Ruth arrived home from work that Friday, the ninth, at 6:35 and after checking her three messages—mother, office, mother—she grabbed a cold Yuengling and spread her mail out on the kitchen counter and started sifting through it.

It had been a long miserable day at the end of a long miserable week. Michael left for the conference on Monday and was supposed to return late last night but he called around six.

"I've been asked to stay on," he explained.

"By whom?" asked Ruth.

"By Brewster."

"Brewster, wow!"

"Wow indeed. This could be the break we've been waiting for."

"That's great, honey," said Ruth in her best supportive wife voice. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, babe," said Michael.

"So," began Ruth gingerly, "when are you coming home?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?!"

"Yeah, same flight just a day later."

Ruth congratulated him one more time, hung up the phone and cried for half an hour. Here she was, Friday night and Michael wouldn't be home until after midnight—later if the plane was held up, which, in this weather, seemed likely. Frankly, Ruth didn't know if she could wait that long.

Ruth flashed back to last Monday morning. She had been late to the office—and not because, as she told everyone, she had stopped to help an old lady who had run out of gas. No, she was late to the office because she and Michael had taken longer than usual to say good-bye.

What started out as a "have a good conference, see you on Thursday" kiss in the front hallway blossomed into a full-blown "have a good conference, see you on Thursday" fuck—Ruth leaning against the inside of the front door, her skirt shoved up onto her hips, her scanty panties stretched and pulled aside, Michael's Armani pants around his ankles as he rammed his thick cock into her steamy cunt from behind.

The episode threw Michael's schedule off as well so when he climaxed quickly before Ruth even had a chance to get started, she graciously told him to go ahead and leave because she knew he was nervous about missing his flight.

"I can't believe the little shit actually left!" she had been lamenting to herself all week.

Anticipating his return on Thursday, she had decided not to bring herself to the climax she had missed out on in the front hallway. "If I wait," she reasoned, "then I will want him that much more when he finally does get home." But now it was Friday evening, Michael was still a good six hours away and Ruth was seriously regretting her decision.

The cold beer tasted delicious and Ruth contemplated getting drunk and falling asleep but that would almost certainly lead to a bout of self-pity and only make her hornier.

She thought about calling her friend Alyssa but she had gotten married only a month and a half ago—Ruth made a particularly fetching bridesmaid—and Ruth knew that Alyssa would bubble and coo about how wonderful married life was, what a sweet guy Herbie was and how big his dick was. "I know Herbie is a genuine nerd," Alyssa loved to say, "but I swear to God, one look at his dick and you would never question my decision to marry him again." So no Alyssa.

She could and probably should return the calls to her mother but...well, no. She wasn't going to do that. She was her mother, for cryin' out loud! Nothing on TV, she hadn't ordered anything from NetFlix. She'd started a legal thriller but knew she wouldn't be able to concentrate.

No, what she wanted to do was fuck. Now. Right now. She wanted Michael's cock in her pussy, in her mouth, between her tits. She wanted to bury her face in his chest hair, feel his large, strong hands on her thigh, on her ass, on her tits; his soft tongue in her mouth, sucking her nipples, probing her cunt. She wanted to get fucked right here, right now and before she knew it she had hiked her skirt up and was perilously close to stroking her clit with the rim of the beer bottle.

The phone rang. Ruth checked caller ID, clicked a button and barked into the phone, "Come home!"

"Hi, babe. Hey, listen—"

"Don't 'hey listen' me you little shit. Come home now!" "I'm trying, sweetie, but—"

"But what? Oh, please don't tell me you're gonna stay for another—"

"No, no, no. I'm coming home but—"



He paused for just a split second too long and Ruth began to panic. Michael could hear her telltale breathing over the phone.

"Ruthie," he said gently, "listen to me. OK?"

"OK," she said, a choke in her voice.

"OK, now I'm scheduled to leave in about forty five minutes which should get me into town about 9:30, home by 10:30 but—"

"But what?!"

"Thing is, they're on a hurricane watch down here and if it gets worse before they can get my plane off the ground, then—"

"You owe me!" Ruth found herself shouting into the phone.

"I owe you what?"

"You owe me an orgasm!"

Michael couldn't stifle a laugh.

"It's not funny!" she shrieked into the phone.

"I know it's not, sweetie, I'm sorry."

"Do you love me?"

"More than anything." "Do you want me?"

"You know I do."

"Then come home."

"I'm trying, babe. Believe me, I'm trying."

