A Skipper’s Mature Lust & Love

At 48, John was two years into his new life as a single after Cindy had left. Perhaps it was the sadness of what he still thought of as an unnecessary breakup, but whatever the reason, he had not felt the need for any female company in these past two years. The desire just was not there.

Instead, he chose the sort of solitary freedom he had always had as a fantasy in the back of his mind, even as a kid. After buying the boat he would live on, he drifted from place to place, tying up in places he liked for sometimes a couple of weeks, sometimes even a few months. But always dreaming of the next leg of his journey; you can develop software from anywhere and it was freedom he longed for.

He'd ended up in this pretty, quiet village a week ago. A nice spot at the marina, with great views of the river but still close to the town center. A row of small, cosy homes -- cottages, really -overlooking the old marina and the bend in the river. He felt this would be one of the longer stays he'd had so far; the place simply felt good.

Spring was on its way, and as he did some work on the boat, the first real warmth of the sun that year hit his skin. In fact, it hit quite literally, triggering something out of a deep two-year-long sleep. Not perhaps lust or sexual desire, simply the need for a woman. Intimacy.

John knew life had taken a new turn straight away, he wondered about the almost primal suddenness of that change in himself. The two weeks after this unexpected sunray moment were spent almost methodically, preparing for what he felt sure would follow next. A long overdue haircut, working out at the local gym, and after explaining his awakening to his old friends Tim and Mary over the phone, a box from Mary with outfits that 'would improve his prospects significantly'.

He had never considered himself to be attractive. But as some of his friends' wives had told him sympathetically after his break-up, he had 'dried up rather nicely' as the years had passed. At 6'1 and well-built, the years had mostly just added character to his face.

To his amusement, he'd gotten more attention from women in the last two years than ever before. Part of that, he suspected, was the weight loss and muscle build that the sailing life brings with it. Now, though, in the smart outfits Mary had sent, he felt attractive and confident for perhaps the first time in his life.

She often worked in her garden overlooking the marina, and John had certainly noticed. She had the physique of a certain 'type', as he thought of it, that he found the most exciting. He even had a name for her type -- all his life he had been wondering what made women attractive to him and being a methodical person, he made up names for his types. She was a Natural woman, curvy, earthy. Never discussed or even voiced out loud, these words he made up came straight into his thoughts as he first saw her, and felt his desire flare up.

He had always liked older women, lush women. And although not chubby, her curves were pronounced as she bent over to pull some weeds. John could only imagine freckled skin on her full but shapely legs, but he certainly needed no imagination for her breasts.

Tucked into a tight-fitting shirt with spaghetti straps, she probably felt no need for a bra working in the garden; the marina was quiet and she was mostly safe in assuming she'd be unobserved. Her cleavage when pulling out the weeds made him think 36DD. Not that he was trying to think in measurements, the number came up as he felt his excitement physically grow.

Staring at her for a few minutes, he could see a full, surprisingly youthful ass in her tight sweat shorts as she walked around barefoot -- a natural woman, as he thought. He realised that he must have been staring for more than a few minutes, as the sun started to set and she walked back into the patio doors of her cottage, seemingly oblivious to his stares.

Her butt moving in the too-tight shorts, with a bit of the bottom of her ass cheeks visible just as much as the lovely full legs below, that image lingered in his mind for a long time after she moved out of view.

That night, John's re-awakened desire came back full-force. He wanted a woman; he wanted a woman to want him; he needed to fuck; he wanted to play the game again. And this Earthy Woman would be the first object of his desire. Although, he knew, also certainly not the last. His time had come.

The next morning was the first hot day of the year. John woke up early, somehow more energised than he'd normally be that time of day. As he pulled the curtain from the porthole next to his bed, he saw her step out of her patio doors.

Wrapped in a white towel, her shoulder-length chestnut hair still wet from the shower; carrying a cup of coffee and something else, small, in her hand. John noticed the way she walked -- barefoot, thus carefully, but with a certain rhythm, a certain pace that he thought of as quite girlish. It only added to the desire he felt -- it fit the type, he realised. She was a GILF, but an energetic, playful one.

