The Finite Beating Heart

The wine is getting to her.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm outside of my skin, Benjamin, observing my own life, comparing it to others. I want to know what another life might be like. What would my marriage be like if it was with someone else? What would another kind of love life be like?"

"I guess that's why I wanted to know about your love life," she says.

"Well, now you know. I don't have a love life," I tell her.

She looks at me with a tenderness in her face. It both melts my heart and makes me harder than ever. I am beguiled by her.

"Benjamin," she says after a few more moments of quiet, "Why did you keep looking at me this morning? Did you like seeing me naked? Even if all your friends would see me as little more than an old woman?"

I'm embarrassed again. Not sure what to say. I stare out the windshield, not at her.

"I kept looking because I had never seen a naked woman before. Not in real life. I couldn't take my eyes off you."

From there, I can't find the right words. In exasperation I just say, "I couldn't believe how beautiful you were lying there." I stammer a little. "Your husband must be the luckiest guy in the world."

"He doesn't think that," she says. "I don't think he ever did. At one time I suppose I was his trophy wife. But now, I feel alone in my marriage." She avoids my eyes. Won't look at me.

"If I were your husband, I wouldn't give you the chance to feel alone." How stupid, I realize immediately. An 18-year-old saying that to her. When will I ever learn.

She wipes a tear from one eye. Then she smiles. Her voice turns upbeat, she strikes a playful note.

"So, what would the two of us do all the time if we were married?" Even her eyes are smiling at me now.

"We'd travel a lot," I say, surprised at myself so readily joining in her game. "We'd talk a lot. Go to the movies constantly. I'd be your assistant, carry your gear for you on photo shoots. And we'd cook flounder and deep fry hush puppies."

"And drink cold beer on a warm night, of course," she adds.

"Definitely," I say. "And I'd do whatever else you wanted to do."

I love this playfulness between us.

"And would we fuck a lot?" she asks.

That, of course, stops everything. Had we not just finished off the entire bottle of wine, we wouldn't be saying these things. But that bottle is empty now. No going back.

It was a rhetorical question, anyway. She isn't waiting for an answer. She knows.

"I think I shock your sensibilities, Benjamin."

"No. No. Not at all. I'm okay. I'm fine. Not a problem."

With that, she nudges my hip again with her foot that's still up on the seat. "It's fun to tease you, Benjamin."

But this time, before she can pull her foot away, I'm compelled to do something. Anything. I have to. My desire is at the boiling point. Mrs. Ainsworth has aroused in me a dark lust. And my heart is about to burst for her. I'm feeling sensations I don't understand. I am hot for this middle-aged woman with silvery hair. There is insanity in this. But I don't care. There is only the now. And I want her. I feel like a savage ready to jump on its prey. Do something, I tell myself. Anything.

So, my hand gently picks up her foot from the seat. I slowly begin caressing it, rubbing the heel, gently stroking, pulling, massaging her toes. I say nothing. I don't know what else to do. It's so awkward.

She doesn't pull away. Leans her head back on the window of her door. Looks not at me, but out the front windshield at the rain. I rub her ankle, then back down to her foot, caressing her flesh. My feelings of ineptness begin to fade.

She moves her other foot up to the seat. I take it with my other hand. Begin caressing both feet. She is quiet, closes her eyes. Rain pelts the truck's roof and hood, making a continuous loud metallic popping noise. It's warm in the cab, almost steamy. The windows are fogged. Wind whips up again. Can barely hear the surf on the other side of the sea oates.

"Rain is so sensual," she says, her eyes still closed. "The sound of it, the smell, the taste of raindrops."

She opens her eyes, looks out the window again.

"You knew I was masturbating when you saw me this morning, didn't you Benjamin?"

"That's none of my business," I say.

"I'm not ashamed of it," she tells me.

"It would surprise you to know," she says as my caressing continues, her eyes still avoiding me, "that I fantasize about sex probably as much as you do. I bring myself off at least three times a week. I thought I would have stopped that when I got married. But here it is 30 years later and I'm still doing it. I've had sex a thousand times with my husband -- the same old way, or variations thereof. There's so much I want that I've never had. My own imagination embarrasses me sometimes. And I'm beginning to feel like the clock is running out on me."

"What is it you want?" I muster the courage to ask. Each of us looking everywhere but at each other.

