Dirty Old Man

Another ninety-degree day poured heat onto Portland. Inside, hot air clung to everything. Seeking cooler, finding shade in the side yard of the house. Although Emily had beaten me to the umbrella, a tempting dark shadow unlit a patch of withering grass.

===<>===

I had been living in this large rambling house in northeast Portland on Halsey for a few weeks. It was a short-term proposition. Five more weeks before the long-term renter returned from an African adventure. My life had been pretty unstable for too many years but it felt less like being homeless here. Of the five roommates, Emily was the most friendly.

Born and raised in Kentucky, she left the safety of family, moving to Portland for work.

I'm kind of old. Not dead. Just that no one really caught my interest like my last wife did, so I languished romantically. Too old for Emily but window shopping is OK. Right?

Not that I'm too sure about her sexuality. OK, I am sure. She likes girls. So do I but it's not quite the same. But window shopping...

One night, returning home late, not unusually late, Emily and another young woman were sitting at opposite ends of a small sofa. Facing each other, their feet up, knees bent on the sofa under a gray blanket laid over their legs. Imagination rife with the thought of their feet snuggled against the others pubis. Toes playing footsie. Maybe that's why they call it a love seat. Emily held the shared glass of wine with a well used bottle at rest on the coffee table.

Jumping to conclusions while I took in the scene, hoping a natural smile set before saying, "that looks cozy."

Emily replied, "It is, got cooler."

Her friend turning to say hi. A few more forgotten words before I headed upstairs.

Thoughts of feet pressing between each others legs hidden from view under the blanket bringing a smile to my face even though it was likely they were just friends. Good friends.

Waking in the early hours, I had taken a trip to the the bathroom. Passing Emily's bedroom I heard murmurs and stifled laughter coming from the other side of the door. Slowing on the return trip outside her door, the sounds died away. Thinking they must of heard the footfall pause and stopped whatever they were doing as they strained to listen too.

Thoughts of Emily and her friend making out kept me too wired for sleep. I had opened the door to my room a little to listen to the muffled conversations amplified by the night, drowsy voices becoming broken whispers for a few moments before resuming. Silences growing, generating images of two forms caressing and touching, stroking each other, movement and juices. Ears had strained for sounds as they mated, their moans and orgasms too much for me as I stroked my cock, pumping cum into my hand, trying to catch the spill as it dripped to the floor.

The next morning while eating breakfast, listening to the news, Emily had came down in a short wrap displaying long legs and a bright smile. A sing-song-happy, 'good morning' in response to mine.

A few minutes later the friend, from the previous night appeared, dressed for work, a shy smile on her lips.

Offering a 'good morning,' trying not to leer. Her response not giving much away.

The friend sat on the sofa where they had been entwined the previous night, just out of sight from the dining table. Emily walked past, I watched as she sat on the floor in front of her friend. I could overhear her part of the conversation, "I can make eggs and coffee," pulling images of morning after small talk I have shared with sleepovers. Seemed like her friend needed to leave.

===<>===

Dragging a faded beach chair to the shifting shadow patch, a few positions tried so as not to crowd the younger woman. We have not acknowledged each other. Maybe she's asleep. My mind wanders to the time I heard her lovemaking with a girlfriend. The chair creaks as I reposition a stiffening cock.

Emily lies on a beach towel in umbrella shade, wearing what looks like a bikini top and short shorts. She is tall and quite shapely. Neither pretty nor beautiful but close enough, a looker by most anyone's standards. Besides, long legs and luscious curves mute many quibbles.

The heat was taking its toll. An earlier breeze failed to deliver more than the occasional waft of warm air and that was now still. Two beers left a buzz that melted to soporific malaise, leaving just enough energy to raise an eyelid to take in the view of Emily laid long, face down. Stop it fool.

Emily has pale skin that likely burns easily. She had spent most of the time in the shade of the umbrella but the sun had changed enough that it was searing her arm. She hadn't moved for awhile. I knew because I kept checking. Not so concerned about her UV exposure as with the general exposure of her curves.

