A Modern Harem Pt. 01

1

"Mom," Hilary said, "you need to get out there."

Joyce Danvers looked dubiously at her pert, petite daughter. She had a pretty good idea of what Hilary was getting at, but she played dumb. "Get out where?"

"Get out into the dating world," Hilary said impatiently.

Joyce's heart sank. "Oh, God, you can't be serious."

"I am serious. Look, Mom, Dad's been dead for two years. I know it was a big shock to everyone, being suddenly taken from us in that horrible helicopter crash. God knows I cried my eyes out, and you were pretty discombobulated too."

"Shouldn't I have been? It's not easy to lose a spouse you were married to for almost twenty years."

"Of course, Mom, but you need to move on. You don't want to be alone for the rest of your life, do you? Dad wouldn't have wanted that."

"Hilary, two years is not a long time to grieve over something like this."

"Mom, the point is that pretty soon you're actually going to be alone. I head off to college in two months, and I don't want to have you moping around this big old house with no one to talk to--and no one to" (she chuckled) "cuddle up with."

Joyce rolled her eyes. "I don't need someone to cuddle up with."

"Everyone needs someone to cuddle up with."

"Well, it's not as if you're going away to the ends of the earth. You'll just be on campus a few miles away. I still don't know why you don't keep on living here and commuting to your classes."

"Mom, I explained that already. The college insists that all freshmen live in a dorm with a roommate. I'm not real keen on that, but I guess the college doesn't want us newbies to be lonely. And you shouldn't be lonely either."

"I'm not--"

"Listen, Mom," Hilary interrupted. "Lemme show you something."

She brought out her smartphone, pressed a few buttons, and shoved the device in front of her mother's face.

"Look here," she said. "There's a dating website just for widows and widowers. I think you should join."

Joyce blanched. "You're kidding me, right? All these pathetic bereft people--"

"Mom, I hate to say it, but you're one of them. And who has a better feel for what you've been through? People who are divorced or never married haven't a clue." She chuckled again. "Anyway, I've set up a profile for you."

"You what?" Joyce exclaimed. "You had no right--"

"Calm down, Mom--I've only started it, and it's not visible yet. But I've put a lot of cute pictures of you up there, not to mention one of me."

"You? Why you?"

"Well, a prospective mate needs to know I exist--that you have an adult daughter."

"Adult? Barely." Hilary had turned eighteen a week ago.

Ignoring that, Hilary said, "You need to have a little spiel about yourself: I figured you'd write that yourself."

"Thank you. I know how to use the English language."

"Well, then, go to it! The sooner you get the page up, the sooner guys will be knocking down the door to take you out."

Joyce doubted that very much, but the idea of actually going out on dates began to start sounding vaguely appealing. She really hadn't done much in the last two years, and it was probably getting to be time when she should stop seeking people's sympathy for her situation. After all, she was a good-looking woman of forty-two: why shouldn't guys want to go out with her?

Over the next few days Joyce worked on the statement about herself. It went through a couple drafts, as Hilary proved a harsh critic ("Oh, Mom, this sounds too whiny!" "Mom, if you say that you'll attract exactly the wrong type of guy--the one who just wants to get into your pants"), but finally Joyce and her daughter agreed on how it should read.

And they uploaded the page onto the website.

Within days, Joyce found her inbox peppered with messages from prospective suitors. Some of them, she could tell immediately, were totally hopeless; others seemed promising. She decided to meet one guy for coffee--dinner, or even lunch, was too big a commitment at the start--on a Saturday afternoon.

Hilary saw her mother come back in under an hour. And Joyce's expression told the whole story.

"Not a good fit, Mom?" Hilary said.

Joyce let out an inarticulate groan of disgust. "This guy wanted to do nothing but use my shoulder to cry on! He lost his wife only a few months ago--and already he's trying to find another partner! Jeez, you gotta give it some time! But he's one of these pathetic men who can't do anything for themselves. So basically he wants a maid, a cook, and perhaps a mother thrown in for good measure."

Hilary came out with one of her patented chuckles. "And, um, probaby a bedmate too."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

Several other dates also proved unsatisfactory, although not quite as bad as that first one. Then she got into an extended email exchange--with a few phone calls thrown in--with a forty-four-year-old guy named Gerald Wilkins. He seemed really promising: kind, sincere, genial, and not totally wallowing in grief. So she agreed to meet him for dinner.