I begin caressing my way up her legs to her calves. One hand on each leg. Massaging the muscles a little. I didn't have any idea that a woman's legs could be so soft. She begins wetting her lips with her tongue.

"Do you really want to know?" she asks as she turns her head to look at me. "I've never told anyone."

"Not even your husband?"

"Especially not him."

"I want to know," I say.

"You know we're both drunk, don't you," she says.

"All the better," I say. "People are more honest when they're drunk."

My hands are at her knees now, my fingers lightly brushing the skin, then massaging it. I slide fingers behind her knee, tickling. She pauses, I think to feel my caressing. She closes her eyes, begins talking, sweat now in beads on her brow. A wet spot at the top of her black t-shirt. It's sweat too. And for the first time, I see her nipples pushing out from under the t-shirt, though she has a bra on underneath it.

"You know what I really want, Benjamin. I want a husband to explore my body with his hands, just have me lie on the bed and him sitting beside me, caressing my skin, my muscles, toes. Every single part of me I'd want him to know. Every inch."

She opens her eyes, but won't look at me. Peers out the window, focusing on something seemingly far away.

"You know what else? I want to be taken from behind. I think I have a pretty good ass. I've always liked it. Been pleased when I look at it in the mirror. I want to bend over and show it to my lover, unashamedly. Have him fawn over my butt and love it, then ram himself into me from behind, wildly and taking me for all he's worth. Really fucking me hard, as if nothing else in life mattered at that moment. I want him to lose himself in me. Hasn't happened once in my marriage. I can't count the number of times I've daydreamed about that."

"I want to be on my back with my knees pushed up against my chest so my lover could go into me as deep as possible. The deeper, the better. The more we'd become one soul, or one body, or something. Something I'm searching for. I don't know what it is, but something."

I don't speak. Move my hand now to her thighs, rubbing gently, then caressing. The outside of her leg, then the inside, delicately, moving my fingers in little circles over the skin. She is even more soft here. Silken. I don't really know what I am doing. And I'm terrified all the while. But I won't stop unless she tells me to.

The rain has slackened. In its place a thick fog and heavy mist envelops the truck, shrouding everything.

"Does it seem repugnant that I'm being this nasty?" she asks. "Well, I can go you one better. Do you want to hear it?"

"Yes," I tell her.

"I want a man who wants to watch me pee in the bathroom, who doesn't think it's vulgar, like my pent-up husband does. Yes, Benjamin, that's my kink.

She is in full confession mode now.

"And, no," she says. "It's not really a turn-on. I just love the intimacy of it. For a man to have such desire for me that he would relish me taking a leak in front of him and not be repulsed. That he would want that kind of intimacy. I have a thing about wanting to be close. I watch young couples in bars, in restaurants, on the street. I wonder just how intimate are they with each other. I would kill to be in one of those relationships."

"I want to take a bath with a lover. A long, hot bath. Have him wash my back, maybe shampoo my hair. Wash my ass. Yes, definitely have him wash my ass. Maybe afterward we'd make love. But maybe not. Maybe sometimes we'd just satisfy ourselves with the intimacy of those moments."

"I should have married a man who would do all those things, Benjamin. Shouldn't I."

"Mrs. Ainsworth, any man in his right mind would trade his soul to have that with you."

When I slide my hands into the legs of her shorts and to the top part of her thighs, she closes her eyes again, lets her head drop back, against the window of the door. She sighs.

My fingers work their way to within an inch of her panties. I can't believe what I'm doing. Her thighs quiver. I hear her say "Oh God," under her breath, barely a whisper. Not meant for anyone but herself to hear.

Opens her eyes. Looks back out the windshield.

"I'm 53 years old and never had a man really truly ache for me, Benjamin. Never desire me so much that his heart ached. But you do ache for me, don't you, Benjamin?" She turns her head, looks at me. "I can see it in your eyes. When you were watching me naked this morning. And now when you have your hands up my shorts."

I start to speak.

"No, don't," she says. "You have, at least for this moment, so much passion for me. I don't know why you do. But that's the greatest gift you could give me. Thank you for that."

She sits up, my hands fall from her. She scoots over to me. Runs both her hands through my hair. I'm astonished. Frozen. Her fingers cup my face. She kisses me gently. Slips her tongue against mine. Lets it play with mine. She tastes of wine, smells of suntan lotion and the sea. It feels warmer, softer than any kiss I've ever had. I know, with this single kiss, that we have bonded. She turns her face, lightly rubs it against my cheeks, my lips, my ears, over my nose. Turning her head from side to side as she rubs her skin against mine. She brings her face in front of mine, looks at me. Our eyes only inches apart. Her eyes smile at me.

