Following the Wind

"My girls think I'm trying to live in the past since Joe died because I don't dress like an older woman and I haven't cut my hair short. I'm not really. I just don't feel old and I don't see why I should have to act like I am. That's why I come to The Silver Stetson. Joe liked country music and after I listened to it for a while, so did I. Some of CCR's music sounds a little country too. Did you know John Fogerty liked Buck Owens? Not many people do, but he did, and that song, 'Lookin Out My Back Door' sounds a lot like some of Buck Owens' music.

I said I'd never thought about that, but that I could hear that too.

Mary smiled.

"My girls once told me that song was about drugs but it wasn't. There were a lot of songs back then that were, but this wasn't one of them. John wrote it for his three-year old son, and part of the inspiration was a Dr. Zeuss story. It's just a silly song written for a little boy, but it's still fun to listen to."

As soon as I said it, I regretted it.

"Well, anytime you want to hear it, all you have to do is ask me. I like playing music for sexy women."

She didn't seem to take offense like I'd thought she might. Instead, she grinned.

"Now you sound like my Joe instead of a young DJ. I'm flattered, but you should save that kind of talk for the young girls. You'll go putting ideas in my head."

"I'm not all that young, and most of them are young enough to be my daughter. I'm just not into that like some guys."

"Why not? I thought all you guys wanted young girls."

"They're OK I guess, but they're too young to really know what they want and they're too young to know what a man really wants."

Mary leaned forward and when she did, her top sort of fell away from her breasts. I was staring at some really inviting cleavage and almost didn't hear what she said.

"So, what does a man really want?"

"I can't speak for all men, but I like a woman who knows who she is and is comfortable enough with herself to tell me what she likes."

"Like me telling you why I like CCR and why I come to your club? What if I told you some other things I like? Would that make you happy?"

She was twirling a strand of her long, blonde hair when she said that, and she was smiling an impish little smile.

"I do have things I like besides CCR and your club, you know."

"Uh...well, I'm sure you do."

"Yes, a lot of things. I do some more than others. I'll have to tell you about them sometime, but I think I'm ready to leave now if you are."

I figured that night would end like the first. Mary would get in her minivan and I'd watch her drive out of the parking lot. She surprised me.

I walked her to her car and waited for her to unlock it and get inside. She unlocked it, but then turned back, put her hand on my arm, and smiled.

"Before I go, would you like to see the inside of my minivan? I had it customized."

I'd never known a woman who customized anything except her clothes, and most didn't even do that. They just wore whatever came off the rack and fit. Mary was a little different, though, and I was curious as to what she might have done. I said I'd love to see it. She pulled the handle for the side door and I heard a motor start. As the door moved toward the rear; two strip lights, one on either side of the top, came on and cast a warm, red glow through the interior.

There was a curtain just behind the front seats so anybody looking through the windshield would have only seen that. The side windows were all pretty darkly tinted, and even after those lights came on, I couldn't see a thing through them. The seats I'd expected to be upholstered captain's chairs with a table between them weren't there. Instead, there was a bed that ran the length of the driver's side and the rest was thick, red carpet. The ceiling and walls were more red carpet.

The bed was wasn't very wide. Two people would have had to be really good friends to sleep on it. What was more unusual about the bed was the tie-died sheet and pillow case. Folded up at the foot were two blankets that looked really soft and fuzzy, and they were tie-dyed too.

Mary asked what I thought.

"Well, I've never seen one like it. What do you use it for? Do you go camping or something like that?"

"No, I don't go camping. I just wanted to make it look a little like that VW minibus we took to Woodstock. That one wasn't as nice, but it did have a bed and it had red carpet everywhere. The bed is comfy. Wanna see?"

Mary climbed inside, sat down on the bed, and then crooked her finger.

"Come on in."

I couldn't very well tell her no, so I climbed inside and sat down on the bed beside her.

"It is nice", I said.

"I need to show you the rest."

Mary pressed a button on the wall and the door closed. She pressed another button and I heard the door locks click. She looked at me and grinned.

"Now nobody can get inside. It has a stereo too. Let me show you."