Hilary sensed that this meeting had the potential to be more consequential than its predecessors, so she took particular care with how her mother presented herself. But when, in her mom's bedroom, she saw what Joyce had slipped into, Hilary made a face.

"What's the matter?" Joyce said, alarmed. "Don't you like it?"

"Mom, the classic 'little black dress' is a wonderful thing--but it may not be quite right for the occasion."

"Why on earth not?"

"Look, Mom, you're a beautiful lady, but that dress shows your curves--and you have plenty of them--a bit too much. You don't want to look too slutty for a first date."

"How dare you!"

"Mom, I'm just telling you what I think. You have a bit more flesh on your bones than I do, and that dress is kinda tight, especially around the bust and hips. Don't get me wrong: you got a great rack--"

"Hilary, please!"

"--whereas I got itty-bitty tits. I don't know how that happened."

"Dear, your breasts aren't too small."

"They're only thirty-two B. What are yours?"

"Um, thirty-four D."

"See? They're probably twice as big as mine."

"I wouldn't say that."

"The point is, Mom, you need a dress that shows off your assets with a bit more, um, restraint." Hilary approached the big walk-in closet in the bedroom and fished out a nice-looking dark blue dress. "How about this?"

"Well, okay," Joyce said, a little crestfallen. She really liked her little black dress.

"Let's see how you look in this," Hilary said, holding it up in front of her mother.

Joyce swallowed before saying, "Maybe you should leave the room while I get into this."

"Oh, Mom, for heaven's sake!" Hilary exploded. "We're all adults here. I won't faint if I see you in your bra and panties."

When Joyce still took her time taking off the black dress, Hilary went behind her and said, "Here, I'll do it." And she unzipped the dress and pulled it off of her mother's shoulders, while Joyce shimmied out of it.

Hilary's eyes widened as she saw her mother almost naked. "Gee, Mom, you really are built!"

"That's enough of that, Hilary," Joyce said severely.

But the figure that Joyce revealed, even with her underwear on, was enough to make any man salivate. She was five foot six, with full, round breasts, the cutest little bulge around the tummy leading to an even more pronounced bulge that all women have at their delta, swelling hips and fleshy thighs: it was a vision of ripe loveliness that made Hilary proud that Joyce was her mother.

Joyce stepped into the blue dress and got it on. Hilary zipped it up from the back, then stood back to look at it.

"Yeah," she said, "it's perfect. You're a doll, but not, you know--"

"A slut," Joyce added sourly.

"I didn't say that. This is just the thing to make this guy's heart go pitter-patter without being too obvious about it. I love that hint of cleavage it shows!"

"Maybe I should put a drop of perfume between my boobs."

"If you like."

"I was being sarcastic, dear."

"Well, Mom, it couldn't hurt."

"Hilary, I am not going to sleep with this man on the first date. Is that understood?"

"Don't tell me, tell him. He's the one who, if he's any sort of man at all, is gonna wanna paw you all over before the night is through."

"Oh, you are so disgusting. This man is a gentleman--I can sense it."

"Whatever you say."

Even so, as she prepared for her date Joyce got increasingly excited--not that she really expected the evening to end with her spreading her legs for someone she'd never met before, but she did think there was the definite possibility of a long-term romance with Gerald.

Joyce had agreed to have Gerald pick her up at her house, to save the both of taking two cars to the restaurant where they would dine. As she opened the door in response to his knock, she saw that both of them were looking the other over carefully--and liked what they saw.

Joyce noticed that Gerald's eyes widened ever so slightly as he couldn't help focusing on her breasts before he looked her in the face. She was used to that from her many years in a real estate office; but she was encouraged that, although he was a widower, Gerald wasn't so wrapped up in grief that he couldn't see the attractiveness of a woman who was not his dear departed wife. As for her, she found his height (five foot ten), broad shoulders, muscular chest more than a little appealing. And she chided herself when, as she walked behind him to his car, she kept staring at what looked like a lusciously firm butt.

