Older Women Try Harder

In his position of handyman at the Embury Apartments in Saratoga Springs, Matt Avery got to interact with many ladies during the course of his workday, and even though the community catered to those 55 and up, that didn't bother the muscular 31-year-old divorced man a bit.

All his life he had seemed to get along better with older women, a theory reinforced by his failed marriage to a girl his age, and while the very elderly didn't interest him there were a lot of women in their late 50's and early 60's who looked damn fine to him.

"Besides, 60 is the new 40, or something like that," Matt had told his friend Chris at the bar the night before as he waved his beefy arm around the happy hour crowd which was mainly yuppies. "These women our age - they think they're hot stuff - and maybe some of them are, but they're so high maintenance. These older ladies, they try harder to please. Like this lady I have to replace a garbage disposal for tomorrow. Remember Mrs. Hudson?"

"The librarian back in high school?" Chris asked, and after Matt nodded he laughed and said, "She was the one that looked like Miss Hathaway on The Beverly Hillbillies."

"A little I suppose but - hey - she was a nice woman," Matt reminded his long-time friend.

"Oh that's right. She was your first."

"And one of the best. Boy when she took her clothes off maybe you didn't whistle, but by the time I got out of her house that day I didn't have the energy to even pucker-up anyway," Matt told him. "And I kept coming back too. Nice lady, god rest her soul. This woman tomorrow looks a lot like her. Mrs. Irene Webb is her name. A widow."

"So are you going to go there tomorrow and bat those baby blues at this poor woman?"

"That's the plan, but you make me sound like a predator."

"Then you give her that smile with your dimples showing, and you probably wear one of those t-shirts that look like they're painted on you, with your biceps and neck muscles straining the seams?"

"I think you're exaggerating but - hey - you know me too well," Matt admitted.

"That gal doesn't stand a chance," Chris noted. "I'm only glad my Mom is in Florida safe and sound because she thought you were so adorable when we were growing up."

"I'm glad too," Matt mumbled under his breath because there were times back then that he was sorely tempted, and if he made a move on his friend's mother Matt suspected she would have given in.

"Anyway, maybe nothing will happen with Mrs. Webb," Matt suggested. "In that case it's just a day at work."

"There will be plenty more for you to fuck and forget after her," Chris opined before they had left the bar but Matt shook his head.

"I never forget them and I treat them all like the nice ladies they are, with love and respect. Who knows, maybe this will be their last time?"

^^^

"You're always so prompt," Irene Webb said as she held her door open so the handyman could bring his tools in easier. "I should have remembered. Look at me, still in my robe."

"You still look pretty regardless of whatever you wear," Matt opined and enjoyed the woman's reaction while also noticing that despite her comments Mrs. Webb had put on a little make-up, not a lot but enough for Matt to know that she didn't just roll out of bed when he knocked.

"You silly," Irene replied with a wave of her hand, but as they went into the kitchen she mentioned, "I have a fresh pot of coffee on Matthew, if you would like."

"Smells great but maybe I'll have a cup when I finish," Matt said. "When I start sitting around and having coffee before I start, I get in trouble."

"I have cookies too," Irene mentioned. "Made them yesterday. Chocolate chips. Do you like them?"

"I thought I smelled something delicious," Matt told her as he prepared to climb under the sink. "Tell you what. When I finish this I'll have a cookie and a cup of that coffee. Good incentive to work hard, although I don't really need to eat a cookie. Watching my weight."

"You? It doesn't look like you need to," Irene said as she watched the muscular man start to unhook the old garbage disposal, the bulging of his muscles making her flush like she was going through menopause again. "Well, I'll leave you alone so you can work."

"Won't take too long."

"Doesn't matter, Matthew," Irene said as she sat on her couch, the angle perfect for her to see the handyman working. "Take your time."

As the silver haired woman positioned herself on the end of the sofa, she tried to get her robe positioned correctly so if the boy did look her way, her legs would look their best, but she shook her head at her foolishness because she knew the best thing about her skinny shapeless legs was that she had the right number of them.

Instead she sipped her coffee and looked at the parts of the boy she could see as he fiddled under the sink, although she scolded herself for calling Matthew a boy because he was probably in his late 20's or early thirties, but it was hard not to look at those shoulders and arms of his.

