Marv's Story - Eastern Caribbean

Book 2: Silvering Years

by Sonja Mhyla Jonaro

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance; erotic romance; couples romance; light bdsm; mature erotica; sensual; Silvering Years

Synopsis

This love story is...
More emotional than erotica,
More sensual than romance...
About people in their sixties!

Marv's a recovering workaholic, toppled by divorce. He blew his chance at love.

He's up early, waiting for the pool bar to open after a run around the track. Every year he does a cruise to be pampered and play with the ladies, but three days out—not even one good flirt. Wallowing in self-pity, he nearly misses her—skimpy bikini, high heels, silver hair flying free... heading to the nude deck.

What's the plan? Grab mimosas, get naked and check this out.

Marv barely survives the shock of what he finds—the most daring woman he's ever encountered, laid out in the sun, covered in nothing but bare.

Soon, it's too late to hide his interest... and she can't hide her sexy.

Sylvan's quest for sensuous adventure is better than his fantasies. He can't let go, but everything could spin out of control in a moment of panic.

In the quiet times, he discovers feelings he doesn't understand as he battles his demons of self-doubt. He thought happy ever after was out of the question. How does he deserve a second chance to get it right?

— — —

Part veiled memoir, part luscious fantasy, part provocative example, the books of Silvering Years are intended for mature readers unafraid to be immersed in the wonders of their sensuality.

Eastern Caribbean opens the Silvering Years series. Sylvan's Story, tells the tale from her perspective. Read his story, or hers, or both! They're standalone. In the next set of books, Sylvan visits Marv at his home in Minneapolis. The third set we'll see Marv visiting Sylvan at her home in Santa Fe. After that? Who knows where they'll end up... happy ever after...

Read more

Release date: April 4, 2025

Publisher: Ad Lectorem Publishers

Print pages: 333

Content advisory: A Silvering Years erotic novel.

Sample

The second Silvering Years erotic novel.

Wednesday 07:13

 

Three days out and not even one good flirt. Every close encounter was the wrong kind. Maybe luck wasn’t a lady anymore. Maybe he wasn’t trying hard enough.

Maybe I’m just getting old.

Marv heaved a sigh of disappointment. This cruise was rapidly becoming a really dumb idea.

Checked the phone. Quarter past seven. He’d gone a couple of miles around the track and stopped at the breakfast buffet. Now, he wanted a mimosa—for vitamin C, you understand. The pool bar didn’t open ’til eight, leaving time to kill. He dropped into a chair nearby and leaned back.

Only a few people wandered the decks this early in the morning. They all looked past the age for sleeping in.

Even older than him.

Two deliciously mature ladies came his way, chatting merrily. ‘He never knew what hit him,’ he overheard as they passed without a glance his way.

Sheeesh.

Last year, on an adults-only cruise like this one, he’d shared carnal adventures with a pair of newly minted divorcées. They prattled on about how lousy their men had been while they shared him as their boy toy. All he had to do was nod while he first fucked one, then the other. Both at once, a couple of times.

He never did learn whether they practiced their skills with their exes. Seemed to him, if they had, things would have turned out differently.

His cock had turned to stone. Lucky his running shorts were loose and breezy.

With a wiggle, he sighed his eyes closed and lifted his face to the warming rays of the Caribbean sun. Man of Steel, that’s what he had been. He loved playing pussies and cock. Hoped to make it happen again.

Things weren’t working out.

Three years since his own divorce, his grand plan was to have fun in the wild before age shut down the equipment. These were the bonus years! Yet here he was, getting older by the second with no hope in sight.

The swish-swish of rubbing thighs opened his eyes. A sound not heard often, these days.

An abundance of ass, sheathed in bright green palm trees printed on over-stuffed leggings strolled along the promenade, each step the downbeat to a symphony of motion, heavy on the tympani.

Maybe he could jump up and congratulate the daring of this full-size woman. She would be two handsful. Moments later, the two hands showed up attached to this wrestler-sized guy that could bench press him—and the car he drove up in.

Oh well. Too young, anyway.

He settled into the chair and closed his eyes, a broad smile filling his face. It was an amazing time to be alive. He’d missed the unveiling of the modern bikini in 1946 by five years. It was designed by an engineer, so he felt a kinship in his appreciation of women’s sexy fashion.

Did you know the first bikini was a thong? No wonder it caused the same kind of explosion as the atomic bomb test that happened only a few days before the big reveal. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to fully appreciate what women used to fill bikinis until the mid-60s.

Later, he’d been there for the swish-swish of pantyhose—and the fully abridged miniskirt.

