I'll Save You A Seat

I'm new to Literotica and originally published this story in the Mature category. A kind reader suggested it belonged in Loving Wives, and after additional research and thinking, I agree, although it has elements of both. Please enjoy this dark age-gap, illicit one-night stand story. Comments appreciated and thanks for reading!

Janine wiped the kitchen counters and started another pot of coffee after she got the girls off to school. Her husband sat at the kitchen table cutting into his sunny-side egg, the pus-like yolk streaming onto his plate, "Why don't you leave for the shore Friday evening? It'll give you two nights."

"No, I can't. Bonnie has dance practice, plus I hate driving at night. And besides that, the dinner I planned has to be cooked just right," she explained after moving on to the tangle of towels from the dryer. "I'll just leave Saturday morning and come back Sunday evening. I gotta make sure the kids are ready for school, and make your lunch for work, dear."

"I can make my own lunch," her husband laughed.

She frowned, "No, just let me do it. It's easier that way."

"All right, then. You'll be home Sunday night, right?" he asked. He finished breakfast and left the dirty plate on the table as he got up.

She sighed, "Yes, I'll be home Sunday."

A few days at the shore to catch a break from dishes, laundry, cleaning, and feeling like every day for the rest of her life was going to be the same. She would be okay with that, as long as she could numb herself somehow in order to continue as expected. But first, she needed space and a place to reconcile her soul with that reality, and as it turned out, friends of friends who lived near the beach were on vacation and offered their house. She gladly took it.

Saturday morning, she kissed her three daughters goodbye and sighed as she drove away, a weight lifting from her shoulders. She could see the girls in the rearview mirror, running down the sidewalk, waving, and her husband standing on the porch. She felt a tear threatening, but pressed forward. Just one more breath of fresh air, then I'll be complacent.

Sunny sky, ocean breeze, endless sea. No one in need and no same old four walls. Sitting on a bench by the beach, she closed her eyes and lifted her face, actually allowing the sun to reach beneath the brim of her hat and warm her skin.

Until she felt a shadow.

"Escuse me, may I sit?" asked a slightly accented voice.

She squinted her eyes. A man's dark form stood before her, the three o'clock sun behind his head shone like a halo. "Sure," she tipped her head.

He sat gingerly at the end of the bench. "Beach is busy today," he said.

"Yes," she replied and closed her eyes again, an image of his red T-shirt and light leather jacket imprinted on her eyelids. The breeze carried his scent of skin and spice to her.

He has nice teeth, and nice, strong hands.

She peeked at him; he was looking towards the ocean, with faraway eyes, his face still and melancholy for such a beautiful day. What was he here to escape?

She closed her eyes again and heard scuffing as if he rubbed his boots in the sand on the concrete sidewalk.

"Is a wonderful thing to sit by the ocean and do nothing." He said to her, or to the air?

She opened her eyes. He looked at her, the tilt of his head accenting his cheekbones in the bold sunlight, "Day off from work?" He asked.

"You could say that, but it's Saturday anyway."

"You look like a housewife. Every day a workday for you," he said.

She sat up and crossed her arms, "Housewife, huh? What makes you say that?"

"Ah, frumpy look, like you gonna' fade away at any moment," he grinned, eyes sparkling.

"Gee, thanks."

"And if you did fade away, would you mind?"

She squinted against the sunlight. "No. A handful of people would miss me, but otherwise, no."

"Aw, really? Why you say that?" He held his hands and turned to her, his arched brows knit.

She shrugged, "I'm just at a point in my life where I feel like I've seen and done everything I'm ever going to. Nothing left to do but raise my kids and bury my parents."

A wide smile lightened his face, "Wow! Wow." He looked at her again, "Did you know the sun is shining today? See that amazing blue sky? That's what I'm here for."

"Oh, I know. I didn't mean to bring you down. It is a beautiful day." She sighed, "I'm just taking some time to say goodbye to sweet youth, you know? It's my mid-life crisis, a transition."

"Yeah, I'm sorta here saying bye to something myself." He looked at his hands, folding and unfolding them. His expression changed like clouds passing before the sun.

She left him alone for a moment, then cocked her head and asked, "You wanna talk about it? I mean, there's no better person to tell your woes to than a stranger, and I got all day."

"But if I tell you, you won't be a stranger anymore."

"Well, then we'll be friends, and friends are for confiding, see? Win-win, any way you slice it. Talk, cry, laugh, then go our separate ways. A whole relationship in twenty minutes," she teased.