"Try harder. And it's not just that I'm horny, it's that—"

"I know, I know," he replied.

"I mean, why this week of all weeks of the—?"

"I know, babe, I know. I'm sorry."

Trying to calm herself, Ruth took a deep breath and listened to Michael's soft breathing over the phone. Michael—suit pressed, Bluetooth device firmly affixed to his ear, attaché case at this side—was standing at gate 37-A hoping against hope that his flight would not be canceled.

"Babe, still there?" he asked.

"Are you hard?" she asked suddenly


"Is your cock hard?"

"Um...I'm standing in the middle of an airport."

"I don't care."

"Plus, there's a Girl Scout troop selling cookies in the—"

"I don't care. I don't care if you're giving the fucking commencement address at Miss Daisy's Academy for Proper Young Ladies," she said. "I want to know if your cock is hard."

"Well...not really, but—"


"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is," she said, "that I am standing her with my hand up my skirt about to slide a beer bottle into my pussy and—"

"What kind of beer?"

"What kind of beer? This is your question?!!? What kind of fucking—!"

"Ruthie, calm down. I'm sorry, OK, but—"

"I'm rubbing my clit."

And she was.

"With the beer bottle?"

"No, with my finger. My panties are soaked."

She moaned into the phone.

"Ruthie, I'm gonna hang up—"

"If you hang up you will never see this pussy of mine again."

"Really? I'm never going to see—"

"OK, OK, I didn't mean—"

"I know, honey, but—"

"I just really want you, Mikey. I want to feel that big old cock of yours inside me. I want to suck it, I want to ride it like a cowgirl, I want—"

"Ruthie, please, I'm in the middle of an airport, for crying—"

"And it's time. Right now! If we don't do this soon we'll have to wait a whole other month before we can—"

"I know, believe me, I—"

"And it just makes me want you all the more."

"I am doing the best I can, Ruthie! What do you want me to—?"

"I'm pulling my panties aside."

She moaned deeply as her middle finger probed deeper inside of her.

"Honey, be careful with that beer bottle. I don't want you to—"

"It's my finger. I just put it in my cunt. Oh, god it feels good."

"It does?" Michael asked weakly. He exhaled raggedly and Ruth knew she was having an effect on him.

"Mmmmmm, yes, it does. I wish it was your cock."

"Me, too."

"Are you hard yet?"

"Getting there...but honey, there are all these kids around and—"

Ruth heard a young girl's voice coming through the phone.

"Hey, mister, wanna buy some Girl Scout cookies?"

"Go away," said Michael, brusquely.

"Oh, buy some cookies from the little girl, Michael."

"But Ruthie—"

"Come on, mister. It's for a good cause."

"Yeah," said Ruthie. "It's for a good cause. I'll let you fuck my mouth if you—"

"OK, OK, here's a twenty, give me some cookies," said Michael impatiently.

"How sweet," said Ruth. "Just for that, I'm gonna take my top off and start playing with my tits."

"Shhhh," said Michael fiercely into the phone.

"I didn't say anything," said the Girl Scout.

"I'm not talking to you," barked Michael.

Ruth had her unbuttoned her blouse and was fondling one of her sumptuous breasts through a sheer silky bra.

"OK," said the Girl Scout, "we got Thin Mints, we got Peanut Butter Patties, we got—"

"Just give me twenty bucks worth of whatever."

"I wish you were here to suck on my tits," said Ruth.

"Ruthie, please..."

"We got Trefoils, we got—"

"Just give me some—"

"I'm supposed to go through the whole list and then—"

"Thin Mints, OK, give me twenty bucks worth of Thin Mints!"

"OK, I gotta get you some change."

"Keep the change!"

"I'm not allowed to accept tips."

"I wish I had the tip of your cock in my mouth right now," offered Ruth.


"Is there a problem here?" It was a new voice. An older woman, clearly some sort of Girl Scout madam who had come to investigate.

"No, ma'am, I'm sorry, I'm on the phone with my wife and I'm a little anxious about my flight and—"

"There's no need to take it out on one of the girls."

"No, of course not. I'm sorry, I'm just—"

"What's she wearing?" asked Ruth.

"Who?" replied Michael.

"The MILF. What's she—?"

"She's not a—" Michael had stopped himself just in time.

The little girl spoke up.

"He hasn't been mean to me, Grandma," she said.

"Is she fat and old?" asked Ruth.


