Young Woman with Older Man Ch. 02

Chapter 02

Lynn accepts Freddie's housing invitation, after breaking up with her boyfriend.

"Is this what you do? You meet men here." He looked at her with a face full of rage and at me with a look of deadly jealousy. "Is this the guy you always talk about?" He said pointing and shooting me a look of distain. "Are you Freddie?"

"Yes, I'm Freddie. How are you?" I put out my hand for him to shake and withdrew it, when he snubbed me with a lift of his chin.

Always talk about? She always talks about me? I've made an impression with her. Suddenly, I felt lighter, younger, and taller. Suddenly, I felt as if I was an important part of her life. Suddenly, I felt like Tomas in Milan Kundera's book, 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being.'

"Come home now! I'm sick of you disappearing for hours with this flea bag of a dog." He looked down at the dog with jealousy and then back up at her. "The dog must go. You decide; it's either me or the dog!"

I knew Lynn well enough by now to know that he was a goner with that stated ultimatum. She'd never part with her dog. She loved Seymour and Seymour loved her.

Her boyfriend wasn't tall. He was shorter than me by a several inches. He wasn't very good looking either, average in appearance, at best, with a potbelly and a receding hairline already forming at his young age. Figuring that he was around her age, he appeared ten years older. Maybe, tops, he was 28-years-old. I figured, surely, he was wealthy and was shocked to learn that he was an unemployed graduate student and an ill-mannered, hot tempered, struggling and aspiring artist, at that.

Stereotypically, he sure had the miserable and self-centered disposition for that role down pat. He sure was an asshole. He was so intense that he had the personality to be a terrorist, should his life suddenly turn as sour as was his disposition. He had that fanatical look of lunacy on his face, and I hoped it would by her choice in choosing the dog over him. Then, he took that choice away from her.

He approached her, as if I wasn't even there, while yanking her, pulling her by the arm, and dragging her forward with him. Her shoe popped off and when she stopped to reclaim it, when she resisted his hold on her by pulling her arm away and breaking free of him, he grabbed her by the front of her dress ripping it and exposing her bra and the top of her breasts.

Again, she pulled away from him. This time, he stepped forward and slapped her hard across her face. The violent force of his slap knocked her head back and immediately created a red welt in the shape of his hand on her cheek. I could see his fingers on her face. She didn't cry or scream or get angry, even. By her reaction to his slap, I figured that this wasn't the first violent attack, upon her person, by this bastard.

With her head down and her shoulders slumped forward, she suddenly became withdrawn, obviously disappearing within herself. That, no doubt, was how she emotionally protected herself from him. I felt her pain, and I'd be God damn, if he was going to hit her again, especially in my presence.

Her puppy, protecting his pack leader, lunged at him, but he kicked the dog hard in the ribs and the dog cowered whimpering away in pain. He was just a puppy after all, the poor thing. Try kicking a full-grown Rhodesian Ridgeback and he'll be missing a foot.

All of this happened within a few seconds and in shock of what transpired so quickly, I had no time to react, until now. He wasn't going to hit her again, ever, that's for sure. So long as I was there to protect her, he wasn't going to touch her, ever again.

"Hey!" I yelled taking an intimidating step towards him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Who are you, her father?" He gave me a look that made me realize that this clown only understands a baseball bat to the back of the head. "Get lost, old man," he said with a wave of his hand that discounted me not only as a human being but also as a man who could punch him silly. "You don't have a chance with her...Freddie. You're too old," he said with a sick laugh that made me want to shove his teeth down his throat and bury my size twelve shoe up his ass.

The way that he spit out my name made me angry. I wanted to bitch slap him into tomorrow. I was jealous that someone like him had someone like her. I felt my rage building.

"Don't," she said looking to me obviously embarrassed, before looking back at him. "He'll hurt you. He's crazy," she said in a whisper.

"You're just like all the rest of those middle aged men, who flock to her, a pathetic, old man hoping to get his cock sucked." He looked at her and pointed, "Look at her. She's a baby boomer magnet. Tell him." He looked at me, "That's how she made it through college, waiting tables, smiling for tips, letting the old men get a feel of her ass and a glimpse of her tits." He looked back at her, "Did you suck their cocks in the back alley, too?" He pointed to me. "Did you suck his cock, yet?"

"Hey, that's enough out of you!" I yelled pointing my finger at him, while dizzy with the imagined image of Lynn sucking my cock.

