She leaned against a tree, watching from a distance. Tyler didn't even notice until the field had cleared. He felt a presence, someone watching him. And then in the shadows of the trees he spotted her. Who was she, what was she doing there? He finished packing his bag and started to walk in her direction. Glancing back, he noticed that no one was left in the parking lot except his cousin, his ride home.
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Lyn looked away from the sick green background of the computer monitor. Still, she could sense the face in the screen looking back at her; mocking her. It scorned her for turning 45, for staying married to a man she didn’t love, and for having a job she couldn’t stand.
The woman swiveled in her chair and was confronted by windows that reflected her short legs, lifeless hair and insignificant body. Had a more nondescript female ever been born?
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Bob was a retired public school teacher who had begun a second career in carpentry. He liked working outdoors and had always been good with tools. He found that without advertising he could stay very busy. He began by building a deck for the bank president and "word of mouth" had kept him busy for over a year. He could pick and choose his projects and found that he especially enjoyed building decks and porches.
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Virginia was the boss's wife, and an outstanding lady in two ways. Her bosom and her bottom. Both were great assets. Although far from fat, she was inclined to plumpness, being a cheerful, energetic woman, full of life and fun. At least, that is, when she and her husband were with friends and colleagues, which was almost every evening since they did a great deal of entertaining.
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I have always had a yen for mature and older women. This was particularly true during my younger high testosterone years. As I have grown older, the age gap of interest has narrowed if only because women older than myself at this time of my life, are often no longer interested in arousal.
I don't know what triggers my erotic interest in any particular woman. Physical appearance is not necessarily significant although beauty can be a catalyst.
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Standing in front of the large, automated doors of the college library, Jacob Michaels, 23, released a heavy sigh. His mind was still in a whirl, trying to comprehend exactly why he was here. He worked at the college library as a student aide on regular school days, but this was his Spring Break! School was closed and so was the library. But he was forced to be here; told at the last minute that he had to work this week, the week of his only vacation for months to come, with one of the librarians to help make the shelves orderly and nice for the returning students.
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Being thirty and already developing a beer gut, I began working out at the local gym. And since I worked nights, the equipment was readily available, which was cool. No crowds.
After a month or so, I got to know some of the regulars, mostly retired guys, some into their eighties, God bless them! Mostly it was just to say hi, but a few became as regular as clockwork, so I sort of bonded with a guy named Abe.
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Everybody has their first times. For most of my peers, it was with a girlfriend, or just some chick at a party. But for boys like me -- awkward, gawky, cute and complete buffoons -- first times are perhaps even better than a fumble in the back seat of a beat-up car past 11 on a school night.
I was a late bloomer. But by the summer of 1990, I had come into my own physically. Much of my chubbiness had disappeared into a taut physique. And for the first time in my life, I looked good in form fitting pants.
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Wendy awoke just past 5 a.m. Kenneth lay spooned behind her an arm around her so that a hand cupped one breast. Wendy wore nothing and luxuriated in the warm expanse of Kenneth's body pressed against her.
Reluctantly she pulled herself away and padded into the bathroom. She sat and peed. There was slight irritation of the extremely tender walls of her vagina. No surprise. He had made love to her into the night, first visiting each of her erogenous zones including ones she didn't know she had and maybe had not had previously.
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It might have been the eleventeenth of Octembruary for old Jack. At 76 he sat in his living room looking out through the panoramic window for his carer, a younger woman of 32 who would soon be there to ensure that he was washed and properly dressed. What was it she had said, something about it being a special day today? He had no idea, one day being no different from the next or last. She had been coming to see to him for more than four years now and he always welcomed her.
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