"Emily?" Louder, "Emily!" Nothing. Or, she was ignoring me. Likely the latter. No, she must have seriously dozed off, the arm will be burnt. Rousing myself to sit, pausing before standing in the heat, brushing the back of my fingers on her shoulder, "hey, Emily,' watching her start.

"Mmmm," half turning.

"Your arms getting broiled." Watching, there is a lot of watching, as she pulls the arm to her side, rolling over, sitting up.

"Oh. Thanks." Slowly running a hand over the arm, "must be the heat, I'm really out of it."

"I called out a few times before nudging you."

"You nudged me? Where?" Looking directly into my eyes, "I didn't feel anything."

"I've had a few women tell me that." Smiling, hoping I wasn't confirming any dirty old man stereotype. "Your shoulder. It was just a nudge."

"I can feel the heat in my arm, it was probably an emergency, so thank you." Standing, extending her arms, linking her fingers and stretching with a yawn. Eyes devouring, lingering, enjoying the show before averting my gaze and returning to the beach chair.

Emily walks into the house, I wonder if she feels my eyes on her, wondering if she even cares. The urge to flirt suppressed. I'm almost old enough to be her grandfather. That urge, however, is great.

===<>===

The reaction to the cold glass on my shoulder brought me out of whatever heat and alcohol induced slumber enveloped me. Focus returning to long bare legs, rumpled shorts, bare tummy, curves, all of them, finally Emily - standing over me. "I have chilled lemonade if you're interested?" I must have looked confused, senile maybe. "Sorry to wake you."

"Must have been pretty out of it myself." Recovering, hoping the spasm of the shocked awakening wasn't too off-putting. "That would be great. Thanks." Taking the offered glass, water beading, dripping, "homemade?"

"You'll be lucky."

"Thought it might be some lemonade stand entrepreneurship thing when you were a kid."

"Nope. My mom made it, I just drank it." Winking before turning, hips swaying, back to the wrinkled towel, dragging it into searing sunlight.

A yearning gaze as she folds herself to sit, adjusting the small pillow as she lies back. Watching as she wriggles to comfort, not quite there. There.

Taking small, deliberate sips of surprisingly good lemonade, whoever made it, allowed me to savor Emily's form set before me. Her eyes are closed, just the gentle rise and fall of her chest indicating she is alive.

And awake. Lips barely moving, "you watching me burn?"

"Just watching." Creep. Adding, "just in case you need a hand."

"I do need to put some lotion on. So annoying. Just want to feel the sun on me. Even in this heat," pausing, "want a sexy tan." Rolling her head a little as eyelids flutter open against the searing sun, "maybe I should get a fake tan?"

"Are they safe?"

"Don't care, only have a few freckles, almost albino."

"At least you have some hair color, pretty red."

"Thank you." Swinging her legs around, standing, a blue squeeze bottle of lotion in her hand, "natural too." Another stretch defining a toned stomach devoid of color. Turning from me, she bends from the hips as short shorts stretch against her ass, cleaving into her vulva. Oh to be twenty-years younger. Wryly smiling with the realization I would still be twenty-years too old for her.

Wondering if she follows what seems to be the norm, from what I've read, of women using wax to denude their pubis. Saying, "triple-digit sunscreen?"

"SPF forty-five", drawing the forty out, smiling, "I always hope to go a shade darker." Stroking her tummy with splayed fingers, "my father died of melanoma so I probably should just stay out of the damn sun."

"Both your parents pale skins?"

"No. Dad was. Red-headed Irish. My mum is raven-haired, wild Irish. They were quite the pair." Emily looks off into the distance, twisting her lips a little comically, maybe recalling her father.

"You miss him?" More a statement.

"Yeah," smiling, "I was his little girl. Even when I was taller than him." The smile fading, "hit my mom really hard."

"Big family?"

"Large enough. Two sisters and three brothers. Miranda is my younger sister, the rest are older, some less than a year apart. Kept my mom busy in more ways than one," smiling impishly, "you?"

