he just wanted me out."

"I don't mean to pry, Tommy, I'm sorry, but where are you living?"

"Since, Sunday, in my car. I go to the gym early each morning to shower, but my clothes are in boxes, in his garage, so I don't have much in the car, and I've been looking for someplace else. But, thanks for thinking of me when you saw the pants... and for letting me know my attire is lacking, before Personnel tells me."

With their break over, they went their separate ways, but Marge couldn't get the thought of Tommy sleeping in that car. The weather wasn't too bad, in April, but what about safety? And comfort? And, for God's sake, a bathroom?

She waited for him when their shift ended, and said, "Do you have plans for dinner?"

"I'll probably pick up some KFC, I guess."

"Oh, no you won't, you're coming with me. You need a good meal in you; you're even skinnier than when I met you."

Tom began to protest, but Marge wouldn't hear it.

"No arguments. I mean it, come on, you can give me a lift, I hate those buses anyway."

They spoke little as they rode. Tommy had to clear space for her, what with the passenger seat being his night table.

It was a nice neighborhood where she lived, middle class all the way, lots of families based on the toys and bikes on the lawns, much like many of the Foster homes where Tom had stayed, after his mom died, and his dad was doing time for car theft.

Her house was nice, two story, wood framed, nice porch, driveway to the garage in the back. She unlocked the door and led him in. Very homey, comfortable, but in need of work.

She made tea for them as she shuffled about, talking about anything, preparing a salad, and reheating meat loaf, with noodles and gravy.

Tommy ate hungrily, and only hesitated for a second when she offered more. She smiled over her tea cup as she watched him. Earlier, she had a thought, but was unsure. Now, she knew.

"Tom, I have a proposition."

He looked up, having finished, but still hungry.

"This place is way too big and I live here alone."

"Oh, no! No way! Look, Marge, I appreciate your dinner and your offer, but I gotta do this on my own. I don't like to be beholding to anybody. I got in this mess on my own, and I can get out of it."

She just stared. She had been expecting his rejection, but not his adamance.

"Okay, look, you do what you want, but I'm not offering a free ride. Look around this place. The yard, leaking faucets, some walls are peeling. The handy man I used, got rehired by his regular job. I've got four empty bedrooms, one in the back that has a private entrance. The offer, if you let me finish, was until you found a place, you got the back bedroom. You could come and go as you pleased. No drugs, and no wild parties, I'm too old for that noise."

"In exchange, I would expect a few hours a week, doing things around here that need doing. You'd have your own apartment, really. Private bath. Cooking privileges, if you want. You're a nice kid, Tom, but when someone offers something, hear them out before you decide. And by accepting a hand, it doesn't mean you're weak, or a disgrace to some macho code of ethics!"

He could feel her anger, the fire in her eyes, and he was sorry. And said so. "You're right, and I'm just in a foul mood, the way things have fallen... I'm sorry I jumped down your throat."

"Okay, then, forget it. We won't mention it again."

"You... you mean it's too late now?"

She smiled. "It's never too late. And you can store those boxes in the garage. It's dry and fairly clean. Deal?"

They shook hands, and both felt better because of it.

He stayed that night. She gave him fresh sheets, and extra pillows. The room was great! A large armoire on one side, dresser-drawers on the other. Twin sized bed. Even a small color TV!

In the morning, she tapped on his door to make sure he was up. He had already showered and ready for work. She had coffee made, and they had toast and juice, as if they'd know each other for years.

That was Friday, so both were off Saturday, and Marge made a list of things that needed to be done.

Saturday, they were both up early, with Tom, fixing the side screen door that was hanging by one screw, while Marge whipped up a big breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and melon slices.

By noon, he had most of the stuff done, and went to his old place to retrieve his stuff. He was back in no time, jumping right back into his chores.

That evening, Marge made steaks on her propane grill, with baked potatoes and corn, and salad.

Tommy ate anything she put out, and after the sun set, she said, "Well, I'm gonna go read. What about you?"

"I think I may go out and watch the hockey game at the bar."

"Oh, you like hockey? My Harold, rest his soul, loved hockey! He went to Ranger games through his company all the time. He'd come home all hoarse from yelling!." She was clearly getting lost in her thoughts, and Tom said, "How about you?"

