Miriam

"Well, as Severus Snape would say," I said, smiling snidely and using my Snape accent: "Life *isn't* fair!"

She laughed a little, and said, "Yeah, he got that right. Poor guy. I have to admit though, I always had kind of a twisted thing for Snape. And aside from the fact that you don't have long greasy hair, you do look kinda like him. Although I think your teeth are straighter? But seriously, Mr. B, you gotta get outta my way. I'm still charging you even when we are just standing around here talking."

"Yeah, I know," I said, and smiled, "And don't worry about the money. I can afford it. And the talking part is probably just as important as the desk. Makes me feel like a human being again. Thanks. But the desk is important too, and so I'll leave you to it for an hour."

****

The bottom line is that she was great at it. She knew what to throw out and what to keep for my perusal. Everything in the trash seem to deserve to be there, as I saw as I glanced through a bit of it. But she rightly kept what should get at least a once over from me, although a few of those things, after I looked them over one last time, I put in the trash as well. I won't burden you too much with how emotional and difficult it was, but the fact was that it was a challenge to keep it together in front of Miriam, and she could tell.

After we were done with that for the time being, she could see I was exhausted, and so we had some tea and cookies in the breakfast nook in the kitchen.

"Did you make these yourself, Rick?" She said, chomping on my oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, while slurping somewhat noisily on her milky tea. I couldn't tell if there was some reason behind when she called me Mr. B and when she called me Rick, or if it was just random.

"Yeah," I said, smiling and trying to be gracious, "I made them in honor of your visit."

"Well, they are delish," she said, finishing her third, "I'll need to get the recipe, as well as your secret for making them so chewy and not burned at all. But for now I'd better stop, because I have to watch my figure, as they say."

And then she started taking charge, and said, "Show me your meds and vitamins, and I'll set up your pill box for you. I used to do that for my grandparents all the time when I was younger, rest their souls."

"No," I replied, "I'd rather you not do that."

"Don't you have a pill box?" She said, walking toward the bathroom.

"Yes, but..."

"Are you using it?" She said, as I trailed behind her trying to catch up stop her.

"No, but..."

"I know I'm bossy," she said, "but you need to let me do this, Mr. B."

She was bossy sometimes. And before I knew it she was in the downstairs master bathroom, and she'd already found my pills on the counter, and was looking through them.

"What's this? Cinnamon? What's that for?"

"It evens out your blood sugar, and has some other good effects," I said, but after that I was momentarily paralyzed.

And then she found my pharmacy bottles hidden behind a big vitamin bottle, before I could think of what to say.

"Well, you've only got two prescription meds. That's pretty good for a guy your age. This one's your antidepressant, which you already told us at dinner you're not taking. I really think you need to give it a go, Mr. B. And this is, oh..." she trailed off, "Cialis. I'm sorry, Mr. B, I hadn't thought about that."

She looked up at me standing near her with hands out in my now failed attempt to stop her. She looked sympathetic, which was painful.

I was quite embarrassed. But grief and old age had almost taken me past that. Almost. I would have died about this a year ago. But now I just didn't care as much anymore, and in a resigned and sad way, just said, "Yeah, I don't take that one either. What's the point?"

"The point is: I'm going to get you a date," She said, mischievously.

She added, "And there's probably some older church lady who is going to want some action!"

"Please," I said, smiling and wincing at the same time.

In spite of myself, I was still slightly amused, but in a pained way.

"So this stuff really works?" She asked, seeming very curious.

"Oh yeah," I said, not knowing quite what to say. "And I don't always need it," I awkwardly added, "But sometimes, at my age...You know a man's testosterone starts declining at age 25 or so, and so at my age..."

I trailed off, still stunned that I was even having this conversation with a pretty and very young woman (although sometimes with women nurses and doctors these days, it's almost as bad for me).

And then it got worse.

"And so you take it, and 'boing'!" she laughed, "and you've got a hard on?"

"Well," I said, feeling I had no choice but to answer, "that's the very low dose kind that you're supposed to take daily. But I only took it as needed. But generally you need a...a romantic situation for you to..."

"Boing!" She added helpfully, and giggled. And then she even held out her hands in a way that was supposed to indicate a big erect dick—bigger than mine, but more or less right.

