tagLoving WivesFirst Fling in the Naughty Forties

First Fling in the Naughty Forties


I remember the day very well.

It was Saturday, 23 June 2018 and I woke up not to the sounds of the happy, early summer birds tweeting but to the whirr of a power drill drowning them out. It was 8:05 and I glanced at the clean, undisturbed white sheets to the left to remind me that Olaf was away on work for another eleven days.

So, who was that working?

I had to think to recall through my foggy, gin and tonic soaked brain that it must be Brando, our regular handyman repairing our fence. Our wooden seven-foot privacy structure that bordered our pool and back yard barbecue area had been blown over the other day by a frightful storm.

I dragged myself out of bed to walk up to the southern windows to see what was going on. It wasn't Brando but a young blond-haired man on a short ladder working on one of the three posts that needed attention to put the fence right. Who the heck was that? Beyond, in the yard dirt road, I recognized Brandon's battered old red truck.

I decided go find out. The fence was about sixty yards away from my bedroom window and it wasn't a property border structure but was simply something to isolate our outdoor parties from god-knows-who from the western side. Perhaps Olaf was worried about the occasional imaginary voyeur from Walt Neuen Memorial Horse Park. We lived in the capital city of Bismarck in North Dakota and acquired this rather pristine piece of land south of London Avenue.

I threw a pink satin gown over my night shirt and slipped on my garden shoes and ran down the stairs, across the dining area, the kitchen and the sunroom before I got to my backyard. Wafer, our Golden Retriever, followed me. The man heard the doors slide and turned with a smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Armanson."

"Good morning. I was expecting Brando."

"Oh, uncle Brando had another project and he called me last night to fill in. I came early, at six-thirty so that I can finish and go for my class at six"

He had a delightful smile with dimples which lit up his ruggedly handsome face that was topped by an intentionally unruly blonde mop. His blue eyes danced with youthful energy under thick regular eyebrows. He had thin lips that guarded a set of regular teeth above his sharp chin. He also had those fashionably trimmed facial embellishments that his generation wore. He suddenly looked awkwardly familiar but I just couldn't place his awesome countenance and I didn't ask him to help. He must have been in his early twenties and was about six-feet tall and was wearing a sleeveless cream work shirt and denim jeans. He was gorgeous to look at.

I wondered why I immediately felt a sort of a connection to this unknown youth.

"OK. So, you're Brandon's nephew?"

"Yes. Keith. Glad to meet you ma'am."

"Marylin is the name. My friends call me Marlie" Wow! I considered him a friend in thirty seconds!

We shook hands and his boyish wiriness was impactful.

"So, you hope to finish this today?"

"Yes, I have all that I need in the truck and I should be able to. Also, uncle wanted me to let you know that he couldn't come as stuff happened at night."

"Oh, that's fine. Brando has been our man and anyone he recommends is fine too." I turned to go.

"Oh, ma'am eh... Marlie, these two posts need replacement and that would cost a bit more as I need to get new ones in and secure them with concrete."

"Which ones?"

He showed me to the post at the farthest end of the patio area and he pointed to the base of the post held in black metal brackets in a concrete base that had split. I bent to take a closer look and realized that what Keith was saying was true and I looked up to agree when I noticed he was checking out my cleavage but looked away, though not quite quick enough.

What made it worse was his response: "Your gown is beautiful." He stuttered. It was the most inappropriate observation and the poorest get out clause I had ever heard.

I felt naked with nothing under my gown and night shirt. He was blushing and awkward and I had to make him comfortable.

"Thank you. It's Indonesian, the gown." I picked myself up. "Which other post is split?"

"Here, the next." He pointed to the other which looked superficially OK. I was about to bend again and I realized the exposure that I had already provided and decided to squat to inspect. The moment I did, I noticed the slight crack that sat camouflaged in the wood grain. I also realized with horror that my night shirt was riding up and I wasn't wearing panties. I clamped my thighs shut in a flash and stood up. I wasn't sure I had provided another show.

He revealed no evidence of it.

"OK, Keith. Do what you have to do and let me know if you need anything. Do you have a cell phone?"