He laughed and leaned back, resting his elbows on the back of the bench, the T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, "I wish some relationships did only last twenty minutes."

"A bad one?"

He cocked his head, "Sort of."

"Uh huh." She waited. He spoke no more and she wondered if she crossed some line. Her negative attitude seemed to have bothered him already, so she brushed non-existent lint off her lap and cleared her throat, "Well, I gotta' stretch my legs." She stood up, then said, "Hey, I hope things go well for you. Have a good one," and walked towards the the beach.

She pulled her hat down to secure it to her head, praying the wind wouldn't grab it and roll it to the man on the bench. Walk away...keep walking...

She walked straight towards the pounding surf, the waves breaking on the beach, desperately climbing the sand until they were no more than white fingertips sliding back into the sea. Keep walking. But a few moments later, she heard, "Hey, mind if I walk with you?"

Oh no. "Uh, sure," she turned to smile at the young man, "I think there's room on the beach for both of us."

He laughed, "Yeah, I'd say. You got a sense of humor sometimes, huh? You ever let yourself enjoy it?" He took a hop to catch up alongside. "Whew, gettin' warm out." He wiggled out of the leather jacket and slung it over his shoulder, his bicep bunching beneath his short sleeve. She looked, and looked a moment too long. He caught her.

"Hey, I mean, if you'd rather walk alone, I can go," he looked at her with those dark-lashed eyes.

"No, I think you should stay," she smiled, looking at the sand she kicked while walking along, "we haven't worked on becoming friends yet." She held out her hand, "Janine."

He enveloped her hand in his, "Javier."

They walked and talked until the sun hung near the horizon. She told him about her home and husband and children in the suburbs, and many things she wouldn't tell anyone else. He told her about the market his parents opened in the city when they moved from Mexico many years ago, and a few secrets of his own. She shared her disappointments; he shared his adventures. He listened intently to her wisdom; she soaked up his enthusiasm.

Playfully, she lay her hand on his arm, "We almost make a good team."

He raised a brow at her hand, then took her arm in his, "Why almost?"

She looked at him, yet hoping the brim of her hat kept her eyes in the shadows, "Because I'm married and you're far younger."

They continued strolling just beyond the surf's reach, "We can be friends, though, right? We got to that point?" He asked.

"Yes, I think so." She tightened her arm around his.

Before the sun could lower the curtain of pinks and golds on the day, the shifting wind brought dampness and clouds. He walked her to her car, where he took her hand.

"I better hit the road," he said, looking deeply in her eyes, "beat the rain."

She didn't want to let go, "Yeah, I guess." Her face tightened as she took off her hat and leaned into him. He embraced her, his body taut against hers. The wind picked up.

"Give me your phone number, okay?" He whispered in her ear, "I'll give you mine. No reason we can't talk once in a while. Amigos?"

"Sí, amigos." She sniffed and nodded, and eventually let go. They exchanged numbers and parted.

Rain pattered her windshield driving back to the beach house. Jumpiness and joy, feelings long a stranger, kept her company until she turned into the foliage-hidden driveway. Rain came down harder as she smiled, still feeling his arms around her. Then she shook her head to banish the thought. Time to call home and check in, which she did in the car. Everything was fine, her husband said, "Relax, enjoy yourself." Right.

She gripped the railing as she made her way up the slick stairs and prayed that Javier drove carefully. He had a long drive north to get home. She scuffed the sand off her shoes on the doormat, and turned the key.

Cool, still house. No cooking, no dishes, no responsibilities except open a bottle of wine and light every candle in the house. And dream.

A cold glass of wine in her hand, she wandered to the living room and sank into the armchair by the window. Rain drew down the panes with watery fingers, only to erase its creations and draw them again. The wine, the wind and sun, the young man, the mesmerizing rain; she dozed off.

Until the phone rang. "Oh, what now? I just called home," she frowned, hauling herself out of the chair to answer the phone in the kitchen.

It wasn't home. It was Javier. Already? "Hey, are you okay?" She asked, "You shouldn't talk and drive in this weather."

She heard a long sigh, then he said, "I'm not driving. I was. I left, but I turned around and came back."

"Oh?" She traced the black waves in the cold granite countertop.

"You still alone?"

"Uh, yes."

"All night?"

"Yes," she answered.

"What's the address?"