"I can't believe I'm talking about this with you," I said, now in genuine psychological pain, but also trying to joke about it. "I didn't think I could sink any further, but..."

I was halfway serious and halfway not. It was still, even at my age and in my situation, and especially the more I thought of it, becoming one of the more embarrassing moments of my life. But again, to a degree I'd moved past caring.

"Hey, Mr. B," Miriam smiled at me with almost whimsical expression. "I apologize. I really do. That was rude of me. You said no, and I should have backed off. But I want you to know that you can talk about almost anything with me, including sex, and I'll tell you the truth. My life ain't so hot sometimes either. Take my boyfriend, for instance."

"What's he like?" I said, really wanting to change the subject.

"He's a cute little nerd who lives with his parents," she said. "College drop out. Plays video games most of the day when he's not at work. And I play with him sometimes too, hour after hour. And then, sometimes, he decides he wants to fuck me."

"Well," I said, laughing, and somehow not caring much at this point that I was about to go too far, "that's completely understandable!"

"Mr. B!" she said, comically raising her eyebrows, and putting her hand over her mouth in mock surprise.

Then she added, with a sense of ironic humor that was painful, but which I still somehow appreciated: "Well, keep the meds away from this guy!" And with that she put the bottle down.

She laughed a little. But she then said in a half-mock serious and half little girlish tone:

"But I know you're a gentleman. I can trust you, right, Professor Benson?"

It was somehow flirty the way she said it. But for me, if you untwisted it, it was mostly just the truth—at least at that point.

"Yeah, unfortunately." I said, suddenly serious and quiet again.

I couldn't meet her gaze, but added in a resigned way, "You don't have much to worry about from me."

I was trying not to feel low again, but not managing it.

"Hey, if I tried really hard I bet I could get you to make a pass at me," she said playfully, clearly trying to shock me.

And then suddenly came she came closer, hesitated a second, and then even closer, and then touched her body against mine, giving me a slow hug. She was pressing her breasts against me through her t-shirt, and looking up at me with her lovely eyes. And my cock, even without meds began to harden in my cords.

"I don't think so," I said in a whisper. But I was mesmerized, and I tried not to move because I didn't want to break contact with her. This was by far the closest I'd been to a woman in any even slightly sexual way since my wife died.

Miriam then slowly pulled herself back from me, while keeping eye contact and studying my face.

And then she said, in a slightly different tone, "Sorry about that. Well, what's next?"

I was astonished, and just said, "Do your parents know you're a flirt?"

"No," She said, only looking a little ashamed.

"Well, that's not quite true," she added, "because Mom sees me sometimes. And guess who I learned it from?"

But then suddenly she looked worried that she'd gone too far.

"Sorry, again, Mr. B.," and now she suddenly looked guilty. "I'm really trying to do a good job here and cheer you up. But now I realize I just went way too far. Please try to forget that happened. I'll fill this pill case, including your prescription meds, which I really think you should take, and then let's do the next thing on your list."

Strange as it sounds, that's what we did. We worked on this and that, and tried to pretend nothing weird or embarrassing had happened. And before we knew it, the three hours were up.

And so I got out my wallet and started counting out 20s, and said, "Is cash OK? Or would you rather have a check?"

"Cash would be great," she said, smiling.

I handed her the money and she looked at it, and seemed puzzled.

"This is a hundred bucks, Mr. B. You miscounted. Here's a 20 back," she said, holding it out to me.

"No, that's what I meant. It's a tip, just like you get at Star-fucks."

She smiled, and then laughed a little, and then stuffed the money in her black purse.

"Are we OK to do it again in a couple of days? Same time? All is forgiven?"

"Are you kidding?" I laughed, "You've given an old man a memory to treasure."

"Really?" She laughed, and looked a little puzzled again.

"Really," I said, matter of factly. "Thank you so much, Miriam"

"You're a sweetie," she said, "And don't take this the wrong way, but let me give you a kiss on the cheek."

She leaned up and did that, giving me a warm and slightly wet kiss on my left cheek.

"I might not wash my cheek for a few days," I said comically, and laughed at myself.

"You're twisted, Mr. B. Seriously. Take a bath—you dirty old man," and she laughed, sounding pleased.

And then she was gone for the day without looking back.