"Or is she the aging gracefully type?"

"Honey," said the woman to her granddaughter, "why don't we let the nice man talk to his wife?"

"Wait! Here," Michael called out. He shoved the twenty dollar bill in the grandma's hands and said, "For the cookies."

"Oh how thoughtful," said the woman. "Honey, find out what type of cookies the man—"

"Just keep the money," said Michael.

"Does she have nice tits?" asked Ruth.

"We're not allowed to accept tips," said the little girl.

"It's a donation, not a tit."

The woman and the little girl froze in place.

"Tip," said Michael, correcting himself after an awkward pause.

"Grandma, did you hear what he—?"

"Run along, honey. Grandma needs to talk to the nice man about his...donation."

"So," asked Ruth, "I guess she does have nice tits."


"Are they as nice as mine?"

It just so happened that Grandma, as far as Michael could tell, had a pretty nice rack. In fact, he never would have pegged her for a grandma to begin with. At about five foot ten, she was thin and fit, with a tight skirt that clung to her shapely hips and a low cut blouse that would have displayed impressive cleavage even if the top button hadn't accidentally come undone.

"Sir," said Grandma sourly, but before she could launch into her reprimand Michael began his apology.

"I am so embarrassed," said Michael quickly, "and so sorry to have"

"Tit?" asked the woman.

"Yes, in front of your granddaughter. Please accept my—"

"I'm no prude, sir, but there are boundaries—"

"It was an accident, I promise you—"

"Well...I will accept that."

"Hey, mister," echoed the little girl's voice as she approached. "We were all out of thin mints, so I brought you a box of these."

She handed him the box.

"Do you think Grandma shaves her pussy?" asked Ruth.

"Mmmm," Michael said, looking at the box. "Peanut Butter Pussies. Can't wait to pop one of these in my mouth!"

Ruth could hear the little girl start to giggle.

"Shhh!" said the grandma. "Run along."

"Hey guys, guess what?" echoed the little girl's voice as she ran off.

Not aware that he had misspoken, Michael was baffled by the grandma's icy stare.

"What?" he said defiantly.

"Peanut butter pussies," said Ruth. "Yummy."

"Oh, my god," said Michael, his face suddenly beet red with humiliation.

Grandma stuck an angry finger in his face. "If I see you near my granddaughter or any of those little girls over there, I will call security," she warned

Michael hung his head in shame but his eyes landed on Grandma's cleavage and he had to quickly look away. His glance did not go unnoticed, however, and the woman finally got a look at her unbuttoned blouse.

"Pervert," she said as she buttoned up and walked away.

Michael exhaled deeply.

"Peanut Butter Pu—" Ruth began.

"Ruthie, stop it!"

"Puts a whole new spin on peanut butter and jelly, don't you think?"

"You're gonna get me arrested, Ruthie!"

There was a brief silence before Ruth capitulated.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I was just...having some fun."

"I know," said Michael softly.

"I miss you."

"I miss you too, honey, except that now I have about twenty-five little girls dressed in green pointing their fingers at me and giggling."

Ruth's sympathetic laughter was contagious and Michael chuckled lightly.

"And my dick is hard."

Ruth laughed harder.

"It's not funny," he said, trying to stifle his own laughter lest the Girl Scouts and their various protectors decided to alert the authorities.

"Come home. I want you so bad, babe. I love you."

"Love you too, honey."

The phone went dead. Ruth caught sight of herself in the mirror—skirt hiked up to her waist, stained panties pushed aside, silk blouse hanging off her shoulders, left breast dangling free of her bra. She laughed out loud at the sight, finished off her beer and went upstairs to take a long luxurious bath.

An hour later, Ruth pulled at the tub drain with her toe and stood to get out of the bath. Once again, she caught sight of herself in the mirror but the effect was decidedly different than before. Soaking wet, suds clinging to her body, Ruth was astonished at the sight.

She took good care of herself in every way possible—ran, lifted weights, did yoga and she knew she was in great shape. Even so, the image in the mirror still surprised her.

Never one to primp and admire herself in front of a mirror, Ruth rarely took notice of her considerable assets but here they were on full display and in her current state of sexual desire, she couldn't help but be in awe of her own beauty.

She focused first on her breasts. Ruth was thirty-three years old now but was astonished to see that her breasts had lost none of the perkiness that the boys so admired when she was a starter on the girls' basketball team in high school. If anything, they had become more voluptuous.