Mary turned toward the rear of the van and pushed another button. A panel in the wall moved up and revealed a control panel with two knobs and more buttons. She pressed one of the buttons. I saw a blue LCD screen light up and a second or so later I heard CCR flow from speakers behind grills on the roof and sides of the minivan. The song was "Born On The Bayou".

"It's an MP3 player", she said. "I have all CCR's songs on it and all the songs Joe liked too. Here's one we both liked."

She started pushing a button and words started scrolling up the screen. A few seconds later, Mary pressed another button and the music changed to "Follow The Wind", by Trisha Yearwood.

Mary moved over next to me and after a few seconds, put her cheek on my shoulder. I hadn't had that happen in a long time. It felt kinda good.

She sighed.

"I love this song so much."

"It's a long way from CCR."

"I know, but it's special too. It's from a movie that came out several years before Joe knew he was sick. We went to see it, and Joe just had to have the soundtrack just to get this song. He said it reminded him of us, that we were following the wind through life and trusting it would lead us where we should go.

"The middle part, where she sings about failing and a compass pointing the way...he said that was us too. When Joe came back from Vietnam, he wasn't the same Joe. Before, when we were in college, he thought protesting about the war would end it. When it didn't and he got drafted, he thought he'd failed somehow. When he came back after seeing all those men killed, he sort of blamed himself for living through it.

"For a while, we had some trouble. He smoked a lot of grass and at least once or twice he tried cocaine. I didn't mind the grass, but I couldn't let him kill himself with the others. We sat down one night and had a talk about where we were and where we were going.

"I told him I couldn't just sit around and watch my husband kill himself over something he couldn't control. I said I loved him too much to do that, and that because I loved him so much, I'd help him any way I could. He said nothing would help unless he could get some of the things he'd seen out of his head and that I wouldn't understand because I hadn't been there and seen the things he'd seen.

"I said I'd try. That's when he started telling me about Vietnam. It took a lot more talks like that one, but Joe started to be more like the Joe I knew before. He'd been fired from one job for not coming to work, but he straightened up and got another one. A couple years later, we were living well and happy most of the time. It got better when we had kids. They gave Joe something to do besides think about the past.

"One night when the girls were asleep, Joe put the CD with this song in the player and started it. He sat down on the couch beside me and put his arms around me. He told me for a long time he'd felt like the song said -- that he'd tried and failed and had told himself nobody lived inside him. Then he hugged me and said I was the compass the song talked about, and that I'd shown him the way.

"Well, I cried for a while. I mean, Joe was never a very romantic man, and for him to say something like that...well, it made me so happy I had to cry.

"When he got sick and we found out there was nothing we could do to make him get well, he said for me not to be sad for very long after he was gone. He said we'd had a good life together and that he didn't want to leave me alone, but the wind was taking him where it thought he needed to go. He said the wind would take me where I needed to go too. That's why this song is special to me."

I suppose it was just instinct that I put my arm around Mary and gave her a little hug. She sighed again.

"That little hug is what Joe used to give me. You remind me a lot of him in some ways."

"I'm glad, I guess."

Mary lifted her head up then.

"I should probably be letting you get home so you can get some sleep."

"I'll be OK."

"I need to leave too. Tomorrow, I'm flying to Denver to visit my oldest daughter. I'll miss seeing you next Saturday."

"I'll miss seeing you too. Maybe I'll play "Proud Mary" even though you're not there to hear it. I've started liking that song too."

The next Saturday night wasn't much fun. Oh, the girls line dancing were sexy like always, and like always, a couple came up and flirted with me. At a little before three, I watched the guys who were left trying to pick up the girls who were left. It just wasn't the same without Mary, though. I'd gotten used to seeing her smile and having that cup of coffee after the club closed. It took three beers before I could fall asleep after I got back to my apartment.

The next Saturday night, I started watching the door of the club at eleven-thirty. Just like she'd done before, at about midnight, Mary walked inside, paid the cover and then found an empty table. She smiled when she looked up at my booth and waved when I smiled back.

Her first request was "Born On The Bayou" again, and an hour later, I played "Proud Mary" for her. Two songs after that was my slot for a slow song, and I'd already queued up "Follow The Wind".