As Irene watched Matt she imagined that tight t-shirt exploding off of him as his muscles expanded with his efforts, and as the damp patches under his arms got bigger he wished she was brazen enough to suggest he take his shirt off while he worked.

"You'll be more comfortable," Irene imagined herself saying, and as her mental movie had the boy peel his shirt off himself to expose his muscular upper torso her heart fluttered like it had back when she was dating the man that would become her husband, and she scolded herself once again for thinking these things.

There was no harm in dreaming though, and too soon for her liking Matt climbed off the floor, waking her out of her dream world to ask whether she had something to send down the new disposal so he could make sure it worked.

"I think I have something in the refrigerator that I was meaning to get rid of," Irene said and she joined Matt in the kitchen. "It's in here somewhere."

As Irene bent down to search for the past its prime leftover she was aware of the handyman eyes on her, but only after she straightened up and handed him the foil-wrapped food didn't she realize something. As she was bent over her hand that was clutching the robe together came off, and the man had been looking down at her. Who knows what he had seen?

After Matt pronounced the disposal as working well again he grabbed the old device and told Irene he would dump it in the store room but would be right back.

"A cup of coffee would go good right about now, and of course I have to try a cookie too," the boy told her as he left the apartment.

Irene quickly went into her bedroom and stood in front of the mirror and bent over while taking her hand off the ends of the robe to see what the young man might have seen.

"Oh dear," Irene fretted as she looked at the way much of her breasts were visible down the neck of her nightie under the robe, the only thing more disturbing than how small they were was they way they hung down.

"Banana boobs," she chuckled when she recalled her old college dorm mate who might never have worn a bra in her life.

That was the self-depreciating term that girl had used to describe her breasts back then and now over forty years later Irene was amused that she had banana boobs now as well.

"I'm back," Matt called out when he returned. "Going to wash my hands."

Irene made sure that her robe was secure before hurrying out to get the coffee cups out and put some cookies on a plate while the handyman washed his hands, thinking that she was like the wicked witch luring Hansel minus Gretel with her goodies.

"I wouldn't mind eating you up Matthew," Irene mumbled before the handyman emerged from the bathroom and joined her at the kitchen table.

"I know I said I would eat one of these cookies, but there's no way I will be able to stop at one," Matt said as he washed one down with a sip of coffee. "They're perfect."

"Oh thank you Matthew," Irene blushed as she watched the boy's bicep bulge with the lifting of the cup.

"That's what I need to find," Matt told the elderly woman. "A beautiful woman who can cook."

"Oh dear Matthew. They're just simple chocolate chips," Irene tittered. "Don't do much cooking any more, what with being alone, so I don't think I'm what I used to be in the kitchen."

"How long have you been a widow?" Matt asked, and when Irene told him it had been three years he expressed his sympathy about her loss and said, "So when you turned 55 to decide to move in here? A lot of ladies do that."

"No, I just got tired of keeping up a house for just myself, what with the kids grown and all," Irene explained. "I didn't even know about this place, but it's been a while since I was 55."

"Really?" Matt replied with a shocked expression.

"Afraid so. I'm - well let's just say I could start collecting Social Security now if I chose," Irene told the boy.

"Amazing. I would never have guessed," he responded as he shook his head. "Obviously you don't look it."

"I feel it though, but moping around in this ratty old bathrobe doesn't do much for me I'm afraid Matthew," she joked.

"There's something to be said for that robe," Matt told her as he reached over and patted her wrist, and the touch of his hand on her skin sent a chill down her spine.

"The way you call me Matthew, Mrs. Webb?" Matt said with a wistful smile. "It reminds me so much of the way a favorite teacher of mine used to address me."

"That's your name, isn't it? I saw it in the newsletter and on that magnet, they give out with the emergency numbers," Irene replied, wondering if she had been calling the boy by the wrong name all morning but he put her at ease.

"It's my name, but everybody calls me Matt so I'm used to that," he explained. "I kind of like the way Matthew sounds when you use it."

"Then Matthew you shall remain," Irene declared. "However, I must insist you cease and desist with the Mrs. Webb business. Please call me Irene."

"Irene," Matt repeated. "That's a lovely name, but then again you're a lovely woman - and a great baker."

