Not the Usual Afternoon Visit

At the time, Sofera was exactly sixty. I knew because I provided the music for the birthday party. We had become friends over the years outside of the long friendship with her husband. I had never thought of her in a sexual way.

After a lifetime of travel, Sofera spent much of her time stuck at home. Swings in her health often made it hard for her to get around, particularly in the winter. To provide her with some company, I dropped by here and there while her husband was at work.

I tried to stay present with my smart and observant friends. Being both smart and observant, Sofera caught my focus drifting. I answered with a news brief: my most recent ex- wanting to reunite, ongoing family drama, a worry about something or other. I also had not slept enough. Sofera probed for more information. I picked out bits of answers from my scattered, racing thoughts, more to be polite than seek commiseration. It was all friendly, a meeting of equals. I had left behind any need for a mother substitute when I passed thirty. Half checked out, and probably motivated by my unconscious or some nonsense, I brought up that the now-former girlfriend liked to hear, shall we say, erotic talk. On the phone, in person, even in public.

"What kind of things did you say?" Sofera asked, with an interest that shocked me. I made a How can I talk about that? face. "What?" she said. "I am a grown woman. I know what happens in bedrooms. Do you believe I've never thought about sex? Let alone had it after twenty-some years of marriage?"

"It just never entered my mind that you did."

"Because I'm old."

"No, man," I said with a laugh. "Women with partners who are friends of mine--why go there? I have a hard time imagining sex with someone when I know they're behind a locked door."

"Did you start by asking her what she was wearing?"

I didn't have the energy for one of Sofera's interrogations.

"She usually waited for the call without clothes."

"Tell me one thing you told her. One little story."

I made a face. "Performing in front of an audience is not my forté."

"Pull up one of the dining room chairs behind the couch. That way you only have to provide audio."

It did help to be out of her sight. In a spirit of vengeance, I dug into the platinum level of smut in my memory. I wanted to shock Sofera so much she clapped her hands and ordered me to stop. A combination of improvisation and what I remembered of the original, the story started with two men pleasuring a woman and moved forward. One man's mouth on her mouth and the other man's mouth between her legs. Face-sitting, sixty-nining, taking her partners at each end on her knees and on her back. Getting no reaction, I shifted in the creaky chair.

"Would it be out of the question to drink a dram of your scotch?"

"You know where we keep it," Sofera replied in a quiet voice.

I slammed a shot and poured two more fingers as an antidote to the pheromones in the air. Step by step, I took her through the woman's unlikely number of orgasms, worked to the men preparing her to be taken from behind.

"Not into butt play," Sofera said.

"Strike it from the record."

I took a slow, deep drink to give myself time to consider possibilities. As I put down the glass, I noticed Sofera's hands were no longer visible. The fact that muscles worked on both of her arms, left no doubt, but I scooted just a bit forward to see her fingers rippling the fabric of her sweater. Her breathing had become quicker. She had closed her eyes.

Moving closer to Sofera's ear, I said, "The woman stood and bent over the edge of the bed. The second man thrust his entire length into her. She bent to rest on her elbows. Her presenting herself that way encouraged the man to move faster and then faster. The loud slaps of their colliding bodies mingled with her begging to fucked, to take his come, to go harder. She heard him near that zone where excitement forces you to finished. At that point, he slowed his pace and caressed her ass. He pulled out with a groan of disappointment and stood panting as the woman rolled to her back. With his hands he turned her to his left. She lifted her right leg. He took her from behind that way, awkwardly but at the same pace as before."

Sofera had stretched out in the chair. By chance, I saw her lift her sweatpants with one thumb and slide the other hand inside.

"Listening," she breathed. "Still listening."

But Sofera didn't listen for long, As I talked the couple in the story through their screaming orgasms, Sofera let out a soft, trailing moan. Brief, and not at all demonstrative, before she withdrew her hand and gasped.

"Jesus Christ," she said. "I was starting to doubt I could want an orgasm, let alone have one again." I moved into her view to re-take my seat on the couch. That she seemed okay with the scene eased my own embarrassment. "I want to tell you something," Sofera said. "A real something. More than once, many times in fact, I've seen you return to a table in a restaurant or return to the living room with a drink, and as long as you're not looking my way, I watch your crotch. You used to wear tight jeans made with that stretchy denim. You remember?"

"I do. Slightly too small for me."

"No kidding. They showed you off in detail. That time we met for Chinese with that dark-haired woman, the plunging red sweater--"

"Yes," I laughed. "She was quite a piece."

"You had an erection the entire meal."

"Quite a bit longer."

"Did she provide relief?" Sofera asked.

"You know, forget fiction, I should've told you that story."