As she sat down cross-legged, in the middle of her meadow, she bent forward and studied her pretty little feet. John saw her touch her toes, one by one and just as he realised she was about to paint her toe nails, the towel wrapped tightly around her large breasts came loose. He saw her left breast come free immediately, full, mature, and although perhaps a bit saggy to others, perfect and delicious in his mind.

Breathlessly, he grabbed the binoculars that he kept next to his bed. As he focused in on her, perhaps 60 yards away from him, the towel opened up more and fell down to her hips. Her amazing breasts, full and slightly sagging under their weight, were complemented by a cute little belly, which however still left her with a clear hourglass figure.

The towel obscured her hips, but John had no trouble imagining them. Soft, full hips, with a bit of a muffin top when wearing jeans -- hips he so much wanted to feel up that he now knew for sure she was the object of his reawakened desire.

After she had painted her toe nails and leaned back on her arms in the grass, the towel gave way completely. She stretched her legs and John enjoyed a full view of her body from below. Her full thighs, through his binoculars, led up to a well-kept bit of hair. Her pussy inside looked absolutely delicious, with just a bit of her inner labia coming out to promise a full tactile experience when he would penetrate her. If and when, John corrected himself. For all he knew, she was happily married and -- but God, he needed to have her.

As he was thinking that the cottage was very small, and the chances of this being a single woman's house increased accordingly, he felt somehow certain: as she lay in the grass, legs outstretched, she brought one hand to her pussy and stroked it intently -- as if to see if everything was still OK there. As she continued her stroking, the expression on her face changed from interest to delight.

She lay down fully flat on the grass, and although John could no longer see much of her face, her body movements became ever more telling -- then with some shaking, she came to rest and John waited patiently behind his binoculars for the moment he could see her face again. That lovely face, perhaps late in her fifties but freckled and with a girlish prettiness despite lines and the inevitable -- cute -- wrinkles around her eyes.

He had resisted the urge so far, but now gripped his bone-hard erection and beat off violently, somehow hoping the energy pulse of his coming would be felt by the woman only 60 feet away. He had to have her.

The next days were some sort of exquisite torture. She would come into the garden many times a day, sometimes with twenty-somethings he imagined to be her children, sometimes with women friends -- but John's hopes grew as there was never a man.

His pent-up need also grew, with every time she appeared in a loosely buttoned shirt (and nothing else, he felt sure), sweat shorts, a bathrobe once, and now that he used his binoculars, he saw her in just a T shirt, tiptoeing lightly inside her living room. He became obsessed. The butt, the legs, the breasts, the cleavage in that spaghetti-strap shirt. Her neck, once adorned with a pearl string that he felt looked so hot around her; she became strangely familiar to him.

John knew he needed to make some sort of a move. He had no wish to become a voyeur more than he already was and the urge to feel her physically -- feel her hips, stroke her breasts and legs, smell the small of her neck -- made for a clear need to get closer to her.

He had casually asked around in the marina. From the harbour master, he learned that she was called Eve, and had moved in to the cottage after her kids had left the house a few years ago. Eve... she had a name. There was, indeed, no Mr. Eve and yes, the harbour master did hint he'd noticed her attractive appearances as well, but John felt zero need to discuss the matter any further with the apparently dirty old man.

Instead, he started to prepare his lunches and dinners outside on the aft deck of his boat. Now and then, waving friendly to Eve as she came into her garden but pretending to be busy with his food otherwise. Interestingly, this did not make her change her choice of clothes when she came into her garden -- not at all. Last time he saw her, she wore her spaghetti-strap shirt with just her panties underneath, revealing the sexy, lush, soft front of her hips.

He did have one other scrap of information to go on. Eve did yoga with the wife of one of the boat owners in the marina. And there was only the one yoga studio in the village. Judging from its web site, run by an elderly lady who did two classes per week. Much as John considered yoga to be an unmanly thing to do, he decided to apply for a trial lesson. And so, he walked up to Mrs. Connolly's yoga studio exactly one week after his obsession with Eve began, with (as he estimated) a fifty percent chance of meeting his goal for the week.