"You're a sweetheart Matthew," Irene blushed

"Well, as much as I would like to stick around and eat cookies with you, Irene," Matthew said as he glanced at the clock and started to rise. "I have to replace a thermostat up on the third floor."

"Well I thank you for replacing the disposal Matthew," Irene cooed as she walked him to the door. "And also thank you for chatting with me. It's been quite a while since I had a real conversation with a man."

"I enjoyed it too," Matt said.

"Do you have an apartment here? I know you aren't old enough of course but I was wondering if they gave you one as a benefit of the job, seeing as I suppose you get called on for emergencies?"

"No, unfortunately they don't, but that would be nice," Matt lamented. "I have an apartment down in Albany that I've had for a while."

"That's quite a commute."

"Can be in the winter," Matt admitted.

"I was thinking, all your talk must be going to my head, but I would like to thank you for your work. Would you let me make you dinner some night? Maybe tonight?" Irene offered.

"Let's see, It would take me a couple hours to get home to clean up and get back..."

"I didn't mean to put you on the spot Matthew," Irene quickly added.

"No no, I love the idea of not eating out of the microwave."

"There would be no need to go home either. It wouldn't be anything fancy so just come up after quitting time. Come as you are, although I promise to change out of this robe," she assured him.

"Yes. I can do that," Matt said. "It would be around 5:30 when I'm done."

"Perfect Matthew!" Irene chirped as Matt paused at the door.

"Gives me an even better reason to look forward to quitting time," he told her. "I'll see you then."

Matt stopped then and leaned down and kissed Irene on the cheek and thanked her again for the offer.

"Bye."

After closing the door Irene fanned her face as she blushed from that unexpected affection.

"Like marble," she said to herself as she thought of what the boy's arm felt like when she put her hand on his bicep when he pecked her cheek. "Now you have to make the boy a decent dinner."

***

"That was an incredible dinner Mrs. Webb," Matt said as he sat on the love seat in the very old lady-like living room, and although she clucked about minor flaws she found in the preparation he could tell she liked hearing the compliment.

"You know, you could do me one favor Matthew. You could call me Irene, like I asked you earlier. That would make me feel less old," she explained as she patted him on the knee. "After all, we are drinking wine here on my old love-seat so we should be on a first name basis."

"Okay - Irene," Matt replied with his boyish grin. "Irene. That's a beautiful name."

"Kind of old fashioned," she answered.

"That's probably why I like it," Matt said. "Mom always told me I was an old soul. A Renaissance Man, I think she used to called me."

"And now you're sitting here with a real antique," Irene tittered nervously.

"And I remember telling you this afternoon how when I first saw you in the building I figured you were visiting someone because there was no way you were old enough to qualify to live here, Matt said as she turned to face her. "And I have to say that you look especially lovely tonight."

"Oh dear. Must be the wine," Mrs. Webb quipped.

"No, I thought that the moment I came in here this evening," he assured her. "I probably should watch the wine though. You don't want to get stuck having me stay here overnight."

"That would get the other biddies in the building talking, wouldn't it?" she laughed. "Of course, I would never say anything."

"I know."

"I have just one bit of advice for you though Matthew. I hope you live a long and wonderful life, but I hope that you don't have to experience the pain of outliving the one you love. It's been years but still..."

"I know that's how my Mom feels."

"That's why tonight as been so glorious. To have a man in the place and converse so nicely, and then to sit here with you even though I'm sure you're bored, Irene told him. "I can turn the TV on if you'd like."

"Please don't. I'm enjoying sitting here with you so much Irene."

"You're so sweet. It's not just the conversation and cooking for a man, it's the other things too," Irene said. "The presence of a man in the room, and everything about it. The sight, the scent..."

"I tried to clean up as best I could here. Changed my shirt."

"No, you smell delightful. You smell like a man. A woman can detect the testosterone in the air when a man is near. A real man that is," Irene explained. "How I miss that. You must drive the girls wild."

"Not much interested in girls," Matt said as he reached over and brushed a sliver strand back from Mrs. Webb's face. "Never have been. I much prefer women."

"Oh my," Irene gasped when the man's hand brushed her cheek. "Sorry. I wasn't expecting that. It's been a long time since a man has touched me - made my heart race a bit."

