A Storied Affair

I was 25.  The year was 2012.  September. Late. Morning. Late.  I met the first woman who let me delve inside her.

At the time, I was still a Freshman in college.  On the side, I would work with people’s swimming pools to make money to pay for school.  I had been wanting to have sex for awhile, but every woman whose I eyes I stared into, whose words I would contemplate, whose naked body I would imagine, whose naked body I would imagine having sex with in many different positions, whose naked body I would then cover with a sheet, whose naked body I would massage while she slept, never allowed me to have consensual sex with her.

Then it finally happened.  I had been doing Sheila’s pool for years and yet I never had found her attractive.  She was in her 40’s, divorced, with 2 children.  Brown hair.  B-Cup Breasts.  Blue Jeans.  White Short-Sleeve Shirts. Green Eyes.  Glasses.  Thin.  Enough.

I was closing her pool, putting her pool supplies away in her garage, when I noticed her.  She was sitting down, reading a novel, when she took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes.  I immediately imagined pummeling her hard.  Those legs, smooth.  Bare feet.  The sun showed me her in a different way, as if its light rays bounced off of her and went straight to my inguinal region, forcing my red blood to rush into it.

I hid my display of flattery quite well, as I normally do about 30 times a day.  It’s a customer–I thought–I can’t embarrass myself like this and insult her.  Like it always does, the blood went back to my brain.

A half of an hour later, I was all finished with closing her pool.  She said she was going to get her check book.  She came back with a check-book and pen in her hand.  Blue Ink. Surprising Choice.  And that is what made me say this when she asked if I wanted anything else like a bottle of water for the road:

“HOW ‘BOUT A ****?”

She stood there blinking incessantly with a blank stare.  And I just kept on staring into her eyes.  For so long, I had been this passive, gentleman who would try to allure women through the qualities of listening, chivalry, and being kind.  But I think what made me say that to her was the thought that maybe what women really want is for a man to just take control–shock them–like I did Sheila.

It worked.  I moved towards her.  She went for my face like a homing missile and her lips accidentally touched my chin instead of my mouth.  I moved my tongue onto her tooth.  As I wiggled it around her mouth I was able to get out a piece of meat from one her teeth.  I spit it out of my mouth.  She was even more impressed now and turned on. I wrapped my arms around her back side and tried to maneuver her down to the ground.  But when I bent my knees, they kept on running into her thighs. And when I she bent her knees, I felt I was going to fall over.

“Here,” I said, “just pretend like you and I are doing the Tango, and I am holding you in that position where you are bent, but I am keeping you from falling.”  We did that position.  “Now, I will gently lower your body to the ground.”

“Okay,” she said, “be careful, I have a bad back.”

We both unzippered ourselves.  It took me awhile, because I always had trouble with that faulty zipper.  But eventually, I got it unzipped.

Then we made sweet, condomless sex on the wood of her pool deck.   We laid there for a few minutes awkwardly.

“That was a mistake,” she said.  “I am a mother.  You are so young.  What was I thinking?”

“I could sense that you were in heat by the way rubbed your eyes when you were reading back there.  You needed it badly.  I gave it to you.  There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You are right.  Thank you.  Anyways, I was going to ask you, would it be possible for you to hire my 14-year old son, Hove?”

“I don’t see any problems with that,” I replied, “I might be able to use his help, possibly.”

She stood up.  But I pulled her back down onto me.  She yelled, “Woah!”

“Not so fast,” I said.

“You are a wild man.  I feel like I am a woman again.”

“Only because you are a wild woman that I am a wild man.  But the world of motherhood subdued you into a haze, a haze of crotch tension.  At first, it was almost too much to live with.  But you went on, and through the years you just learned to live with the feeling as a normalcy.  It was almost like your hymen grew back.  And I came and de-flowered you for the second time in your life.”

“No.  I had sex last week actually with this guy I met on Match.com.  I’ve had plenty of sex over the years.”

“Oh…well, my assumptions about your love life were off.  You know this is the first time I’ve ever laid with a woman before.”

“What the hell? Seriously? You chose me? And the way you asked ‘How about a $$$$?’  That’s really odd.  How old are you?”


“And you were still a virgin before this?”

“Yeah, but now that I have compared sex to masturbation, I’d say I lost my virginity when I was fourteen.  Pretty much the same thing.  I’m really good simulating a woman.  I’ve built some contraptions.  Pulleys.  Axles and Levers.  And I use a some other stuff.  It’s all pretty unique.  It takes a while to set up.  My room would look really weird with a bunch a ropes around my bedroom.  I’ve also been able to give myself oral for awhile.  I’m really flexible.”

“Oh, I see…”

“Anyways, you want to go again?”

She said yes.  And I was again invigorated by her.  We said our goodbyes.  I asked to use her bathroom to urinate to avoid a urinary tract infection. I went onto the next pool.  I could still smell her on me at the next pool despite the foul stench of black colored water and dead leaves.

I got home around eight o’clock that night.  I broke out my weed.  And then did studying for my Algebra test for the next day.

A couple days passed.  I eventually called her through the use of my cellular phone.  I didn’t want my parents to find out about this, so I hid in my living room closet while I talked to her as my parents were sitting down at the dinner table in the room over.