****

As you've no doubt figured out, Miriam, from almost the moment I met her, was, as the cliché goes, rocking my world. I thought about her almost all the time, thinking about both things that had happened, and fantasy things that I wanted to happen. I even had a dream about her, which not surprisingly was sexual. She was hugging me, as she had in the bathroom, pressing her breasts against me, and my cock started growing and wouldn't stop. Soon it was hard against her, and she could feel it. In the dream, she looked somewhere in-between shocked and horny, and said, "Mr. B!" And then I woke up.

And in real life, lying in bed, I had a raging hard on. This used to happen to me all the time, but as the decades passed it didn't happen as often, and I didn't want to waste it. Going into the bathroom where just several hours before Miriam had pressed herself against me, I looked in the mirror at my rumpled form covered in pajamas. I wasn't bad looking for my age. My halfway grey hair was thinning, but I still had a somewhat muscled medium-build, and a somewhat handsome if older face. I guess I did look a little bit like Snape.

"Miriam," I whispered to the mirror, imagining that she was with me in the bathroom in this waking fantasy, "See how much I want you? Look."

And then, imagining she was looking, I untied and slowly lowered my pajamas, revealing my six and a half inch circumcised cock. My reddish head was filled and pulsing, and standing up at about a forty five degree angle.

I got a little lotion, and continued the fantasy. Rubbing it on my shaft and holding my cock over the sink, I thought of Miriam: her eyes, her lips, her perky breasts, and tried to imagine her pussy, no doubt covered in hair that, like on her head, was brownish-black.

"Miriam, please," I begged, as I held my cock firmly and rubbed myself, faster and faster. I was very bad, and imagined her giving me a blow job.

"Please...Miriam"

"Open...Your"

Mouth..."

"Uuuuuh!!"

To my shock, after only a couple of minutes, a week's worth of my cum suddenly shot out into the sink in whitish jets. It was the most intense orgasm I'd had in a long time. And I moaned her name in a whisper one last time. I felt guilty, but it also felt really good, physically and mentally. This only happened about once a week without my meds, and so I decided to take all my meds, just as Miriam had urged.

Because, as Miriam had said, I was a dirty old man.

****

"Did you miss me?" Miriam said at the door the next day, smiling and clearly knowing the answer as she petted Fluffy again.

"Yes," I said simply, and grinned.

But somehow I was then, for an instant, filled with shame, and broke eye contact and looked down. Irrationally, I was feeling like she could read my mind, and knew the intense sexual desire I had for her.

But she seemed casual and happy, and didn't sense much of this, as far as I could tell anyway, and she walked into the house for our next session.

I was a little disappointed that she was wearing a button up cloth sweater on account of the unseasonably cool and windy weather we were having. I missed her somewhat revealing t-shirts for a second, but then she started unbuttoning her sweater.

"I'll just get this off," she said a little theatrically, as she started unbuttoning from the top.

"Okay," I said, and couldn't stop myself from watching and smiling.

She was aware that she had my attention, and smiled back at me in a flirty way, raising her eyebrows a little. She somehow made the simple act of taking off a sweater into a little tease.

And then, underneath, I saw why. She was wearing under the sweater a low-cut peach-colored blouse of soft-looking rather sheer fabric. I could see quite a bit of tantalizing cleavage, and her nipples against the fabric made it clear that her breasts were free underneath. She was one of those women who didn't need a bra, because her breasts stayed up on their own.

I looked down so I wouldn't stare, although clearly she didn't mind showing off.

"Well," I said, trying not to look at her more than I already had, "why don't we go up to the desk and see what's in that last bottom drawer."

I managed to maintain eye contact, and she looked amused by this, clearly seeing the effort it was taking me.

"Sure," she said, in a knowing way, "let's go."

She lead the way, and I admired her shapely bum in her tight jeans as I followed her. Oh, I was a bad man. But on the other side of it, she seemed to be consciously putting on a show for me, and enjoying the attention and effect she had on me.

We got to the desk, and she sat down right away.

I knew I could have stood behind her, and probably gotten a great view down her blouse, but suddenly I had a small stab of conscience, or was just ashamed. And so I stayed back, and just said:

"I'll leave you to it then. Thanks again, Miriam" and then I walked out

But I said behind me as I left, "Cookies and tea later! If you want!"