"Or what, old man?" He smiled a sick smile. "Or you'll bleed all over me, after I beat you senseless. I've had lessons in martial arts."

Old man? That's twice he said that. Beat me senseless? Martial arts my ass. No practitioner of the martial arts would ever hit a woman. He not only slapped the woman that I love but also kicked Seymour, called me old man, and now he's insulting my perceived woman. This clown is going down.

My dog loves Lynn and he wasn't about to allow him to get away with hitting her. The ankle biter that he is, he grabbed hold of his pant leg. In his feeble attempt to shake off the lockjaw grip and steadfast determination of a Rat Terrier, he reached down to grab my dog by the collar and Polo bit his hand three times, before he could even withdraw it.

"Good dog. Good boy. That's a good dog, Polo. I'll give you a cookie, when we get home," I said with a laugh.

My dog is lightning fast. The ass actually tried to kick my dog, too. Now, he had gone too far and it was time for him to learn some manners from this old man.

"I'll take you to court and have your dog put down for him biting me," he said holding his bleeding and swollen hand. "You'll pay for this."

This guy was hopping mad. His face was red, his eyes were bulging, and he was holding his bleeding hand, where my dog bit him. Only, this time, he made the fatal mistake of ignoring me, again, big mistake. When he took another step towards her, I stepped in front of him. Easily, I outweighed him by fifty pounds. I have muscle mass on my side and he has no class on his.

When he reached out with his right hand to push me aside, an unmovable object, I decked him. Hitting him hard on his chin with a left uppercut, I knocked him up and off the ground and flat on his back. It was a textbook hit. I felt all of my knuckles find the soft underside of his chin. With a whiplash effect, the back of his head hit the ground hard and bounced. He looked dazed. Then, when he stood, he had limited use of his wobbly legs, other than to use them to take his ass out of the park. He came at me again but I stopped him with my index finger.

"Oh yeah? You going to make me pay? If anyone is paying, it's you," I said. "You never put your hands on a woman, dirt bag. Do you understand?" I said poking a long, straight finger in his ribs and turning it like a screwdriver for added excruciating pain. "And you're not even half the man that I am. You are a nothing but a loser, loser."

He got this deranged look on his face, a look that came from years of getting his way with no one challenging him. He turned away from me to look at her.

"Don't bother coming home," he said ignoring me and shooting her a look full of hateful rage.

"Don't worry. I won't," said Lynn. "We're done."

He turned to me with a look that told me that he was thinking about trying me again, but instead, he rubbed his jaw and stormed away.

"I'll leave your things outside the door in the hall," he said from a distance with a wave of his hand and without turning back to look at her.

She was crying, when I turned to her. Seeing her cry the way she did made me feel a hunger for her deep down in my soul. I wanted to protect and save her from him. I wanted to save her for myself. I wanted to free her from her pain and suffering. I wanted her.

"Don't worry. You're rid of him. He's gone. He's no good. No one should hit a woman. No one should make you feel less than who you are."

I put my arms around her and hugged her. She felt so good in my arms like she belonged there. I wanted to stay there holding her forever. What felt like minutes was only a few seconds. Her body, the little that I felt of it, her back, shoulders, and waist felt firm yet soft and womanly.

There wasn't a part of me that wasn't aroused. Softly, I kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear that it was okay and that everything would be alright. I wanted to reach down and cup her ass. I wanted to press my penis against her pelvis. I wanted to push her down on the ground and show her my deep, penetrating love for her. Yet, I controlled myself. I behaved. Tonight, when alone with the erotic thoughts of her, I'll imagine that I did all of those things and more. Tonight, when alone with my thoughts of her and with my hand around my stiff cock, she'll be naked in my imagination and she'll be mine.

She touched all my senses. Her hair smelling clean and fresh, the feel of her in my arms, and the sound of her vulnerability, as she cried softly against my chest, made me want to lean down, lift up her chin, and kiss her, but I controlled myself from making a fool of myself and kissing her. Tonight, I'll kiss her in my dreams. Tonight, when she comes to me in my sleep, I'll feel her lips and her tongue against mine.

"No, it won't be alright," she said suddenly through her tears and pulling away from me. "Now, I have no place to live. Where am I to go?" She looked up at me. "I have no money. I'm a poor special needs teacher. I don't earn enough to afford my own place," she said through her tears. "I teach Autistic children." She wiped at her tears with her hand.