They got to the restaurant in under ten minutes. Neither of them knew what to expect; but when they sat down and had drinks, appetizers, and then the meal itself, they both felt that this was far more than a pleasant first date. They sensed a real connection--a connection based not just on some common interests, but on a desire to overcome their misery and move on to a new phase of their lives. Their conversation became soft, delicately intimate, and revealing in a way neither expected on an initial meeting. Sure, they had confided some of their feelings in their emails and phone conversations, but this was something more--and they both felt a kind of vibrant electricity as they gazed upon each other and exchanged confidences.

More than three hours passed, and they hardly noticed it. When, having lingered over dessert and coffee as long as they possibly could, they began getting pretty clear signals from the waitress that they should move along, they sighed as Gerald asked for the check and without any fuss picked up the tab.

They were silent as they went back to Gerald's car, realizing that this incredible moment would soon be over--unless it somehow got extended.

Gerald drove back to Joyce's house, then got out of the car and walked her up to her front door. Joyce was now actually trembling. God! she thought. I'm feeling like some silly coed! Would Gerald kiss her goodnight? After the time they'd had, a handshake would seem like an insult. He'd better kiss me--and if his hand strays a bit in the direction of my bottom, well, I won't protest too much.

Gerald did kiss her, holding her close in his strong arms but keeping his hands firmly around her lower back, so that it wasn't even touching her bra underneath her blouse or going anywhere near her butt.

But his lips felt good against hers. Two whole years it had been since she'd been kissed by a man! The softness of those lips, and the warmth of his breath as he opened his mouth slightly, made her tingle all over. She hoped that she could convey by telepathy that she wanted more: You can put your tongue in my mouth if you want. But he didn't.

When the kiss ended, each sensing a faint bit of moisure on their lips, Joyce thought she was close to fainting. The arms she had thrown around Gerald's neck stayed there--she needed to do that to keep herself from tumbling to the floor of the porch, her knees were so shaky.

Letting out a shuddery breath, she said, "W-would you like to come into the house for a drink or something?"

Gerald looked down at her, a mix of sadness and regret on his face. "I'd better not."

"What?" she gasped. "Y-you don't want to?"

"I do want to. But there will be plenty of time to get to know you better in the days and weeks to come. This certainly isn't going to be the end. I hope it isn't, anyway."

A true gentleman, she had to admit sourly. Like me, he probably vowed not to sleep with me on the first date--but I was more than ready to renounce that vow.

"Okay," she said, her voice heavy in defeat. "When can I see you again?"

"Soon," he said. "Very soon. I'll call you."

And, with one more quick kiss on the mouth, he left her stranded on her porch, got back into his car, and drove away.

Joyce trudged into the house, feeling as low as she ever had--but also with a substratum of excitement that this new relationship was really going to amount to something both wonderful and solid. No cheap rolls in the hay, that's for sure! (But she hoped there would be rolls in the hay sometime, and soon.)

Hilary was sitting on the couch in the living room--almost as if she were the mother waiting for her naïve college-age daughter to come home from a date.

"So how was it, Mom?" she asked, not bothering to put down the book she was reading.

Joyce had to clear her throat before she could say, "It was--fine."

"Fine? That's all you have to say?"

"It was good, dear. Very good. I'm sure I'll see him again."

"Glad to hear it. What's he like?"

"I'll tell you later. I--I have to go to bed now."

"Go to bed? Mom, it's barely ten o'clock."

"Well, dear, I'm tired. And I have to work tomorrow."

And she rushed up the stairs and almost ran into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

The first thing she did was to look at herself in the full-length mirror on the inside of her closet door. I'm pretty scrumptious, if I do say so myself! she thought. How could Gerald resist this?

It was then that the fantasy began.

Puckering her lips as if she was kissing Gerald right there in the room, she slipped a hand behind her back and undid the long zipper of her blue dress. She pulled it off her shoulders and let it fall quietly to the floor. Stepping out of it daintily, she gazed at herself intently in the mirror as she again reached behind herself and unclasped her bra, letting it also fall to the floor. She grabbed both breasts with her hands, squeezing them the way a man would who was properly appreciative of such an impressive bosom. Then she peeled away her underwear and stood naked in front of the mirror. She was definitely "built" (isn't that the word Hilary had used?)--but not anything close to zaftig. A lot of men like a woman with a little flesh on her bones, don't they? She was sure Gerald was one of them.