“Hi, Shi-ela (a ploy of mispronouncing her name that I commonly did with all girls),” I said.

“Hi, Vince,” she replied.  “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you would like me to come over…(in a Sean Connery voice) your naked body tonight?” I imagined her giggling like a giddy schoolgirl and caressing her neck and breasts at the naughty thought.

“Not tonight.  I can’t pay you tonight.  I’ll call you tomorrow,” she replied.

“Okay.  I will talk to you tomorrow.” What the heck?

We just had made love twice the other day, and now she was pretending like it never happened.  What am I to her? Just flesh and blood.  And penis!  And nothing else?  NO, NO–I stopped myself–she is just probably in front of her sons.  This relaxed me.  I went upstairs after dinner and set up my room like I do every night, and watched other women getting banged by men whose faces are never shown, so I like millions of other men can pretend that that man is actually me.

I was relaxed again.  This is better than an actual woman anyways–I said to myself.  These ropes will never leave me.

The next day, Sheila called me.

“I appreciate what you did for me last night.  I’m sorry I had to be so discreet.”  This is what I wished she had said.

Instead, she told me that she did not see us really working out.  And she needs to think about her sons.  I was crushed.  But then I thought–WAIT! She is saying that, but she really means that she wants it again.

“Well, I need your son’s help I think,” I blurted out.

“You’re not going to feel awkward about this whole situation?”  she asked.

“Not at all.”

“Okay.  Sure, when do you need him?”

“This weekend.”


The phone was then just a connection with silence.

That weekend came up rather quickly.  I was fretting nervously of how to get in Sheila’s pants again.  I mean she wants it, but I just have to get her zipper down.  So, I went over to her house, and rang the door bell.  It was her son who answered the door.  Not her.  I looked quickly into the house as Hove shut the door, but I didn’t see any sign of her around.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah…yeah,” he replied.

Okay–I thought to myself–what the hell kind of response was that?  We got in the car.  I asked him, “So, what classes are you taking currently?”

“I’m a Freshman.  I go to Andrew.”  Does this kid not listen at all?  Or maybe this is just how his generation speaks.  I shouldn’t rush to judge.

All of a sudden though, I did notice his build.  He was really small.  Young looking.  He had the look of a kid you just wanted to bully, because he looked so small.

The day went pretty smoothly for the most part.  I had him do some simple tasks.  We didn’t say much.  I mean how was I to relate to this kid?  All I wanted to do was bang his mom.  I couldn’t tell him about how I already did.  Or should I????

“So, I can get you alcohol, if you want?” I offered him.  I thought that maybe if I warmed up to him by being like a cool dad rather than a cruel boss, I would get on his good side.

“Really? Thanks.  But I don’t drink,” he replied.  HE DOESN’T DRINK?  WHAT KIND OF LOSER DOESN’T DRINK IN HIGH SCHOOL?  I HATE THIS KID!

“I can get you weed if you want that?”

“I never tried it.”

“Well, I have some right now.  Just smoke up.  It will make the day go by faster.  I’ve been high since this morning.  When we were in Burger King earlier, I smoked a joint in the bathroom stall to freshen up.”

“Oh.  I don’t know…I probably shouldn’t.”

“Do you watch any porn?  I can let you borrow some DVDs.”

“I don’t know.  Maybe.  I mean there’s stuff online.”

“True.  True dat.”  I switched topics and asked, “So what does your mom do for a living?  What does she like to do?  Favorite movies?  Favorite bands?”

“Why?  Do you want to date her or something?” He was onto me.  I had to think fast.

“No. Of course not! I have an uncle who is on the market and I feel like maybe their personalities would mesh.”

So, he told me her favorite movie was The Passion of the Christ.  Her favorite band was Depeche Mode and Kei$ha.  Her favorite meal was sausage.  Of course, it was–I laughed to myself.  She liked to go running.  (I imagined those breasts bouncing and bouncing because her sports bra broke for some reason and then her breasts were loose.)  She liked to read Cosmopolitan.

I definitely had some stuff to work with.  Eventually, the day wound down.  I told him as I was driving him home, “Well, you did decent today.”

“Thanks.  And thanks for the opportunity.”

“You know I barely remember my first time.  I was probably pretty bad.  I mean it’s kind of like do you remember all the details of the first time you masturbated?  I don’t.  I don’t remember what woman it was.  What time of day was it at.  What made me reach down in my pants in the first place.”  I explained to him.

“Well, I will see you later.”

“Alright, Hove.”

I texted her a picture of myself naked when I got home with the message, “Your son did well today.”

She replied with a picture of herself the same.  I was expected some more hard-to-get, but instead I got what I wanted.  But then I realized, I really don’t need to sleep with her again.  I have  a picture of her naked.  I could just save it and use it for some nights.  My ropes do a good job.  I really don’t need her.

It was a couple of years later before I finally decided to call her up again.  We chatted.  But nothing came of it.  But then I told her I still had her picture and that I used it frequently.  Then we finally had sex again.  I realized that maybe ropes weren’t good enough, because they did not have the heart of a woman.  And they left really bad rug burn every time.  Maybe, all I needed was her.  That is the night I knew I would spend the rest of my life with her.

The end.


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