"Don't worry, Lynn, we'll think of something, temporary," I said without having any plan in mind, other than to soothe her.

"My Dad wanted me to go to school for business, for accounting, but I wanted something nobler and something more meaningful. I wanted to work with children." She nodded her head, "Had I listened to my Dad, I'd have had a better job, a job that could have afforded me my own apartment, instead of living with a psycho artist, who abuses me and treats me like shit."

Someone who lives such an altruistic life should not have such misery piled upon her head. She, who could model or make movies in Hollywood, gave her life to children with Autism. As a person, as a desirable woman, can she get any better than this? She was my Sister Theresa with movie star looks and a porn star body.

I had an idea that my penis suddenly liked. Suddenly, responding to the possibilities of her in my life, I had an erection. The timing of her sudden homelessness gave me a glimmer of hope that I could persuade her to expand our relationship from the dog park to my home and to the rest of my life. Perhaps, this serendipitous moment would work out for the both of us.

"Listen, Lynn," I said trying not to show my hopeful excitement, "You can stay with me for however long you need," I said hoping that she would say yes and hoping that she would never leave. I feared she'd say no, but what the Hell. I just blurted it, "I have a spare bedroom."

"Oh, great, just what I need being dependent on yet another man, who can throw me out at his whim."

"Nah, I'd give you a 30 day notice...in writing...before I kicked you to the curb," I said with a laugh.

She laughed, too.

"You live alone?"

In the way that she asked the question and looked at me made me feel like I needed to explain that I was not married, gay, a reclusive pervert, or a serial killer.

"I recently broke up with my girlfriend," I said looking at her to see how she received that bit of information. Some women are ugly criers, but even when Lynn was crying she was beautiful, especially when she was crying, so softly vulnerable, she was beautiful. Her flushed face gave her color that I imagined she'd have, after having orgasmic sex.

"Oh, sorry," she said wiping the tears from her eyes with her hand.

"It's okay. It's been a year since my girlfriend left," I said mindlessly trying to replace baseball with the thoughts of Lynn naked and in bed with me.

As soon as I said that I broke up with my girlfriend out loud, I couldn't believe that it's been a year. I've been alone for a year. No wonder why I'm lusting over this child of a woman. I'm lonely. I'm pathetic. I'm hopeful she'll say yes.

I gave her my handkerchief to dry her eyes and blow her nose. Suddenly, feeling my age that I carried a handkerchief, yet, happy that I had one to offer her, still I wished that I didn't have one in my back pocket, along with my comb and the band aids that I carried with me, just in case.

"Thank you," she said.

"I'd love the company. Sometimes, it gets lonely with just the dog, and by our interesting conversations these past few months, we get along quite well." I smiled. "We've become friends."

"Are you're sure that I can stay with you until...?" Her voice drifted off when she looked down at her dog. "What about my Seymour?" She looked up at me. "What about my dog?" She started crying, again. "I can't leave my dog." She squatted down and threw her arms around Seymour sobbing.

"Don't worry about your dog, Lynn. I love dogs, especially Seymour," I said giving her dog's head a quick rub. "Besides, Seymour and Polo have become best friends. He's welcome to stay, too. There's plenty of room for all of us. I have a big fenced-in backyard where they can play..." all day, I wanted to say, while we remain in bed making love.

From where I stood and how she squatted with her dress hiked up and her knees separated, I had a clear view up her dress and at her white panties. As much as I tried to avert my gaze, as much as I tried not to look, I stared. I had a clear view down her torn dress and at her abundant cleavage and at the top of her breasts. Her body was magnificent.

My cock stirred again with the thought of seeing her naked and with the thought of her sucking my cock. Then, I thought about what her boyfriend had said, 'She's a baby boomer magnet. You're just like all the rest of them who flock to her, a pathetic, old man hoping to get his cock sucked.' Then, I thought of what I imagined her father would say about me, 'He's only after one thing.'

Sure, I'd love for her to suck my cock, but I'd like to think that I'm better than that and what we have is more than that. I'd like to think that this is the start of something unbelievable, beautiful, and what I have longed to have in my life, since I divorced my wife a dozen years ago. So what if she is half my age? It wasn't as if I was looking for someone so young, it just happened.