She scoots back to her place by the door.

"Benjamin," she says in that still quite voice of hers, speaking slowly. "Do you know who Neil Armstrong was? Of course you do. The first man on the moon. One small step for man . . ."

At this point, I think I may be in shock. No way to answer.

"He had another quote that seemed more important to me. He once said the human heart has only a finite number of beats to it before it dies, and he didn't want to waste any of his."

"Neither do I, Benjamin. Not any more."

With that, she opens her passenger door, steps out into the warm mist and thick fog. With the door still open, she keeps her eyes on me as she pulls her black t-shirt over her head, throwing it on the truck seat. Reaches around her back, unclasps her bra, throws it on the seat too. There is no time for more than a glimpse of her breasts before she bends, unbuttons her shorts and quickly pulls them and her panties off. She stands for a minute to let me look.

Her breasts are small, but heavy. They suit her. Slope a little. The nipples dark brown and stiff. Her areolas larger than I would have expected. Her breasts jiggle deliciously with every move, every breath she takes. She has dark hair between her legs, but only a little, and not shaved, just naturally a little above and around her slit. The mist settles on her skin, forming little droplets over her entire body, in her hair. I have never been so aroused.

My viewing is over in a hurry as she steps around to my side of the truck, opening the door, pulling me out, and taking my clothes off too, there in the parking lot. Since I am now naked, misty droplets cover me too. She stands back, takes me and my very hard dick in with her eyes, says:

"You're gorgeous, Benjamin."

* * *

Is there a towel in the truck or something to sit on, she asks. I grab a folded up plastic tarp I keep behind the seat. "Perfect," she says. Takes my hand and leads me through the mist and fog onto the wooden walkway leading over the sandy ridge. It's quite hard to see. She drops the tarp on the beach, walks me down to the water. No one else is on the beach. Who could possibly be out here in this weather anyway?

We wade in. But only knee deep. The waves are white capped, rough and pounding. Very loud. Storm waves. A killer surf.

She moves behind me, against my back, wraps her arms around my shoulders. She is almost as tall as me, so the side of her face is against the side of mine. She nibbles on my neck, licks my ears. I reach my hands back to the sides of her hips. It's funny how just touching her there gives me such a feeling of her nakedness. She is right up against my back. The whole time, the warm spray from the waves showers us every other moment.

She reaches up, slowly caresses my face, moves her hands down to my chest, scraping my nipples. Still lower and her fingers circle softly across my abs. She slides her fingers into the hair around my cock. I am still hard, thick, her touch takes away my breath. She runs her index finger from the top base of my cock out to the head. My cock jerks up. I almost cum. She does it again. Strokes me for a few moments, caresses the head of my dick, cups my balls, massaging them gently. I'd never even contemplated the idea of a woman holding my balls. She squeezes gently, runs her fingers around and over the skin, then down my thighs, lightly scraping them, now back up to my cock.

She draws her face even closer. The sound of the pounding surf overwhelms my left ear. Her lips up against my right ear. "Can you feel my nipples against your back, Benjamin?" I say yes. "My nipples have always gotten very, very hard when I'm excited."

"Can you feel the hair between my legs against you, Benjamin? Can you? Tell me." I say yes again. "I don't have a lot," she says. "But sometime today I want you to run your fingers through it. Kiss my hair down there. Will you do that for me?"

I shake my head, yes.

"Holding your dick in my hand makes me so wet. But you can't tell, can you Benjamin?" "I don't know," I answer.

"Let's find out, Benjamin. Reach your hand behind and feel me. Feel how hot my cunt is for you. Put your finger in me. But just one finger."

"That feels so good," she says. It was slick, warm, almost hot, her opening larger than I expected. But at the moment that joy was being compounded by the sudden feeling -- she was still slowly pumping my dick, and squeezing it -- that I was going to cum, and hard.

"Mrs. Ainsworth, you've got to stop. I can't hold on much longer."

"Do I excite you that much, Benjamin? Which do you like best. My squeezing your dick or your finger inside me? Which is it, Benjamin?"

"I love both, Mrs. Ainsworth."