"Oldest. Sister and brother," thinking of my distant family, "mom's still kicking butt at eighty-seven, dad died at sixty-two of a heart attack. I celebrated getting to be a day older than he was when he passed." Not sure if I wanted to share that with Miss twenty-something.

"You close to your dad?"

"No. Not that close. Miss that we weren't sometimes. How old were you when your father died?"

"Thirteen."

"That's tougher. Hope you all helped your mom around the house," smiling up at her.

"Mostly me and Aiden, the others got a pass. But it worked out."

Emily flipped the cap of the sunscreen bottle squeezing out an inch of white goop onto her fingers, working the lotion into the pale flesh on her arms. Following as she applies the protective layer to her tummy, taking in the faint coconut scent of the lotion as she smooths it around her long legs, fingers slipping under the shorts.

"Stop ogling, it's rude to stare," a grin more than a sneer as she turns rubbing her hands up and down the rear of her thighs, wrists pulling the hem of the shorts up.

"Is ogling staring? Sorry. I've stopped now." Almost. Enjoying snippets of the show. Taking her in as she sits down on the blanket, pulling her legs up.

"Boys. You're all the same. Whatever your age," a small smile lifting her lips, "will you do my shoulders and back?"

"As punishment for ogling?"

Without replying Emily uncoils, stretching out as she lowers herself slowly.

Kneeling beside her, lotion bottle in hand, her hands reach back toward the clasp of the top. Ever the gentleman, "Let me?" Feeling my cock getting interested.

"Mmmm," letting her hands drop to the curves of her waist, fingers slightly drawn, one long finger twitches.

The top she wears is simple, two thin straps curve over her shoulders to a tapering, slightly wider strap that clips with an S -shaped hook across her back. Although It does not seem to offer much support, at her age, even her large, wide breasts probably do not need much assistance. Small triangles of cloth only cover part of the milky breast, leaving little to the imagination. Her nipples has been on my mind though.

Gently easing the strap away from her body, pulling the ends together, slipping the loop of material off the plastic hook, parting the two pieces of strap, letting them fall across her upper arms. She raises herself as I slip the shoulder straps off.

Scooping her hair up and away so it won't get sticky she murmurs, "good idea."

Even in the heat the white lotion pours slowly into the palm of my hand. Swirling fingertips to spread it then transferring some to the other palm. I lower both hands to her shoulders, trying to avoid what I want to do. Being efficient rather than sensual, spreading the lotion across her skin, feeling it sucked in, lubricating what was dry, enjoying the way my hands slip upon her flesh. Squeezing more lotion, recalling my cum in the palm while Emily made out with her friend.

Moving down her spine, back up and out to the curve at the sides of her body, up to her long, elegant neck where wispy reddish-blond hair begins, trying not to linger.

Pushing fingertips out toward her ears, brushing the lobe with knuckles, "did you get your ears, mine usually burn."

"Forgot, will you?" She turns her head straight down, forehead on the back of a hand as my fingers squidge her lobes and outer shell, "that's nice." Yes, it is.

Pulling her hair up and over her head to do the right ear, "sorry, may have got it a little sticky."

Dragging the tips of fingers lightly, too lightly as she shivers at the touch, failing to be efficient, searching for places left dry. More lotion into the palms, smoothing her lower back enjoying the sensation, hands furrowing smooth skin, slowing as fingers follow compound curves of waist and hips, that rise and swell to buttocks clad with shorts pulled tight between thighs, riding into the cleavage of her ass.

Clearing her throat, "not too far," as thumbs work under the very edge of the waistband of the shorts, dipping into the valley between tantalizing mounds that fill them.

"Pretty much done." Just now noticing the pressure of a full erection straining in my pants. Hesitating, wanting more.

"Not sure I did a great job on the backs of my thighs, could you check?"

Swallowing, "sure."

More lotion, rampaging thoughts as thumb and index finger smear it around tense muscles and firm calves, the foot arching as a finger drags across the bottom of a foot, "I'm ticklish."