After the creation of pantyhose, skirts rose faster than a Saturn V booster. With little fabric to muffle the sound, every step became a sexy sigh. If the wearer was a bigger kind of gal, sausaged into the newfangled control-top hose, the swish became a cry with its own kind of doppler shift.

Chicken or egg? The creation of miniskirts left no way to properly conceal the tighty-whities that had filled the modern girl’s undie drawer. Hand in hand, up with one, down with the other, miniskirts and pantyhose marked his coming of age.

The girls in high school would walk around stiff and careful at first. By second hour, they forgot about the lack of coverage (though some didn’t seem to care to start with), causing a civil disturbance every time a pencil was dropped.

It didn’t take long before the school board noticed and made the cheerleaders demonstrate how a young lady’s skirt had to touch the floor when she knelt. That still left a lot of adventure to be seen—and it only applied during the school day.

Then came hot pants.

And Sally.

His investigation of Sally’s hot pants yielded great revelations of frustration. Sally was not as easily uncovered as she led one to believe. With diligence, he was able to practice finger-fucks on her while she practiced blowjobs on him. Between them, they still made a nice little mess.

Joanie, on the other hand, made her own hot pants from well-worn blue jeans. Other than algebra, Joanie’s greatest challenge was finding panties that were skimpy enough. Thongs hadn’t been re-discovered yet, you see. He helped her with the former. Gosh, he had no idea what to do about the latter except to remove the problem entirely, which led to further discoveries. He used condoms, though, to be sure one plus one didn’t equal three.

Next up—tube tops. Ooooh my. Even though he thought himself more an ass man, tube tops caused a serious reconsideration of his proclivities during the summer of ’72. Those things slipped down to reveal the goodness hidden inside like one of those frozen lickity treats. Perky tits were a benefit. To his great delight, all types of tits came with wonderfully suckable nipples, especially Lois’s ample mouthful that long, hot summer.

Off to college, where there were maxi skirts, nearly to the floor. Ruth wore a tube top and maxi skirt and nothing else. Oh shit. Ruth turned out to be more interested in Mona, who sat next to her in English Lit. Connie sat behind them, and she turned out to be the most interesting of them all.

Nineteen seventy-four marked the birth of the modern thong. Damn, he liked thongs. They perfectly framed the object of his greatest affection, smoothing in front, revealing in back.

Within a year, he had seen everything in Connie’s undie drawer and everything of Connie. She liked jeans more than skirts, so he hardly noticed as hemlines went up and down with the stock market, or the other way around, for the next thirty years.

It took him half that long to convince Connie to wear a thong. Turned out she loved thongs. By then, not him. He didn’t notice that either; he was working hard, traveling often, earning tons.

Thongs were as good as the world could get—until leggings arrived. If he hadn’t already experienced all those lingerie life changes, he wouldn’t’ve had the stamina to live through leggings.

Double shit. Some came in black that thinned out over the round places when bending over. Some came in white, revealing in one glance whether panties were being worn—more often not, as time went by. Some were sleek grace; others over-filled, all of them the thinnest layer of pretense over a lady’s tender bits.

Frankly, some should have never been asked to contain what they did. He did not comment. They were all woman. Daring, in your face, fuck-you, blazing female. If he had to go, he hoped it would be while he was zombied by a fawn-gray pair of Lululemons painted on in all their pussy-cuddling, ass-cleaving glory.

Sorry to say, by the time leggings arrived, Connie had left. Thongs were as far as she went with him. Maybe she wore leggings for her new man.

They went through the dance of divorce, splitting things without much yelling. Afterward, he hunkered down and worked even harder to pay for the lawyer, to pay for a place of his own, to ignore the gray November that was his life. Hitting sixty, he had no plan for what was going to happen next.

Every old guy has prostate issues, and his flared up quite seriously. Thought he would die. More than once. That was no way to live. So, a couple years back, he decided to have the surgery to remove a good chunk of the offending gland, and it gave him a new lease on life.

Well, that and penis pills.

Now he had a cock that rocked like he was twenty and an appreciation of fine ass honed to a razor’s edge. There was nothing better on earth than having it and knowing what to do with it.

Therein lay the problem.

That thing of his was meant to be shared—biologically, y’know. That’s where he was having nothing but trouble.

A big part of his plan before his lease ran out was to explore the hedonistic arts. He never got the hang of online dating, and he couldn’t bring himself to pay for play, instead, he joined the Y, tried dating clubs, even cooking class and dance class. He learned how to make a soufflé and use nutmeg. He got in shape.

Dating? Still a bust. Then he found red-haired Ginger in dance class. Really, that’s what her mother named her.