When it started, Mary closed her eyes and just sat there at her table with a smile on her face. When it finished and I queued the next song, she walked up to my booth.

"How did you know I was thinking about that song?"

I shrugged.

"I didn't. I bought the soundtrack from the movie last week because I thought you might like to hear it since it's special to you."

She grinned.

"You're pretty special to me too. Not many men would remember something like that from an old woman. Can this old woman buy you a cup of coffee after you close to say thank you?"

"No, but I'd like to buy you one."

Over coffee, Mary told me something that hit me hard.

"My daughter thinks I should sell my house and live with her in Denver. She's worried because I live alone and if something happened to me, I wouldn't have anybody close I could call."

"Is that something you'd want to do."

"No, not really. I know what would happen. I'd have to give up most of my freedom. She'd be telling me I need to slow down and act my age. What she'd really be saying is I should sit in a rocker and knit sweaters instead of going out and having fun. Jane's a good girl, but she's a real prude about a lot of things. I don't know why. I didn't raise her that way."

"Have you made a decision?"

"No. I've thought about all the bad things that would mean, but there are some good things too. I'd get to see my grandkids more often, and Joe and I always wanted to go see the Rocky Mountains. What she said about not having anybody to call is true too. I'm still thinking about it."

"You know, you could always call me if you needed help with something."

Mary smiled.

"You're sweet to say that, but as young as you are, you shouldn't have to be worried about an old woman."

I'm sure I frowned then.

"Mary, you keep saying you're an old woman, but you aren't. You don't look old, you don't act old, and you don't think old."

"I'm fifty-nine. Isn't that old?"

"Only if you want it to be. I don't think you do."

Mary finished her coffee, then smiled.

"I suppose I should be going now."

"I'll walk you to your car."

When we got to her mini-van, Mary unlocked it, then turned around.

"Would you like to see the inside?"

"Well, I've already seen it once."

"Oh, but I changed something since then. Come on inside and I'll show you."

When we got inside and were sitting on the bed, I looked around but I couldn't see anything that looked different.

"Mary, I'm probably just not looking in the right place, but what did you change?"

She smiled again, but it was kind of an odd smile.

"Me. I changed me."

"I'm not sure what you changed. You still look the same to me."

"I changed inside. After I went to visit Jane, I changed inside."

"What does that mean? You're not sick are you?"

Mary smiled.

"No, I'm not sick. I just decided I wasn't feeling enough like I did when I was really young, and that I should be doing more things to feel that way."

I chuckled.

"Like what? Don't tell me you're going to start going to rock concerts and running around naked."

She chuckled too, but then her face got serious.

"No, I don't like the music they play at concerts now, and I don't have the body to run around naked. I do still have the thoughts I had back then..."

Mary looked me square in the face.

"like when Ricky and I were in his tent at Woodstock. I know it's probably not something you'd want to do with me, but I've thought about it a lot."

I looked at Mary, and I didn't see a fifty-nine year old woman. What I saw was a woman who's body was fifty-nine but who's mind was still young and vibrant. It was one of those spur of the moment decisions I made that night.

"What makes you think I wouldn't?"

"Even if we did it here?"

I smiled and put my hands on her soft shoulders.

"Where doesn't matter to me, but you do."

Mary was right about her body. It wasn't a body to be displayed naked at a rock concert. Her body was the lush and sensuous body of a mature woman, and meant to be caressed and fondled, not ogled and leered at. I did look, of course. The red lighting inside the mini-van turned her pale skin into a warm, erotic, soft pink except for her nipple beds and nipples. They looked more of a light brown, and the contrast was erotic as all hell.

She was satin-smooth and soft everywhere except for those nipples and nipple beds and the sparse covering of blonde hair on her mound. As soon as she took off her bra, those darker circles on her breasts tightened a little and raised her nipples off their surface. Just a few light strokes tightened her nipples too, and when I licked the tips, Mary sighed.

"It's been so long...I thought I'd forget, but I haven't."