Trying hard, so very hard, to resist that temptation, too obvious. I turn attention to the other leg, one hand left on the first, high on the thigh, fingers curled lightly around the curve between her legs while the other repeats the application, more massage now, of lotion into the pale skin.

"You're bad," almost a whisper. "You have a nice touch."

The muscles relax under the touch, the really nice touch, the sensuous touch of desire. Fingers slipping under the shorts too far maybe, sliding out and back without reprimand, further, the thumb close, really close. Close to much too close. Barely breathing, holding the hand around her buttock, fingers fully under the shorts, barely squeezing, the message clear as Emily turns slowly.

The cheek then hip then thigh rotate through thumb and fingers that rest in the dip between thigh and pubis. Silent, our eyes searching, both breathing deeply.

Seconds pass in the stillness. Withdrawing my hand down the inside of her thigh, Emily opens her legs pulling them up slightly, staring as I smooth more lotion high up the thigh, again under shorts pulled tight against her pubis, no stray pubic hair just smooth skin. Moving to the left leg, now the thumb pressing into the groin, mesmerized as her hips flex, her eyes close as long fingers fiddle the button though the hole, pulling the shorts apart, exposing a V of skin. Wrists resting on the concave slope from the hip. My move in this game.

Gently plucking the zipper pull between thumb and finger, pulling then a tug as the zipper snags. Emily holds the flap as the stiff zipper slowly bares teeth, the pull drawn up and over her mound down the cleft of her vulva, heat pouring into fingers as they brush against her, a thin strip of pale pubic hair revealed, barely covering the top of her slit as the shorts part.

Raising her hips as I hold the hems of the shorts, pulling them slowly away from her leaving her naked, moisture glistening on swollen labia, skimpy pubic decoration unable to conceal her arousal.

Gentle kicks aid removal as the shorts slide off one leg then the other, her squirms exposing her opening, the labia parting provocatively.

Now her fingers assist mine, tugging at the waistband of step-in shorts, no button or zip requiring effort, fingers squeezing stiff cock as it escapes the confines of the shorts.

Awkward, clumsy movement, almost apologizing before the shorts join hers, then laying between those long legs, cock finding its place without guidance, glans pressing against hot wetness, yielding without resistance, swallowing whole the length as her legs draw up. We nestle.

Lowering my mouth to hers, "no. No kissing. Fuck me. Just fuck me."

And I do, no questions asked. She is urgent, quickly tense, a climax close, grinding into her clitoris, "like that, Oh God. Like that." Digging fingers into shoulders as she comes, quick thrusts as pubis rocks and rolls against pubis, short breath, grunts, urgent ahhs, relaxing as pleasure floods her.

"Don't stop, stroke me", thrusting full length strokes in and out of her, close now myself, faster as Emily gouges my back as one ankle then the other clamps me to her.

I'm too close to orgasm, "slower."

"No," escapes her teeth, "nnnnnnn, no, NOW!" Climaxing, taking me with her, trying to get a rhythm, failing, exploding, pumping cum into her.

Sweat and sunscreen slime cover our bodies where they meet, the skewed top barely covering her breasts, a nipple showing, the pink of an aureole against flushed pale skin. Wild eyes, breath returning to normal, exhaling laughter.

"Do you think anyone can see us?" Feigned shock not quite camouflaging a wicked grin.

"Too late if they can," thinking of all the windows overlooking this part of the garden.

Throwing a hand on her brow, swiping the sweat off. "I need to clean up."

As I pull out of her, "you need a hand?" Not stiff with lust not flaccid either, ejaculate dripping as strands of our juices stretch and break, cum flowing from her, draining onto the towel, puddling before slowly seeping into the fibers.

"No. I need to think." She reaches for the shorts, dropping mine near me, touching herself, smiling as warm goop engulfs her fingers. "This is confusing."

Reaching for a napkin to wipe herself before pulling the shorts on, zipping and buttoning. Standing, fingers touching as more juices drain from her caught by the shorts, a thin dribble escaping.

Watching her unsteady walk toward the house, pulling my shorts on, thinking confusing wasn't it.

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