"Maybe I should leave," Matt suggested but as he started to rise Mrs. Webb reached over and grabbed his arm.

"NO!" she almost yelled before she lowered her voice and added, "Please don't. Unless you really want to."

"No, I think I want to be right here."

"This afternoon when I was watching you work," Irene explained as she let her aged fingers rub up and down the crinkly hair on his bulging forearm. "I was thinking - well, I'd better not say what I was thinking, but all I can say is that while there may be snow on the roof, looking at you reminded me that there's still a fire in the furnace. Does that make any sense to you?"

"Of course it does. I'm flattered."

"Listen to me saying these things to a boy. Well, not a boy of course but I'm old enough to be your mother."

"You remind me of my mother because she was a sweet lady too, but you don't look anything like her, believe me," Matt said while leaning over and pressing his lips against Mrs. Webb's cheek. "The things you say you were thinking before, don't be so sure I wasn't thinking the same things too."

A second later Irene was reaching over and kissing the maintenance man, but it was no peck on the cheek and when their lips parted Irene was practically sitting on the lad's lap. While Mrs. Webb was a bit embarrassed about what she had done she didn't apologize either, and the next long kiss was even more passionate and found the senior sprawled on her back in the corner of the love seat.

"I want you so bad," Matt mumbled in her ear as his hand went to grope her breast through the blouse and bra, but while she cringed when his hand first got there Mrs. Webb was too aroused to worry about it.

"Honey," Irene gasped when her hand went to the lad's crotch and had no trouble finding what she was looking for. "You're so hard - so big."

"Don't know about that but hard for sure."

"Come," she said as she struggled to get to her feet, and then she took him in hand and led him to the bedroom, closing the door behind them.

"No. Don't," Matt asked when Irene started to go over to the night light which went on after the room got dark, and she reluctantly stopped and faced him only to melt when he wrapped his muscular arms around her slender body, kissing and grinding into her before stepping back and unbuttoning her blouse.

Irene winced when the blouse came off her bony shoulders and she turned so he could unhook her bra, sparing him the sight of watching the padded bra come away and letting the little banana boobs ease down. Matt was pressing against her backside as the widow felt his arms come around her, and her heart skipped a beat when she looked down and saw his hands replace the bra cups, but if he was disappointed she couldn't tell as he kneaded the doughy teats.

"What about you?" Irene asked as she was turned around, with Matt sitting on the edge of the bed to undo her slacks, the beige garment dropping down to reveal pale and skinny legs that she thought were probably the best of her assets, but then he pulled down her granny panties.

Girls don't have hair down there anymore, Irene mused to herself as she became naked, and if they did they all seemed to trim it. While Irene's thatch had thinned over the years the still mostly light brown bush still grew high and wide and did manage to shield somewhat from view what the senior considered her overly large labia.

"You look amazing," Matt said as he rose.

"You're sweet even if you need an eye exam. Now it's my turn," Mrs. Webb said as she unbuttoned the handyman's shirt, a task made more difficult by her trembling hands, and after that came off she had to get the tank-top up and off the young man, not easy because it seemed like it was painted on.

The hissing sound Irene accidentally made when she took in a breath through her teeth was caused by seeing the beautiful boy's upper torso. Arms and shoulders rippling with muscles and a broad chest with a nice growth of hair on it had the widow reaching out and putting her hands on Matt's pectorals, squeezing and letting the soft hairs sift through her fingers before she leaned forward.

"Ooh!" Matt sighed when he felt the senior's mouth on his nipple, and he ran his hand through her silver scalp while she suckled on first the right and then the left, her hands squeezing his biceps while she nursed on him. "That's nice."

The senior looked up at the young man and smiled before she moved her mouth up around his collarbone and up to his shoulder. Her hands continued to squeeze his bicep and he tensed his arm so the muscle bulged.

"You must work out a lot," the silver haired lady opined as her hand felt the rock hard bicep.

"A little but mostly I stay fit from work."

"Well however you got this way, it's sexy," she said with a wink before leaning over and planting a kiss on his muscle, and then as she began to blush she nibbled her way down the inside of his arm and into his armpit, kissing the most spray of hair before leaning back grinning self-consciously.