She stood silently, holding the phone to her ear. He waited until she answered, "I'm...," she took a deep breath; one second, one sentence away from the tipping point, "I'm at 12 Tulip Lane, Swanson. Gray house, black shutters."

"I'll be there in ten."

She nearly spilled the wine as she poured another glass and started chugging, then stopped. She looked at the clock-nine minutes. He won't really come. What am I doing? Nothing. Just a friend who didn't want to drive home in the rain. She was allowed to have friends, right? Young, hot ones? No. But why not? Just friends. Yes.

Eight minutes. You don't have to do anything. Maybe he hates driving late in the day, like you, and wants a place to hang. Right. Just one more sip. Don't get drunk. She wiped the counters.

Seven minutes. She grabbed the edge of the granite countertop, sucking its coolness through her sweaty hands. Fix your hair. Oh, fuck it-this is not a date.

Six minutes. I'm gonna puke. No, you're not. Wipe up that wine, you lush. She did so, wiping the counters again. The rain fell harder. It would run in rivulets down his trim black mustache, over the cords of his neck and along his sternum, like sweat.

Five minutes. A pickup truck rumbled by and shocked her like a bolt of lightning, but kept going. I'm imagining this. Oh please, aren't you tired of rubbing one off to dry fantasy?

Four minutes. The extra gulps of wine washed through her body, softening her limbs, like new cloth washed in warm water. I can't go back now.

Three minutes. Make him a bowl of soup and send him to a hotel. No, I want him. Shh!

The phone rang. Thank God! He's the bigger of us and backing out. I could love him for that and I'll tell him and...Home.

She answered the phone while eyeing the driveway, "Hello? What's up?"

"Mom, where's my green sweatshirt?"

"Jolie, I don't know. Ask your sisters." In the background, she heard her husband yell, 'Come on, Jolie, movie starts in fifteen minutes.'"

"Oh, fine-uh!" Jolie exclaimed and hung up, the house silent again except for the rain.

One minute. She turned off the phone and lay it face down on the counter.

Wandering back into the living room decorated with driftwood and store-bought sea glass, she wondered, "Who am I?" Listen and wait, you'll find out. She sank into the armchair again, closed her eyes and waited...his tan skin, that dark stubble...

Minus one minute.

...wondered how his bare chest would feel against her breasts, his hand along the inside of her thigh.

Minus two minutes. He's not coming. Shit! If he didn't come...

She heard footsteps, one by one, ascending the stairs. A pause, then a soft rap on the door. Her heart thumped with each knock. Oh please, maybe it's just the neighbor. God, don't let it be him. But dear God, it better be him.

"Is it you?" She asked from inside the door.

"Si, es tu amigo."

A deep breath, another chance to say no, yet she unlocked the door and opened it. He stood, hands at his sides, nostrils flared, "I wanted to see you again. This may be the only chance."

She smiled and opened the door wide, "Come in. Extended conversation?"

He shut the door, then took her face in his hands, "No, not talking," he pulled her mouth to his and kissed her, gently first, then she flickered her tongue between his lips, come in. They kissed deeply, his rough chin prickling hers.

"Very good friends tonight," he panted, her hands pressing against him, afraid he'd overwhelm her.

"I shouldn't..."

"But you want to."

Sí. Her hands slipped around his waist and she pulled him close, "Are you gonna be gentle, or fuck me hard and throw me away?"

"Both," he grabbed her generous ass and pressed his hard cock against her. She gasped, then giggled, "I haven't done anything like this in thirty years."

He laughed, "Well, it just started-I'll remind you of your youth, and you teach me some new tricks."

"Deal."

She leaned back into the counter and let him grind against her crotch while they kissed until she gasped, "More wine," and stretched for the glass. He reached and tipped the glass to her lips, a rivulet of wine running from the corner of her mouth. With the tip of his tongue, he licked it and tasted her mouth, his fingers traveling down and pressing into her pussy as she fumbled to lift his T-shirt. The tight fit make it difficult, so he peeled it off, the scent of spice emanating from his bare chest, inches from her lips. She kissed between his pecks, sending shivers through his body while her fingers surfed over his hardness.

"You got some life left in you yet," he moaned, hands pressing against the counter.

"You brought it out," she said, stroking him.

"Let's bring it all out-bedroom, now."

She squeezed his hand and tugged him to the master bedroom, the king mattress crisply made up with a pristine white duvet.

"We're gonna destroy that pretty blanket," he grinned, then grabbed it with one hand and yanked it off the bed.