The little bit of weight she had gained in the last fifteen years had been kind to these beautiful monuments to her womanhood. They were full and round, plump and inviting. She couldn't resist fondling them; she lightly brushed her nipples with her fingertip and watched as they asserted themselves proudly.

Turning sideways for a better glance, Ruth noticed, perhaps for the first time ever, the elegant curve of her back and how, if she arched it just right, her breasts surged forward, her pink puffy nipples leading the way.

Feeling that luscious tingle in her vagina as she stroked her nipples, Ruth moved her gaze downward. She had shaved her pussy once at Michael's request but, as it turned out, neither much cared for the new look. The thick burgundy patch that had regrown around her sweet spot was wild and unruly now and she liked the look of it.

She also noticed how her pubis glistened, the slowly dripping bath water catching the light and reflecting it like a summer night sky. Ruth slowly ran her fingers through her bush, moaning with pleasure as she did so.

Turning around with her head crooked back to peek in the mirror, Ruth caught sight of her firm, round ass. She spread her legs slightly and watched as the underside of her pussy peek-a-boo'd through the opening in her legs.

Bending over further, Ruth got a better view and could feel herself getting even more turned on. She touched her clitoris just once more and was so ready and waiting that the sensation it created made her slightly dizzy. She sat down on the edge of the tub and took a deep breath.

It was then that her gaze finally landed on her face. As a teenager, Ruth's body developed quickly but her face remained young—chubby cheeks, big eyes, a freckled nose and a front tooth that she had chipped while charging in for a lay-up in her sophomore year. She made the basket, won the game and lost part of her tooth. It left her looking even more like a 12 year old tomboy than she already did.

She was carded at bars and restaurants well into her twenties and when she met Michael's family for the first time, they asked what year she was in school.

"Third year," she replied.

"A junior? Hmmm. I would've guessed you were a freshman."

"No," she gently corrected them, "Third year of law school."

By the time she turned thirty, however, her face had matured— she capped the tooth a month before her wedding, the freckles faded and the rest of her face filled out to deemphasize the cheeks.

Gazing at herself, Ruth realized that she was now what she had always been convinced she would never be—beautiful.

"No wonder men stare at me during depositions," she said aloud as she took in the whole picture one more time.

Quietly she thought to herself, "No wonder Michael can't keep his hands off of me." Smiling at the thought of her sweet and loving husband, she silently chided herself for her indulgence, dried off and stepped out of the tub.

An hour and a half later, at 9:17, Ruth was naked beneath her plush bathrobe, sipping a glass of Pinot Grigio and trying to focus on her book when the phone rang. Seeing Michael's name on caller ID made her smile until she realized that he might be calling to say his flight was cancelled. She took a deep breath and answered.


"Hi, honey," said Michael. "Hey, listen, my flight—"

His voice was consumed by static.

"Michael, honey, you're breaking up."

His voice crackled back on.

"So, that's what they're telling me at this—"


"Michael, I can't hear you. Are you coming home or—?"

Nothing. Silence. Ruth sighed deeply and then tried again.

"Michael, sweetie, what's going—?"

"—don't know exactly when the flight—" said Michael before the phone went dead again. It was clear to Ruth that Michael couldn't hear her but she tried again.

"Are you coming home tonight or—?"

"—just called my name so I gotta—" Silence.



"Michael, when are you—?"

Beep, beep, beep. Dial tone. Ruth frantically dialed Michael's cell phone. It rang once before going to a voice message.

"The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please try again later."

Dial tone. Ruth dialed again. One ring.

"The number you are trying to reach is currently unavail—"

"Fuck!" cried Ruth as she threw the phone, aiming for the sofa but missing. Instead the phone crashed into a candy dish on the side table, knocking a bowl of M&M's to the floor.

"Fuck," she said again. She checked to make sure the phone still worked and it did. She got a broom and dustpan and cleaned up the mess. Annoyed as she was by this little incident, she also realized that it had distracted her and calmed her down a bit.

Trying to relax further, she clicked on the TV but a Geico commercial blared at her loudly so she clicked it right back off. She downed the rest of the wine, went upstairs, stripped naked, climbed into bed and took the last of her prescription sleeping pills. Ten minutes later, she was asleep.

She dreamed of Michael. How could she not? He had been on her mind all week long. The thought of him pressing his lips to hers had distracted her during today's deposition and alone in her office an hour later she couldn't resist touching herself as she reviewed briefs for Monday's associates' meeting.

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