"Yes, I do. I'll call you. Uncle Brandon gave me your number."

I turned back to go in and when walking back, I realized that my swaying hips were more pronounced. Obviously, I was self-conscious. My step quickened to end the torment of my awareness.

Back in my bedroom I prepared to indulge in the Saturday morning luxury of a lazy and elaborate bath. I filled the tub dropped the usual pods of fragrances and bubbles, stripped and slipped into the warmness.

Olaf and I had designed our 6,650 square foot home in great detail and one of the central themes of our planning was to give the best vantage point and space to our bedroom. It was a floor and a half above the rest of house and occupied most of the second floor space. There was a slanted light sensitive eight by six foot glass roof above our bed that had an electrically operated sun shield. Three sides of the bedroom except a small six-foot segment over the bedstead was one way glass. The east end accommodated the double door that led to the hall way and stairs but the rest was consumed by a walk-in closet and towards the south was our specially designed bathroom which also had six-foot one-way glass overlooking out to our back yard. The west side accommodated a spacious private balcony.

The bath was against the glass and so was the shower stall. The opposite wall was alongside the double wash basin counter and the commode with bidet.

It was when I was basking in the glorious fragrances in the free standing large tub, that I viewed the scene below. Keith was working hard and by the looks of his urgency and quickness, he was keen to make it for his class in the evening. I admired his efficiency of task and economy of movement. This kid looked talented, motivated and smart. He already had one of the three segments of the fence fixed.

Now, wouldn't he have loved to see me like this? The rather curious scenario where I was completely nude and looking at him working down there came at me quite forcefully. He looked down my gown and that was normal and wouldn't have even cared a decade ago. This was happening to me after quite a while and hence the little, wayward thrill.

And it surprised me!

I was forty-four and married for twenty years to Oleifr Armanson, son of immigrants from Iceland. He was three when he came to the USA and was essentially all American. The family were devout Christians and members of my father, Rev. Ted Glamsworth's Baptiste church and that's where we met.

I was a nurse and after many years in the front-line giving care in a busy surgical ward and gaining a hard-earned masters' degree, the powers that be at the Sherbrook Group of Hospitals, decided that I could be promoted to a charge nurse and then on to a nursing manager after I cracked another masters in healthcare management. I absorbed this success with some conscious humility and a very careful demeanor that accepted, appreciated and respected the rank and file. The result was that I was much loved and with Olaf's property management and real estate business flying high I was simultaneously rewarded with handsome remuneration that made us quite comfortable.

Our nineteen-year-old was in university studying political science. She was happy too in what she was doing and we had the means to support her dreams.

Olaf and I lived a normal life with irregular visits to church. He still held strong spiritual beliefs that drove his day to day life and, according to him, his enormous financial success in recent years. Our individual spirituality was the reason we lived rather quiet lives attracting little attention. The cul-de-sac that cradles our home was a great help. I wouldn't call us anywhere near being radical but morality was very strongly adhered to, as what was taught in the Bible. Therefore, we were quite faithful spouses to each other. Some may have even found us boring but that was to be expected.

I had a continual battle within myself as I attempted to draw the line between the haughtiness and arrogance of the newly rich and the justifiable pride in our hard earned achievements. Olaf constantly reminded me to turn it down and I did when the insight was there.

Now this rather weird episode out of the wilderness was bizarre for me. It has been years since someone looked at me like this boy did. What was more striking was that simultaneously I felt I was missing intimacy.


OK, I wouldn't call it attraction as I knew him not but a funny feeling of secret awareness of my sexual feelings engulfed me. I was certain I wanted to dissociate my desire for sex since Olaf left, from this attractive young man in my yard. There was no need, in retrospect to feel guilt though, as I forcibly delinked the two. Some describe these as the naughty forties or as menopausal madness. Though I would swear in the past that this was an imagination of some middle-aged men, I was now ascribing my rather promiscuous thoughts to this phenomenon.

Olaf and I had a long session of sex on Wednesday, the night before he left. We had a candle light dinner with the best red wine and he had peeled my nightie off in the dining room before we walked up the stairs to the bedroom. He took his shirt off as well and I was only in my panties. Alexa was asked to play soft sweet music and the Harman Kardon system brought the melodies with an added clarity to our ears and a certain calmness to the milieu.

