Old Love, New House

She didn't know what he did really. He would be gone for months and then reappear for a day or a night. This time he had been gone for almost two years.

When she moved from San Francisco to Ft. Worth, she figured he would never reappear, but she hoped. Unanswered e-mail messages were like little trail markers she left for him to follow. Mostly just family and business news, but a few were spicy and left with the promise of the scent of a bitch in heat. Some of those were answered, but not to her satisfaction. The last e-mail she left in his mailbox was to let him know that her husband might be out of town for a few days.

The phone rang just as the sun was rising. On the second ring she remembered that her husband had left the day before and lifted the handset. It was his voice.

"I'm at the airport. Come get me."

"I'll be at the curb in an hour."

She moved quickly from the bed to the shower, towel dried her cropped hair, pulled on a long loose fitting one-piece dress, sandals with low heels, bare legs, lace panties and bra, and out to the Lincoln. At seven she saw him standing on the curb holding a small black gym bag.

As soon as she drew up to the curb, he moved lightly into the front seat. He was surprisingly agile for a man over 60. With a full head of hair and strong jaw, he had the look of a serious man—perhaps dangerous.

"I need a shower and a shave." She looked at him intensely waiting for a greeting perhaps a kiss. She sensed his odor more in her abdomen than in her nose. He smelled pungent, but not dirty. She wanted him to move close to her. He stared out the front window waiting. When he looked at her to question why they were not moving, her eyes were wide and wet. He pulled her to him and kissed her gently. His beard scratched her lips.

She knew better than to ask where he had come from or what he had been doing. He had never answered those questions before. "I want you to see our new house. You can shower there."

"I'm a little uncomfortable with that, but you can take me there to clean up and look around, but I won't fuck you in your husband's bed."

*****

When he came out of the shower, she had some toast and coffee for him. She showed him around the large ranch style house. She thought he should at least pretend to be interested in the house, but he was intently watching her—or rather the movements her body made under the loose folds of her dress. That is what she really wanted, of course.

"Is this the sofa you were on the night we had phone sex?"

"No. We gave that one away when we moved."

"Is that where you'll be when we do it again?"

She stopped to look at the sofa, then turned in the direction of the bedroom, and said, "Yeah. Probably."

He walked to the patio door and looked out on the pool. "I want to watch you swim in the pool."

She started to ask why, but said nothing as she went over to stand close to him. "Will you go in with me?"

"No. I just want to watch. Get a mental picture."

She thought of a new little see through she bought in Italy but had been too shy to wear in front of her friends. "It is still a little cool, but I'll get a suit."

"No. I want to see you swimming nude."

She studied his expression. He glanced at her and smiled. She wanted him to screw her hard—in her husband's bed, in the living room, in the kitchen, in the shower, on the floor, right here, right now.

He seemed remote, as always. She wanted him to at least touch her. He made no move toward her. She slipped out of her dress without moving away from him. She opened the patio door, walked to the pool, slipped off her sandals, her panties, her bra, and stepped into the pool.

The water was cold. Goose bumps everywhere. As she went deeper the chill moved up her thighs, her pussy, her abdomen. Her nipples grew hard. Without wetting her hair, she stroked quietly across the pool. She could hear the slapping of her waves against the edges of the pool and the prarie winds whispering through the big mesquites. A mockingbird in the midst of his morning reverie stopped singing as she moved gracefully back up the steps.

Emerging wet with no towel, she picked up her underwear, stepped into her sandals and walked to the door. She watched her naked reflection superimposed on his large clothed image inside the house as she walked carefully to minimize the swaying movements of her breasts.

"Happy?"

"Yep. Now walk around the house. I want to see you naked in every room."

"Can I dry off first?"

"No. I want to remember how hard your nipples are. Just walk while I watch."

She walked. Slowly. When she got to the master bedroom, she went to the low king sized bed wanting to lie down. He stopped her. "Not there. Go to the sofa."

He followed her to the sofa picking up the cordless phone on the way. He handed it to her. "Lay down and hold the phone the way you would if you were talking to me."

She stretched across the leather sofa feeling its buttery softness against her bare skin. Holding the phone with her left hand, she looked up at him with her blue eyes wide open. She saw his eyes were narrowed in a frown of concentration. He was very serious about this.

"Now touch your pussy." She stopped for a second then moved her right hand between her legs. Her pussy was slick with her juices and wet from the pool. She wanted to stop, fearing loss of control. She thought she might start begging him to fuck her. She saw her legs spread wide reflected in the floor to ceiling window. She closed her eyes. Touching her clit promised release, and she realized how much she wanted to cum.

She heard his low voice, but didn't understand. She opened her eyes. He repeated, "Get up. Get dressed. Let's go." She could have reached an orgasm in just a few more strokes, but he knew that.

She did as he said.