"Yes, he took me, sometimes, but he'd get embarrassed when I yelled at the other team. Like only men could root for hockey!"

"I bet you were fun back then."

"Why? I'm not fun now?" she said, in mock anger.

"No," he laughed, "I just meant..."

"Just kidding, don't take it seriously."

"I know...say, would you like to come?"

"To what, a bar to watch the game?" "Yeah, there's a sports bar on Route 22that carries games. it's Rangers/Caps in the play-offs tonight. It's a pretty big place and they serve snacks. My pay check is burning a hole in my pocket, come on."

"Oh, Tommy, I'm too old for that."

"Boy, I didn't know you were such an old lady! I always thought you were a happening type lady," he teased.

"Okay, Mister, you're on, but stand back if a fight breaks out!"

The place was jumping, with people of all ages, Marge was glad to see. They got a high top table with stools and Tom ordered a pitcher, but Marge chose wine.

The game was exciting, with mostly Rangers fans, and the crowd cheered when they scored, but roared when there was a vicious check into the boards.

Tommy enjoyed watching Marge, how animated she was, looking as if she were ready to lace up herself.

Marge was having the best time in years! Everyone was feeding off each other's energy, and at one point, a Ranger goal put them in the lead with 4 minutes remaining and they were so wrapped up in it they hugged, jumping up and down.

The Rangers held on, and the place cleared out instantly, with Marge demanding Tom's keys, since he had two huge pitchers and Marge just one white wine. He relented, though not easily, and they drove home, still filled with the adrenalin pumping.

At home, Marge was beat. It had been a long day, and she said so.

Tommy seemed wide awake, and decided to watch some TV in the living room. They said goodnight, and smiled the smiles of two people who just had a special night.

Up in her room, Marge washed up and changed into her nightgown. She chose one that she hadn't worn in a while, it was white, full-length, and fairly sheer, with shoulder straps, half-buttoned in front. She smiled at herself in the mirror, the same smile she gave Tom. "You had fun, old girl," she thought. "You should have started having fun 15 years ago!"

She crawled under the comforter, so warm, and comfy, and thought she would sleep instantly, but could not. Thoughts of the evening ran through her head, about funny lines they had said to each other, how he screamed at the TV, so much like Harold in that way. And how he felt when they hugged.

She was troubled by her infatuation with this young man, resolving to keep a more professional appearance regarding him. He's just a kid! And, listen how loud he has that TV! All this noise, that's why I can't sleep!

She looked at the clock, it was 1AM. She grabbed her robe and went to the staircase. "Tom, would you turn that down, please! Tom?!"

As she descended, she could hear music, it was one of those music channels the kids watch, MTV or VH1. When she steeped into the living room, he was on the couch, half-laying down, half-undressed.

it looked as though he ha decided to undress when he nodded off. His jeans were off one ankle, along with his boxers. His tee shirt was barely covering his upper chest. and his penis stood at attention, as if guarding it's Master as He slept.

Marge was shocked. It wasn't huge, but it was hard. With a big pink head, towering over his hairy scrotum, it was a thing of beauty to her 66 year old eyes. She bit her lip as she grabbed an Afghan she had knitted from a chair to cover him. As she neared him, she saw the remote, and thought, if i get that, I can lower the TV, too, or turn it off.

Had she thought, she could have done the same thing from the cable box, but the reason to get closer seemed so right.

She felt herself breathing rapidly as she drew closer, close enough to drape it over him, but she didn't, instead getting closer, staring down at it, so beautiful, standing there, awaiting... what, you silly old goose, certainly not you!

But she was on her knees beside him now, his cock only inches from her hand. Did he feel like Harold? That hard muscle with a pink wrapper! Would he know, if I...? He's way too drunk to know anything. And look at it, would you? Look at it!

Her mind had no control over her hand, and she watched as it reached out and touched it tentatively, as if if may be hot!

"What are you doing?" she thought. "He's a boy who trusted you." The hand flexed, then encircled the shaft, gripping it softly, feeling the texture.