Olaf was a tough looking man. He was forty-six. He rarely went to the gym in recent months but his muscle mass hadn't decreased and at just under six feet, he looked shorter than he was. I was a good four inches shorter and people said I matched him for good looks. A few years ago, two individuals, one a patient and the other a young female colleague, said I looked like Natalie Portman! When I had told this to Olaf, he had this to say: "I guess you have a fairly close facial resemblance. But your boobs are much bigger and your ass sexier."

"You've seen Natalie Portman nude?" I teased.

"No, but it's obvious she's not that curvy!"

"You'd prefer to make love to her instead." That jealous bitch in me.

"I knew that was coming. You women!"

We often remembered this conversation.

As we walked up the stairs that night Olaf had his hand under my panties on my bare butt and kissed me on the walk. "You are my Natalie Portman with a big ass."

We made love on the floor outside our bedroom until Wafer got inquisitive and we had to close the bedroom door on him. The glass roof was uncovered and we continued in the bluish half moon light but not before we had lengthy preliminaries of oral sex.

Finally, when we rammed home in the missionary position we moaned, groaned and grunted as we were spent. I had a genuine orgasm. Olaf kissed me on my vaginal lips as a habit afterwards and I always thought that was sweet.

Now in my tub, I couldn't help touching my nipples gently, which had sprung to life and once done with my breasts with an involuntary smile on my lips I went down to my soapy pubes under water. I had a four day regrowth which was the prickly price you pay for trimming, which I did a day before Olaf left to surprise him. But alas, he wasn't. "I like you better bushy." He declared when my panties had come off.

I resisted the temptation of letting my restless forefinger loose on my clit. But suddenly I wanted sex and even under water I imagined that I was secreting some love juices.

I decided I must finish my bath and get on with the day, whatever that meant!

So, I did. I dried myself and dressed in a summer shirt and jeans and then I change to a skirt and then to a soft silky pantaloon. I was being fussy with my choice and I knew why. I wanted to look good! I then went down to the kitchen and made myself a breakfast of toast, eggs and bacon. After I had gulped a tall glass of orange juice I thought of going to the patio again.

On my way I glanced at the full length mirror in the breakfast area and I approved.

It was close to 10:30 AM and getting warmer outside. I found Keith working hard and furious sawing some fence posts to size for which I noticed that he has already dug two holes and also had the unmixed concrete ready on the side.

"Hi again!"

"Hi, Marlie!"

"You've made some good progress, I see." I couldn't help notice his body glistening with sweat that intensified the muscle definition on his torso. Quite unintentionally, I moved closer until I could almost smell his manliness.

"Yeah, I am doing OK." Was his modest reply.

"Come on in for a drink. It's quite warm."

"Let me get this baby sawed to size, then I will." He flashed his perfect smile.

Was I connecting my being horny in the forties with this young boy, who seemed like he liked my body and working in my yard?

No. I must stop this. I must nip it in the bud. How wrong of me to even think of this. I should not ruin my marriage and also lose my precious Olaf who was such a great and loving husband. Now I had invited him for a drink. That was it. I would encourage him to get on with it and settle whatever I owed.

That was it!

I made some fresh orange juice and left it in a large jug with ice. I then went over to the den on the same floor and checked my email and browsed the internet for a while. Somehow a little voice in my head asked me to browse sites on women in their forties and I did.

When I had glanced through a couple of essays, I could identify myself fully with what was being described as normal. Yes, I was in my naughty forties. I must protect myself with my best defenses. I told myself that I was prepared.

Or was I giving biological reasons for my sudden desire for sex? The dilemma was floating in my mind when I heard a knock on the backyard glass door.

"I'm coming!"

Keith had thrown a denim jacket over his work shirt. His face was flushed with heat and effort. I had him sit at the counter on a stool. He gobbled the first glass of juice with one gulp and I poured out one more.

"Wow! That's so refreshing. Thank you." He looked around. "You have a great house. Who designed it?"