Dressed in the fancy new boat shoes he got out of Mary's clothing box, smart new training pants and a slim-fit T shirt, he walked up to Mrs. Connolly's yoga studio, which was a smart little building in the back of her spacious garden.

He felt -- also for the first time perhaps in his life -- good-looking, possible even sexy to a lady ten years his senior. The confidence gave him a boost as he entered the hallway of the little studio. Mrs. Connolly had asked him over the phone to come a bit earlier so she could give him a little introduction.

"Hello, it's trial-lesson John," he called out to announce his arrival and immediately, a tall, sleek lady appeared.

"Hi! Ellen." She smiled at him. Ice. Ice, flashed through his mind. She was the Ice type. Pretty, slim, gracious, perhaps 60 years old but by no means elderly, her long blonde hair and blue eyes all fit the type, he thought.

She was barefoot, long legs in sweat shorts, with a tight gym top holding very pretty, pert B cup breasts. She was undeniably elegant, but of the type that John felt was more pretty than sexy. Still, in his reawakened mood of the last weeks, she was nice to look at -- in the distant kind of way a pretty teacher could be at school.

"Take off your shoes, and please come in!" she said. "It's so nice to have a man in my class again. Please do not feel uncomfortable, you probably expected it's an all-female class as yoga almost always is."

John laughed, feeling strangely at ease despite yoga not exactly being his thing. But with his body toned by his two years of the sailing life, plus the gym workouts he had been doing strenuously over the past few weeks, he felt vaguely -- excited, really. Possibly slightly horny.

"I hope you don't think it is weird for me to attend," he said. "I've been sailing the last couple of years -- in fact I just arrived here in the marina on my boat a few weeks ago. But sailing is a very one-sided workout. I need to get a bit more -- flexible?"

Mrs. Connolly laughed out loud. "Yes, flexibility... not many men realise they need that. Glad to have you! Welcome."

John exchanged some chitchat about his sailing around, and how he'd be staying a few months as he really liked the place, and by then, some of the other classmates came in. Inevitably, John sized them up. A thirtysomething, pretty and well-toned; a fourtysomething who looked very tired and two others outside of his interest.

Still. He'd been a hermit for too long, he thought just as Eve walked into the room. Barefoot as he'd always seen her, walking with that sexy spring in her step, which made her hips move in a way that gave him an immediate signal in his dick. She wore the same sweat shorts as she did the first time he saw her in her garden, but the gym top was new to him.

He was amazed she would wear such a tight little thing, given her -- definitely -- DD size, and also because most women would feel very self-aware of the cute little belly below it. The cleavage was spectacular, and her breasts bulged out in a very sexy way on the sides. But Eve showed no sign of self-consciousness at all, she moved with the natural grace of a woman very comfortable in her body.

"Hi!" she exclaimed in a sweet, melodical voice. "The skipper! You here, that is a surprise. You have such a lovely boat!"

John was lost for words, for a moment. He just smiled, and his eyes wandered over her body in a way she could not have failed to notice. But that was fine, he just had to come up with words right now.

"Er, yes, hi!" he said, extending his hand. "John Napier."

"Eve," she replied, "Eve Cunningham."

She completely matched what he expected from her type -- she was natural, warm and seemingly had forgotten his rapid but unmistakable bodyscan. Or perhaps she felt that scan was just natural behaviour, he wondered. Her breasts were just amazing, and despite the cute little belly (as he consistently called it in his mind) she had an hourglass figure that made him utterly desperate to grab her by the hips. Indeed, the delicious little muffin top was apparent above her sweat shorts.

As Mrs. Connolly started the class, candles were lit and John tried to make the initial yoga moves as naturally as possible, very self-aware that he looked woefully out of place making such moves. He had positioned himself opposite Eve, and the constant view of her cleavage kept him semi-erect during the whole class, desperately thinking of things to avoid a full hard-on. Which would have been disastrous when lying flat on his back during exercises.

The way things went, he felt happy for Eve to see some significant bulge in his pants, but nothing that went further than that. She seemed so natural to him, at ease with her body, doing the exercises in a serene manner -- and now and then, smiling encouragement to him as he struggled along. All the time, with that perfect cleavage, those perfect breasts, those hips and legs. This was hard.