I followed her in her car to his house helping her to pick up and pack her possessions. She said that he was upstairs in his art studio hiding out, probably until we left. Then, she followed me to my house.

I haven't been as excited about Lynn, my dream woman, coming to stay with me, since the first time that I knew I was about to get lucky, so many years ago, and the first time getting laid. I mean, I had no pretensions or intentions of having a sexual relationship with her. She was so young, the same age as my daughters, probably, but she was so beautiful and we connected so easily. I could hear my daughters, now, in stereo, identical twins, both talking at the same time and saying the same things.

"Dad, what's wrong with you? Are you crazy? We're the same age. You're such a pig. I hate her. I hate you. Don't ever talk to us, again." Yeah, sure, that is, until they need money.

I've never been attracted to younger women, until meeting Lynn. She was different, more mature and certainly, with me being a bit immature, we met in age somewhere in the middle. Perhaps, I thought, this could work. Stop! She's a child. You're old enough to be her father or much older brother. That sounded better, a much older brother, than being her father. Yet, both rang too much like an incestuous relationship and a forbidden union. It was so taboo, after all, an older man with a younger woman. I could hear the whispering now, every time I walked around my small town.

"Is that his daughter?"

"No, that's his girlfriend."

"Shame on him," would say the women.

"Shame on him? Good for him," would say the men. "He's a lucky bastard."

Then, I thought about Michael Douglas with Katherine Zeta Jones. What was the attraction there? Surely, it wasn't the money. She could have had nearly any man. I thought about Tony Randall fathering a child at 77-years-old and a second child at 78-years-old? What a role model he is for us older gentlemen in helping to keep the possibilities of love and sex with someone much younger alive.

Suddenly, the image of the late Anna Nicole Smith with her now deceased, 90-year-old husband J. Howard Marshall did not bode well with my confidence of winning her affection. Suddenly, I felt like Arte Johnson, the incorrigible dirty, old man of 'Rowan & Martin's Laugh-in', making a pass at Ruth Buzzi. I felt a bit ridiculous, deciding instead to take it slow, hoping that it will happen naturally with time. After all, if it is meant to be, it will happen. Maybe, now that her boyfriend is out of the picture and she's coming to my house to live with me, I have a chance. Maybe, now, she'll give me rebound sex. I laughed at her fucking me day and night with rebound sex. Boy, I only wish, what a way to die? Only, I wanted more than that.

Chances are she'll stay overnight and be back together with her abusive boyfriend tomorrow. Chances are I'm going through something, a delayed middle-aged crisis, perhaps, with the one year anniversary of my girlfriend leaving me. Chances are she'll break my heart. Realistically, what are my chances?

It was a short drive to my house. I live at the end of a cul-de-sac where trees surround my property affording me a level of privacy to walk out on my front porch naked, if I so wanted, without anyone seeing me. Not that I would walk out on my front porch naked, who wants to see a 50-year-old man naked? Maybe, a 50-year-old woman would want to see me naked, but surely, not a 25-year-old, beautiful woman.

Most of what she had were clothes, old clothes, nothing new or special. She didn't have very much. She moved in with her boyfriend from her parents' home after college and he had everything that she needed: furniture, appliances, and dishware. Even the television set was his. At least, she had a car, an old Honda Civic, and could get around herself without being dependent upon me for transportation, although, if it meant her staying with me, I'd chauffeur her anywhere, anytime.

I made her comfortable in the guest bedroom, which was at the end of the hall. Not having to share a bathroom, having her own, it was as if she had her own suite, which by her reaction to the accommodations was a favorable one. The arrangement afforded her a level of privacy, if she wanted it. At this point, I'd accommodate her in any way that would make her comfortable, and happy, and make her stay. Hell, I'd give her the master bedroom, my bedroom if that persuaded her to stay longer.

Almost giddy, I was off the floor with happiness that she was here with me in my house and in my little world, which now suddenly expanded to include her and her dog. I never knew how alone I was, until her presence filled my life with conversation, laughter, and joy. Now, I looked forward to the little things that became big things, when living alone. Now, I had someone to watch television with and to go places with. Suddenly, I wanted to go everywhere and do everything with her. I wanted to show her off to my friends. Yet, I dreaded the inevitable fall from this temporary high, when she left, one day, maybe sooner than later, knowing that it would come eventually and hit me hard, when it did. In the meantime, I decided to live in the moment and not to think about tomorrow and her leaving.