"Not good enough, Benjamin," she says, her lips right against my ear, her breath, with each word she speaks, tickling the inside of my ear. "Which is it? Tell me."

"It's my finger in you."

"So, Benjamin. You like my pussy. Would you like to lick it? I can teach you how, you know. But you'll have to do exactly as I say. You see, in my own fantasies, Benjamin, my cunt to me is a work of art. And it takes someone very special to appreciate it fully. You think you're ready?"

"Mrs. Ainsworth, you've got to stop."

"No, Benjamin, I'm not going to stop. No woman's ever held your balls before, have they? No one has ever stroked your dick like this, have they now? You've never cum in front of a woman before. But you will for me. I'm your first and you'll remember me always, won't you? You desperately want this middle-aged body of mine. You're going to cum for me. I want to see it spurt into the air. If anyone else sees, then it's their good fortune. Just let go."

"That's right, let it all out," she says as my sperm arcs out, one shooting stream after another, probably a good three or four feet out into the air. Streams of white disappearing into the ocean froth.

She keeps stroking, softer now, more gently, stopping to massage my balls. She turns me around, meets my lips. I expect a gentle kiss. Not hardly. She forces her tongue wildly into me. Her hunger is as strong as mine. Maybe stronger.

"Benjamin," she says. "I don't want to waste any more heart beats."

She leads me back to the tarp, spreads it out on the sand, pulls me down. Lies on top of me, moves down my body slowly. Kissing, biting all the way. Sniffing, scratching with her teeth. She licks my limp penis, takes it in her mouth, begins lightly sucking. The feel of her soft lips surrounding my shaft is something I never imagined could be this good. I'm looking straight up into the fog. It surrounds us. I wonder if the torrential rains are about to begin again. I get hard quickly. She knew I would.

She turns around, away from me, on all fours. Her ass -- which makes me weak to see how beautiful it is -- is up in the air above my face. I see for the first time the lips of her vagina. And the small dark shadowy area that hides her anus. All right above me. Her beautiful silvery hair falling everywhere, small breasts hanging down, the nipples hard and long. I watch as she, one hand at a time, pinches them. Groaning each time. I reach up, with my middle finger, touch the top of her ass, then let my finger follow the cleft between her cheeks. All the way down. She moans. The is the greatest moment of my life.

She licks my balls, takes them one, then the other, in her mouth. Sucking, licking, kissing. I began to smell her sweat, her skin, the juices in her pussy. I try to inhale it all. I feel as if every pore in my skin is electrified. Ready to erupt.

She swivels back around to face me, grabs my dick, holds it straight up, impales herself on it, quickly, sitting on top of me. She begins talking. "Can you tell, Benjamin, that you and I fit together well, so tight in me."

My eyes begin to bulge. "You felt that didn't you. I can squeeze you with the muscles in my pussy. Tell me you like it and I'll do it again." I tell her. She does it again. I tell her again. She does it again. And again. And again. Never knew a woman could do that. Drives me into that white heat of desire. She leans forward, braces her hands, one on each of my shoulders, slides up and down on my dick, slowly.

She raises up, pulls off, moves forward, sits on my stomach. Uses her fingers to spread the lips of her pussy open to show me. She points out the parts, everything a bright pink. I can see the liquid lubricating her entrance. She touches her clit. She starts to explain it to me. "I know about the clitoris," I tell her.

"Good. Then take your finger and touch it. That's right. Now move it slightly in circles, very lightly. A little bit lighter. Yes, like that. Make the circle a little smaller."

She looks into my eyes. "That's it, Benjamin. Now don't stop. Whatever you do, don't stop."

She lowers herself back on my cock, bends back, far back, using her arms to brace herself on my legs. It's to give me easier access to her clit with my fingers. She closes her eyes.

"Oh yes," she says, giving a quiet little gurgling laugh. The laughter of pure pleasure.

She begins swaying her hips back and forth, just slightly. Just a few inches. Her breathing deepens, then more so. The moments pass. I don't let up. She gives this long, low guttural groan, her whole abdomen quakes, her breasts shake. She is a woman on fire. She throws herself down on my chest, which is now a river of sweat and mist. Juices run down my dick from her pussy and into my pubic hair, onto the tarp. I reach my own crescendo, raise my hips, trying to slam them into her bottom. I squeeze her hips hard. I come. My first time with a woman. The sweetest orgasm I could possibly have. The one I will always remember. Every smell. Every touch. Every taste.