"No he's not! He's a man! And men have desires and needs. And his cock is so gorgeous!" She rationalized. Her hand began stroking him, and he moaned but didn't awaken.

She gripped a bit tighter, her heart pounding, watching the flesh wrinkle up then smooth out, up and down, occasionally glancing at his face, but he showed no signs of awareness.

She felt herself moisten, that tingling she only feels reading romance novels, when the character's lust boils. His cock seemed to have grown, getting thicker in her hand, and she wanted to stop but was beyond caring. Oh Harold, Dear, please forgive me! It's been so long!

She was so close now, her lips parting and her eyes fluttering as she closed in on it, her lips brushing the crown as they passed over, and she had it surrounded, and closed in on it, tasting the flesh, her tongue resting on the slit, feeling it alive in her throat, and a hand on her head, pressing her forward!

Her eyes reopening, focusing on his, now half-opened, a soft smile on his lips.

"Oh, Marge..."

She jerked her head off him, they both stared. She said, "I..., You..., this is..."

He had her arm and was pulling her up to him, staring into her eyes, which were welling with tears, she was so embarrassed, having violated a trust, crossing the line while he was vulnerable.

"Marge..."

"Tommy, I'm so sorry! I can't explain it, I saw you and I thought... I don't know what I thought! You must be repulsed! I'm so old, and you..."

"Shhh! You don't get it... You hooked me the day we met. I don't know what or why? If this is wrong, so be it, but who cares how old we are? And its no body's business but ours."

They were inches apart and his eyes closed, and she felt their lips press and she tasted the stale beer as his lips parted and his tongue probed, and she let him in.

The kiss was awkward, she still felt wrong, but he persisted, whispering encouragement, moving to sit beside her, and he seemed so mature now, so sure of himself, taking charge, forcing the issue.

His arms encircled her, and her robe was open, and he kissed her neck, her shoulder,as succumbed to him, believing his whispers, letting her own desires control her logic.

The strap was off her shoulder and the front fell, allowing him to kiss the top of her breast, and she tingled as he found her nipple and teased it with his tongue.

Her breathing was raspy as he slid his other hand down her thigh, under the nightie, then back up, and she gasped when she realized she had no panties as his finger toyed with her pubic hair until she spread for him and he plucked her lips apart, and she felt the cold air reach places it hadn't in decades! She felt so alive, so aware if her body and she wanted more, no matter how it turned out.

Tommy had her nightie around her waist now, and was sliding off the couch. Where was he going? Oh, no, not that!

He smiled up at her as he got between her legs, spread them with his shoulders, then dipped his head, his tongue firm and on target, setting her entire body in motion.

Harold, for all his love for her, didn't like doing that, and she had forgotten the pleasure, it had been so long.

But here, young Tommy was more than happy to taste her fruit, to experiment! He expertly moved, using his tongue to arouse her clit, to bring her to the edge before going full-out, inserting it like a small cock, while wiggling his nose back and forth on her clit.

She screamed with pleasure, frightening herself, but he stayed at it, her body wracked from orgasm, as she twitched under his direction.

She shuddered, and finally held his head and pulled him to her, and they kissed, this time, deeply, her juices overwhelming her senses. In all her years, she had never experienced anything like this.

Tommy kissed her hungrily, but he had his own situation that had to be handled, and he hovered over her, smiling down as he held his shaft.

"Please, Tom, please, I need you inside me, please!"

He entered slowly, letting the head rest inside her lips, and he pressed and she pulled and he was inside her now. She felt his weight, and he filled her, and he groaned as his hips swirled, then he moved, and she moved with him.

"Fuck," tom grunted.

"What?"

"This is better than I could wish for!"

She smiled and kissed him as she wiggled beneath him and they began their dance, to a beat only they heard.

The sheer pleasure had her head,clogged, then clear, seeing it as if form the outside, and it was beautiful.

He took her feet and propped them on his shoulders, and rammed it deeply, far deeper than she had experienced, and her head swam as he grunted and thrusted, and she knew instinctively that he was about to cum, and he told her so.

His back arched and she was almost verticsl whenhe released inside her, him so high aove her, shooting down inside her, and she felt full, about to burst, and he slumped on top of her, breathing heavily, almost gasping.