"Sounds great," she replied, and I could already hear her opening the drawer and sorting papers..

****

An hour later we were enjoying tea and cookies in the breakfast nook again, as Fluffy took one of her long naps in her dog bed nearby. I couldn't help but steal a few peeks at her perky tits through that thin blouse as she ate.

"So," she suddenly asked out of nowhere, "what are you looking for in a woman?"

"Excuse me?" I said, guiltily, as if she had read my mind.

"Well, what kind of woman turns you on, in terms of personality and looks? We need to get you dating again."

"Oh," I said, "I like a lots of kinds of women. But really, I'm not sure I'm ready for the emotional entanglement of a dating relationship just yet."

"And so what are you looking for?" She asked.

"Oh, I know!" She added, ready to answer her own question.

"What?" I said, a little confused.

"You want to get laid," she said, and pursed her lips together, like a detective who had just solved a case.

"Well," I said, "Are you always this blunt? But maybe."

I flushed with embarrassment.

"Hey! Do you have any old flames you could hook up with? Any affairs you had during your marriage that you could revive?"

Miriam looked certain that she'd hit a bingo.

"No," I said to her, in a resigned but also proud way, "My wife and I were faithful to each other for 37 years."

"Really?" She said, looking utterly amazed and disbelieving.

"Well, I know I was, in body if not in mind. And you may not believe me, but I think I can speak for my wife as well. She was progressive politically, but very conservative when it came to...I don't know how to call it. Morals?"

"Really?" Miriam said, still finding it hard to swallow, but realizing she'd need to trying something else.

"You mean, in all those years as a professor, you never had an affair with one student?" She seemed to think she had me for sure.

"No," I laughed, "Although over the years I had a lot of pretty ones flirt with me a little. But I never..." I felt pathetic, but that was the truth.

"How would they flirt?" she asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"Well, from my 20s in grad school until my even a couple of years ago, sometimes women would come to my office, and..." I trailed off.

"And? What would they do? I seduced a couple of profs in my day, and so I know how it's done." She looked like it was like playing a decent game of checkers—almost anyone should be able to do it, but somehow my students and I had muffed it.

"Maybe you'll tell me the stories of your lucky profs another time. But my students would just wear low cut blouses, and chat in a happy way, and then suddenly they'd need to get things out of their backpacks, or purses, and they'd bend down, and then..."

"Oh, like this?" Miriam said, and then she moved her chair aside and bent down to open her little black purse, which actually was at her feet.

I now could see her breasts and even her nipples completely, hanging down from her chest as the low-cut fabric of her loose blouse fell away from them.

She stayed there for a couple of seconds, and I could see that she had the among the most beautiful breasts I'd ever seen. Curving, and pointed, with pale pink areolas and little pointed nipples.

After she'd given me a good look, she slowly sat up, smiling at me as if nothing had happened. Which is actually just what dozens of women in my offices had done over 30 years.

"Wow," was all I could manage at first. And then I added, "That was actually beyond anything I ever saw in my office."

"Thanks, Professor B!" Miriam said, in spite of herself blushing a little.

"If you were trying to increase your tip today, well, then, mission accomplished. Ah, I hope that didn't just get me in trouble."

"I aim to please," she said, flirtatiously. But then she added, "But don't take that the wrong way. I'm a bit of an exhibitionist, but I'm counting on you being a gentleman."

"Yes," I said, "I do. I will! Whatever. I'd better stop talking now, or I'll make an even more of a fool of myself."

Miriam looked happy that she'd made me so flustered, but also seemed pleased she was safe from getting hit on. Although if I thought I had a chance...

"I believe you now," she said, more seriously, "that you never had an affair with one of your students. We still, however, haven't solved your problem."

"Yeah, I think my problems are unsolvable," I sighed. "But you've sure brightened my day."

"What about your problems?" I suddenly asked, and added, "What's your dream man like?—or—woman?"

"Have you been talking with my parents?" Miriam sharply asked, looking suddenly suspicious and annoyed. It was amazing how fast her countenance darkened.

"Yeah," I confessed, wincing.

"Blabber mouths," she said, still looking mad, and added, "Not that I care that you know I had a girlfriend. It's just the fact that they don't even know you that well, and I didn't know you at all when they told you, and there they were telling you intimate details of my life."