She made her way to the bed, holding out her hand as if inviting a man to follow her. And when she lay down on her back, her legs raised and her knees bent in the classic missionary-style position, she first took hold of her breasts again and then let one hand stray down her chest, stomach, and abdomen until it reached her fur-covered delta. She'd never shaved and never would. Only porn stars shave! She was, in fact, proud of the thick, heavy bush she'd cultivated over a lifetime, and she was convinced that a lot of men nowadays liked that look.

Then she slipped a hand between her legs to her pussy, which was already dripping wet.

In fact, it was so wet that she was a little embarrassed. Gee, I'm actually dripping! She giggled to herself as she felt her juices oozing out of her and coating the insides of her thighs. She made sure more fluid came out of herself as she slowly stroked her labia up and down, both inside and out, and then used her index finger to brush her clitoris--at first gently, then more and more forcefully. She continued to squeeze her breasts with the other hand, but then she slipped it under herself and seized her bottom, which was one of her most sensitive areas.

She was now going to town on herself, fondling her sex vigorously while massaging her bottom. She hoped her daughter would remain downstairs, because she was now unable to stop herself from letting out little gasps and moans and whimpers that she hoped Hilary couldn't hear. While all this was happening she was envisioning Gerald on top of her, calmly but intently plowing into her with his firm, rigid member, coating it with the juices that were still pouring out of her.

And then, emitting a little cry that she at once covered with one hand, she began shaking all over with one of the most intense orgasms she'd ever had in her life.

It seemed to go on forever, and also seemed entirely beyond her control. She kept stroking herself, but it seemed as if someone else was doing it. She felt she was almost choking, and her legs were quivering so much it was as if someone was giving her mild--or maybe not so mild--electric shocks that wouldn't end. A few tears got squeezed out of her eyes as, after what seemed like an eternity, she finally managed to collapse into boneless passivity, utterly spent from a climax for the ages.

She giggled again--but then sniffled and had to hold back tears as she thought of what could have been. I'd made as clear an invitation to that man that I wanted him to possess me--and what does he do? He walks away! Men can be so frustrating . . .

And she curled up and went to sleep.

*

"So, Mom, are you going to tell me what happened on your date?"

Hilary, sitting down at the kitchen table sipping coffee, was staring intently at Joyce, who had gotten up late and was in a hurry to get to the office.

"I'll have to tell you later, dear," Joyce said, getting some coffee of her own and snatching a doughnut from the counter.

"Mom, come on," Hilary said. "You can tell me something."

"It--it was very nice, dear. He's a wonderful man, as I knew he would be."

"Did he kiss you goodbye?"

"Yes, he kissed me goodbye."

The way Joyce had responded made Hilary, who was no dummy, look at her mother sharply. "You're telling me . . . you wanted more than a kiss?"

Joyce blanched. Omigod, did she hear me last night?

"No!" she cried. "I mean, maybe. But--but he didn't want anything more."

"Didn't he?"

"Even if he did, he wasn't going to do anything about it. I told you, he's not that sort of man."

"You know, Mom," Hilary said reflectively, "I think I have a solution to your problem."

"What problem is that?"

"Why, getting into bed with him, of course!"

"Hilary--"

"Look, Mom, here's the situation. I figure you've told him about me."

"About you? What do you mean?"

"I mean, the fact that I exist--and that I'm still going to be in this house for another two months."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, come on, Mom, use your brains. Here's a guy who wants to get into your pants--"

"Hilary, you stop that kind of talk!"

"--but there's this annoying daughter around. What a bummer! A guy is not going to want to bang a lady with someone like me within earshot. Got the picture?"

"I really don't like the way you're portraying this whole situation."

"But I have a point, don't I? So the obvious solution is: you go to his place."

Joyce fell silent.

"He lives alone, doesn't he?" Hilary went on.

"Yes. It's just a little apartment. He couldn't afford the mortgage payments on his house after his wife died."

"Well, there you go. It's kind of a bachelor pad--just right for a little nookie."

Joyce sighed in despair, giving up the attempt to rein in her daughter's filthy talk. "Okay, I agree you might be right. But I want him to meet you. I mean, you're a pretty important factor in my life, and I'll want you and him to get along."