"Olaf and I did most of it. He is in the real estate business, right. So, he has contacts and some business knowledge. I am glad you like the house."

"Do you know my mother? Sorry, change of topic." That was a curious question.

"Why? Did she say she knew me? Or do we have some common connection?"

"Well sort of. She's been in these parts for a while. My last name is Errante." He looked at me intently as if to drill into my memory. "Her name is Janel Errante. Remember?"

I gulped and quickly recovered. "No... no." I lied. "What's the connection? School? Common friends?"

"No, never mind." He got up. "I'll get back to work. I really need to finish before 4 or 4:30 PM."

"I understand." My voice had gotten softer.

Keith went through the glass door and back to his work.

Janel Errante!

That was Olaf's last girlfriend. He dated her till the Christmas party to which both of them went and then she cheated on him the same night and then admitted to him. I met Olaf at that year's New Year's Eve bash at an old rented mansion on the other side of town, He was jilted and terribly shaken and I guess he rebounded onto me. Of course, I liked his shy, rough handsomeness. He did, come clean and told me his past.

At dawn of the New Year 1996, just after midnight at that party, we walked out into the cold night for a private talk and away from the seventy odd people inside. We got cozy behind the mansion on the steps leading to somewhere and started kissing and then Olaf's hands were all over me. He went past the winter jacket and caressed my boobs and continued his French kissing while his other hand fondled my butt. When he slid down in front onto my crotch I pulled back and said we should stop and we had done enough for a first meeting.

He sort of agreed and we went back to the party. I had just turned twenty-two. I was still a virgin and this was my first intimate embrace with a guy. He later declared his love.

I need a peek back at my exposure to sex in my youth to give some context.

I was quite protected in my high school days and I nurtured the relics of biblical teachings throughout nursing school.

In my second year, a senior girl called Debby introduced me to something different. She was a tall and attractive African American girl that was a prominent student leader. She initiated a chat about intimate sexual stuff with me, got me to her room on the top floor, started touching me all over, hugging and kissing me and in a trance, actually got me out of my clothes. After a while, her touches felt good and I succumbed to her advances. She tried to introduce a finger into me but being a virgin, it was painful and awkward and she withdrew. We had sex by rubbing our pubes against each other. She was on top and climaxed first. Since my nervous arousal was difficult to consummate, she rubbed me and ate me and stroked me until I thought I had my first orgasm.

Later I heard that Debby had done that to most of my friends! In the present day, she would have to answer a lot of questions if she had forced herself on us. I never got into lesbian sex, though.

A couple of months later this happened.

In a wild and puerile moment one morning in our beds, my room mate and I indulged in mutual genital examinations with juvenile, yet very adult sexual thoughts.

"I am so hairy and my curly bush creeps out of my panties and swimwear!" Kelly my roommate complained. "But your pussy is so naturally groomed and nice looking." She even touched me to say that my bush was soft. Quite without any perceivable reason, I remembered these words of praise for my genitals forever.

In my final year of nursing, my close friend Jaime and I and a boy called Grant who was an old friend, went out for a late-night jaunt near the river. I liked Grant a lot and so did Jaime. He was a college baseball star and also sang classic rock very well. He wasn't the best to look at but he was trim and well groomed. College heroes don't come much bigger than that. While my usual conservative demeanor kept me restrained, Jaime was all over him. She was from Taiwan and still lived with family who were obviously traditional and she somehow found this as a welcome outlet. She had his arm around him and kept looking into his eyes with stars in hers. We had some beer and burgers and were walking on the beach in the bright full moon light.

Grant had lot more to drink than us and when he leaned on a rock with Jaime perched next to him, he grabbed her by the waist and kissed her. There was some awkward jealousy burning in me as I watched.

"Hey, double kiss!" Grant called out to me.

I nervously went towards the two with some shyness but he pulled me to him with his other arm and before I knew it his lips were on me. I was shocked even to struggle but it didn't feel bad to be against his body. So, I gave in.

Quickly he moved his lips to Jaime's and he probably enjoyed her more as she had both her arms around his neck under his shirt. Her response was more exciting to him. I moved away a bit but his strong arms held on to me.

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