With absolute, total conviction, she said, "Would you like to be relieved right now?" My shocked expression had no effect on her. "I can't do anything too intimate. I've really wanted one thing in particular, the one thing I fantasize about when you in your jeans cross my mind. Those slacks you're wearing aren't nearly as tight, but I can see what's happening down there. You look amazed. Is it so shocking I'd be sexual?"

"It's one-hundred-percent surprising, is all. Nothing else implied."

I was aroused by her straightforwardness more than anything. A splash of curiosity was mixed in there, too.

Of all the times I had taken down my pants for a woman, none approached this moment when it came to the woman's anticipation. I half-believed Sofera made up what she said about her fantasies. No more. My erection twitched as I pushed my slacks and underwear to my ankles. She helped me pull my feet free.

Given her statement about intimacy, I figured I would provide the work. Sofera beckoned me closer with one finger, the very classic Hollywood gesture.

"You have to give me more than imagination," I said.

No bra, very large breasts with brown nipples the size of a saucer. For some reason, her oversexed husband had never described that part of her.

I began to lift my hand. Sofera leaned and, looking at me through her eyebrows, guided me into her waiting mouth.

She moved slowly down the shaft, clearly in no hurry, excited but not out of control. Like someone who's visualized it a hundred times, I thought. She hummed a no when I proposed to touch her breasts.

Sofera's lips locked onto me. Her tongue moved the shaft. When she reached my pubic hair she withdrew, tilted her head, and took my balls into her mouth. One hand worked my cock. Sofera murmured approval as I pulsed into her fingers. At the perfect moment she removed her mouth with a pop.

"Tell me how good I am," she said.

I told her, and for once during a sex act I was not exaggerating. My cock felt like it might drill out from the back of her throat. I felt the first tingle of an orgasm. When I tried to move my hips Sofera stopped me. Later she told me how she insisted on being in charge during oral sex. "You only have to refuse to go on one time," she added.

Sofera took the head into her mouth again. This time her chin moved left and right as she once again slid forward. The stirring inside me grew stronger. She felt it. "Tell me when," she said as she re-commenced with her fist. "Would you eat me if I let you?"

"Say the word."

"Ask me."

"Can I eat your pussy?"

"It's been a long time," Sofera sighed. "If only. Pretend I'm laying back on the edge of the bed with my legs in the air. Tell me what you would do."

"Stand between your legs. Rub your clit. Take your wetness and spread it everywhere. I'd bend close, putting the head of my dick against your opening, teasing you, rubbing it in your juices to get myself ready to enter you."

"You take over while I lay back."

It was easy enough. She had thoroughly lubricated the shaft. I made no pretense. I began to stroke myself fast and then faster.

"I want you to pretend to slide into me," Sofera murmured. "The idea of fucking you would make me very ready. I'm very ready now. Between my legs is wide open for your cock. Enter me steadily. Not slow. Not hard. Fill me. Make me wider than I've ever been."

I began to breathe harder. My wrist even hurt. By myself I would've taken a break. But Sofera had her greedy eyes on me.

"Not long," I whispered.

"Let go all over my chest. As much as you can. I'll be insulted if it's less than a gallon."

Let me tell you, it felt like a gallon. She lifted those breasts to catch the first thick white jet of my ejaculation. Even as the pleasure swept over me, I tried to direct the next jet, and the next, I don't know how many. I wanted to cover her breasts, to reward those sharp cries she gave as each load struck her skin.

By the time I could focus again, my legs shook at the knees. Sofera looked down to watch streams of my come run around her breasts and leave streaks over her huge nipples.

"Paper towels?" I panted.

"It may take a real towel," she said. "Just as incredible as my daydreams. I'm soaked exactly like I wanted you to soak me. Are you drained?"

"I must be."

Sofera ran a finger down the side of my penis. "Not that I haven't fantasized beyond sucking you off. If only I could live with it. I want you to feel the juices pouring out of me. Watching me put two fingers inside me. But I'd never--" She looked up. "You understand."

"It's the best way."

"Though I did almost ask you to drink scotch off my nipples. My only use for alcohol. Or it used to be," she said with a sad smile.

After she toweled off, we talked for a little while. The only reference to what happened was with her last words. "I have fully satisfied my curiosity. This has to be the only time. Otherwise, we'll go much further than up here."

I left with a wadded-up bath towel to throw in the nearest Dumpster. Our next breakfast, with her husband present, I kept expecting to see a significant glance, but we passed the hour as if the scene in her living room had been another of her fantasies. Our encounter faded, first into the middle past and from there into memory.

Months later I went to supper at their place. At some point her husband went to the kitchen for a pitcher of water.

"Can I share another fact about sex and elderly people?" Sofera said.

"I've never called you elderly."

"Last night," she said, either amused or pleased with herself, "I pretended you were taking me from behind, like the people in the story you told me, and when I came--really, really came, volcanically came--my husband stopped before his orgasm because he was worried I was having a heart attack."