The blonde hair on her mound was covering lips that were thick but softer than any other part of her I touched. Stroking my fingertip over the separation between them was like stroking velvet. Stroking my fingertip between until I felt her slender inner lips caused Mary to purr out a little moan.

At the top of those lips, I felt a small bump beneath more velvet skin. Mary moaned at my light touch, then opened her thighs wide. Her outer lips opened with them. Just sliding my fingertip down over the rippled surface of her inner lips led me to her entrance, and entrance that promised to be just as velvet soft.

I'm not sure how long it was before she stroked her hand down my chest and then my belly to find my cock. I know she didn't need to stroke it. Just seeing her and touching her had it standing straight and swollen tight. I saw her smile when she found it.

I'm also not sure how long we lay on that narrow bed in her mini-van just slowly exciting each other. I don't remember because she was so different from the younger women I'd been with. They always wanted to hurry, to feel me rubbing their clits fast until they were almost ready to cum. Usually they'd jack my cock until I had to stop them. Then, they'd pull me down on top of them. It didn't last long after that. While I was stroking away, they'd be rubbing their clit too.

Mary didn't do that, and at the end, I understood why. She was stroking my cock, but so gently all it did was keep me at the point of needing her so badly I could hardly stand it. She was doing the same to herself by not rushing things. She didn't say anything like, "Pinch my nipples" or "rub my clit". Occasionally, she'd sigh and murmur something like "Oh, yes...keep doing what you're doing", or, "I haven't felt that for so long", but that was all.

I was taking my cues from her, and they were subtle but they were there. First it was a little tightening in her tummy, just a little contraction that quickly went away. A while later, she used her free hand to stroke my back. I knew she was nearly ready for me when she began to breathe deeper and then held her breath while that tummy contraction lasted longer.

I was in no hurry. Most women don't understand how much a man enjoys seeing her respond to what he's doing, but we do. Mary was responding. She wasn't dancing around on the bed or moaning all the time, but she was responding. It was the little things she did that let me know that, and just hearing her catch her breath or make a little mewing sound just added to the soft hand slowly stroking my cock.

I kissed her nipples, then sucked the right one gently. Mary did moan then, and I felt her hips rock up into my hand a little. When I did the same to her left nipple, the moan was louder and her hips rocked more. When my finger slipped inside her, Mary caught her breath and then wiggled her hips a little. My finger slipped deeper, then deeper until it was stopped by the rest of my hand.

After some slow strokes from her entrance to the little bump at the top of her inner lips, Mary moaned and pulled on my back.

"Now, Jerry", she murmured.

Entering Mary was incredible. I'd thought after two kids, she might be more open, but she wasn't. I felt the same wet slippery warmth for a little bit and then the snug fit just inside her. A little more pressure let my cock slide in a little more. I pulled back out and then eased back inside Mary again. She put her hand on my ass and pulled this time. My cock head found that snug spot again, and when Mary felt it, she rocked her hips a little. My cock slowly entered her until my belly was touching her mound.

Mary sighed then and pulled on my ass and rocked her hips at the same time. I thought I was as deep inside her as I could get, but that little rock pushed me deeper, deep enough I felt the end of her passage. She moaned then and relaxed her hands a little, so I slowly pulled back out of her.

As soon as my cock head met that snug spot again, Marry pulled on my ass. I let her hands tell me how fast she wanted my cock by staying just ahead of the pressure. For a while, my strokes were slow and deep, just like Mary's breathing.

That changed as time went on. I felt her increasing the speed at which she pulled me into her, first just a little, and then more. I also started feeling her rock her hips up into each stroke, and about every other stroke, Mary would moan. After a while, the pull of her hands on my ass became her digging in her nails, and the quiet little moans got louder.

The end came pretty fast after that. Mary's hands were pulling me inside her faster, then faster still, and instead of taking breaths, she was starting to pant. I was starting to pant too. After enduring her soft little strokes to my cock and then feeling the ripples of her passage massaging it with each stroke, I was crazy with the desire to reach the end. I could feel the tension building in my body, a tension that would be released with spurts that raced up my cock and splattered inside Mary. I was hoping I could hold out until she was ready.