"Ooh, rough! You won't go gentle on me?"

"You want that?"

"I want both."

"Then you shall have both, however long you can take it."

She shuddered, then let her hands glide down his shoulders, hot to the touch as he pulled down her skirt, revealing beige bicycle shorts and thighs with a few miles on them. His hand slid down over her crotch, "Mm, I wanna taste this..."

"You like old pussy?" She giggled.

"Sure, why not? All tough and dry, like jerky."

He pushed her playfully onto the bed and yanked off the shorts, "Now, spread 'em," he ordered, cleaving her legs apart, exposing her moist pussy. He grinned, "Don't look dry to me. Scooch up." She took a deep breath and watched his head go down, his mustache tickling, then his warm tongue flickering over her clit. She closed her eyes and squeezed her legs to keep from bucking into him and was rewarded with his velvet tongue exploring inside her.

"Javie, it's not cheating yet, is it?" She moaned, her mind whirling with the forbidden thrill of someone else tasting her, pressing into her until he lifted his head, lips wet, and asked, "You worried about that?"

"No."

"Well, then what about doing this?" He slowly slid two fingers into her, then three, slipping in and out, then pushing deeper, his thumb grazing her clit, "Hey, the gynecologist does this, except the clit part, and it ain't cheating," he offered.

"Hah, not quite the same, and how would you know?" She dug her head into the pillow. "But keep doing it anyway," her hands wandered over his, feeling him probe her.

"Girlfriend told me."

"Mm...the bad one?"

"Yeah, the relationship that shoulda' been twenty minutes, but enough of that shit."

"Mm, agree...." She stroked his head as he kissed her pussy and finger-fucked her, and after he made a thorough mess, kicked off his pants and underwear, "Okay, you owe me for this, lady, so let me see the rest of you."

She stared at his great cock and grinned, unbuttoning her shirt and arching her back to unclasp her bra. Her small but shapely breasts pleased him as he glanced his fingertips over them, "These held up pretty good. What's this, though?" He traced a small scar on her breast.

"Lumpectomy."

"Really?"

"Yep. You wanna see my other scar?" She asked.

"Cool! You got more scars?"

"Sure, look here," she pointed to her armpit, "That's where they took out a lymph node during the lumpectomy, to biopsy for metastasis."

"Cancer, huh?" He took a deep breath, stroking the scar gently, "Must have scared you."

"Sure, at first, but we caught it early. It wasn't so bad."

"Yeah? How'd your friends react? They stick around?"

"Of course! They were all supportive. Anyway, I bet you missed the Cesarean scar while you were down there," she sat up and looked through her pubes, "Ah, here it is, see that long, tiny white line?"

"Geez, you're all beat up," he squinted at the scar. "I only got one, see?" He pointed to the top of a finger. "Cut my finger as a boy, trying to open a box with a knife way too big."

"That all you got?"

"That's it, so far. Not enough living, yet," he replied. "Now, where were we?"

"Well, we covered oral sex, fingering, undressing and breast stroking, so that only leaves one thing...," she lay back down, hands over her head.

He cocked his head and fell forward, his muscled arms catching him on either side of her, "Now, you sure about this? We can stop any time. Just say so."

"Really?" She snuck another peek at his hard on, "Are you sure about that yourself?"

He shrugged, "There's always the shower-emergency escape, you know?" He leaned in slowly, then kissed her gently on the lips, "You absolutely sure?"

She slipped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and whispered, "Wouldn't miss it for the world. Come in."

At first, he slipped in easily, but spreading her apart was another thing. He was big and it hurt. She gasped as he pushed hard to penetrate her.

"Ei, that's tight," he growled, "doesn't your husband ever get in here?"

She gripped his back, "Yes, but he...," She couldn't finish her sentence. His girth filled her up, "My God, I can feel every inch of you," she drove her heels into him, moving to meet him.

He moved slowly in and out of her, then withdrew nearly all the way, "Wow, it's glistening, like an icicle! Guess he does keep you lubed pretty well."

"Mm, stop goofing around and shut up and fuck me," she moaned.

He drove into her without mercy, thrusting until she cried, then flipped her over halfway through, shoving her face into the mattress, her hands gripping knots in the sheets. He smacked her ass hard and she cried out, then he rubbed the sore spot, "Good girl, that's a good girl," smacking her again, then holding her on the small of the back and grinding until her lips were swollen and soft. His balls tightened and he said breathlessly, "Turn over again, I wanna see you."