Quite hard. Mrs. Conolly, Ellen as she had introduced herself, led the class by performing the required exercises, instructing with a silky voice, adding additional explanations for John's benefit. And regularly, she'd come over to him and help him find the right poses. He felt her hands, slender but confident, the sexy teacher at high school as he thought of it. But then she truly intervened when he was on his hands and feet performing the Down Dog position.

"Up!" she said gently, "You need to point your bum up high, make a 90 degree corner between body and legs."

As she spoke, he felt her hand slide down his midriff, down to his dick, which she cupped in her hand as she pushed him upward.

"Up..." She smiled again, rolling his now rapidly hardening cock over her cupped hand deliberately a couple of times, "Further... up! I'll help you a few times more to make your body memorise the position."

John felt a mix of humiliation, given the awkward hand-and-feet stance he was in, raw horniness from the sensation she had just given him so deliberately, and at the same time, excitement like a school boy knowing he'd be experiencing his favourite high school teacher in very inappropriate ways.

Soon.

Part 2.

=====

After class, as everyone put on their shoes again, John positioned himself close to the front door. Eve would have to pass by him to leave, and at that moment he planned to be ready, move out himself, and walk with her along the way to the cottage and the marina. This could not possibly go wrong, he knew.

"Can I walk with you? I'm heading pretty much the same way," he said when they left the yoga studio.

She smiled at him. Big green eyes, freckles, a strand of her hair in her face. 5'4 tall, her pretty feet in cute, slim trainers. She was to die for, John thought. For a mature woman of -- 57? - she still had the radiance of a young woman, combined with the maturity that John had felt attracted to ever since his horny teen years. And her face had lines and wrinkles, but was carefully hydrated, lacking the harshness that can come with age. How could she possibly be single?

"Sure," Eve said, in her natural way, which was sweet but did not reveal any interest or lack thereof. "It'll be nice to talk, you have a story to tell with your skipper adventures I am sure."

In the warm evening air, Eve was still in her inappropiately hot yoga top and shorts. She led the way out of Mrs. Connolly's garden, and walking behind her he could see her ass move in her too-tight sweat shorts. And as he had seen before, her full, lush upper legs shook a bit with every step. He so wanted those legs, those freckled thighs.

As they walked the few hundred yards home, they chatted, about sailing, keeping fit when getting a bit older, the charm of the village -- but the walk was too short for anything meaningful. At the marina gate, John looked her in the eyes.

"Eve, if you don't mind, with this sailing of mine I don't know anyone here. Would you be offended if I invited you for dinner on my deck one of these days? I just don't get to talk much with people, sailing and being the permanent stranger". He left a little pause, and added, "Sorry. That was clumsy of me. Please erase from your memory and ignore that..."

But she laughed heartily. "Sure! That would be fun. Since I moved into the cottage after my kids left, I'm on my own -- plenty of time. I'd be delighted!"

John noticed she tilted her left foot a little, like girls do when they feel shy or excited. And her hand ever so briefly touched his arm. This evening could not have gone any better.

Two days later, John met Mrs. Connolly, Ellen as he should think of her now, at the supermarket.

"Hi John," she said in that silky voice of hers, "will you be coming to yoga class again? Did you like the trial lesson?"

John felt his dick grow in his pants, remembering her hands. He would play in line with the type, the Ice type as he thought of her. He briefly glanced into her eyes, and then looked away shyly.

"I would love to. Yes. Of course. It will give me that flexibility and in a couple of months, when I sail off again, I'll have the exercises in my muscle memory so I can do them on my own."

She laughed and put her slender hand on his arm. "Yes, those moves. You'll have a lot of muscle memory to learn still. Like every other man, you are clumsy. Yoga is hard, you know. But you will learn, you have the body strength and I think the desire."

John looked in her eyes. He felt like a teenager, and that would be the role he'd play with Mrs. Ice.

"I'm not sure how much I can pick up in the one class per week but I will be there for sure. It is cool to learn something new, and something that is outside of the normal things I'd do for sure."

He paused, not looking straight into her eyes but scanning her face. She was beautiful. Not his body type, but hot. His mistress.