She also had a membership to a nude resort—and yes, the carpet matched the drapes. With practice, he lost his inhibitions about getting naked under the sun that wonderful summer. In October, he got a thank-you card from the mosquitos who had dined on him most evenings and also a note from Ginger, who didn’t need him for dinner at all anymore. She was moving to Sanibel Island with the other Minnesotans.

Seven thirty-four on his phone.

What could he do to improve his chances for some lady fun?

He could read by the pool, start a book chat. This afternoon, when the ship docked, he could look for help to explore the island. This evening he could go dancing. Maybe learn a few moves.

Sitting there scheming, he noticed the nude deck one level above. That would be fun, too. He had a perfect stakeout spot to keep an eye on traffic.

There wasn’t any traffic this early in the morning.

The bartender must have overslept.

A big yawn overwhelmed him as he let his eyes off-leash to sniff around by the pool.

What the…

Whoa, doggie.

A bogey lit up his screen.

Staring on full alert, he streamed the sight directly from his eyeballs into memory.

This woman had popped out of the elevator, made a quick turn, and headed up the stairs to the nude deck. With one hand on the rail, she struggled to restrain her thin wrap as it fluttered around her, revealing bits of a not-much-there blue bikini. The percussive ringing from the steps heralded matching high-heeled pumps.

Holy shit.

He’d never seen a woman wearing a bikini with sexy heels in real life, whether they matched or not.

Target acquired.

She climbed with furtive glances, her shimmering gray hair flying free. Why on earth would someone try to sneak onto the nude deck? By now, his brain had opened a folder on this wonder of a woman, cataloging every detail.

Tall and slim. Shy of statuesque or skinny, she didn’t have the lithe curves of a young woman. Instead, she radiated a seasoned elegance with gentle curves and graceful legs that stretched all the way down to her feet in those blue fuck-me heels.

Maybe she’s too good to be true.

He shook his head to recalibrate sensors. Now, she looked even better. She was a beauty alright, with the most perfectly curved, delightfully spankable, mature lady ass he had seen so far this millennium. And with that silver hair, she must be north of fifty, maybe even sixty, right in his target demographic. Young women didn’t come on these cruises by themselves, seldom in groups.

He was there for the mature ladies.

As she bolted onto the nude deck, a lusty gust of conspiratorial breeze lifted her wrap to reveal the lady’s wondrous tits suspended in triangles of cerulean blue.

She disappeared. The clack of her heels still rang in his head. What woman wears heels onto the nude deck unless she has a very serious statement to make?

Uh, oh. Alarms went off.

Where’s her man? He looked around. No one was headed toward the stairs.

Maybe there’s not one.

If he were married to this beauty going up to the nude deck in heels, he’d be right behind her, admiring that tight little ass. If he had met this beauty onboard the ship, he’d be right behind her, admiring her tight little ass, sporting an aching hard-on.

Can’t be a man, or he would be there.

Why is she alone? On the nude deck?

Maybe she wants to be alone.

That’s not good.

That would be his luck…

He stood, craning his neck to no avail. Not taking his eyes from the stairs, he reached out to find the bar.

What’s the plan?

Best not to be too bold.

Can’t be too polite, either.

Even if she wanted to be alone up there, he wasn’t going to let this opportunity walk out of his life without at least one forward pass.

The bartender finally arrived and rummaged in the cabinets to begin the day.

Every cabinet.

Three times.

How much does this guy have to do to get a tiny bar in order?

Marv leaned on the bar, trying not to look too impatient. When the bartender closed everything up and walked away, he nearly blew a gasket.

Patience. She won’t get past you.

Only one stair led to the nude deck.

With his eyes in surveillance mode, more of his brain was available for thinking. It didn’t take long to figure something out. He would take a mimosa up there as a gift and tell her he wanted to be up there, too.

Her hands floated into view, reaching for the sky.

What’s she doing now?

Taking things off?

His brain stopped working…

“Sorry, sir, to keep you waiting. What can I get you?” asked the bartender, his voice a mental defibrillator.

“Two mimosas, please. Tall ones,” he said sideways, to be sure he missed nothing on the nude-deck channel.

More rummaging.

“I’m sorry, sir.” The bartender’s voice interrupted his surveillance. “There’s no cava chilled. I need to run to the coolers. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Damn… Hope he doesn’t have to pick the oranges.

Another big thing he accomplished that summer with Ginger was to overcome insecurity with his body. She said that was pretty much how all men felt, concerned if they were big enough down there.

“Most simply come to some state of acceptance about the whole thing,” she said. “Some never do. A few really are big enough…”

Until this moment, he hadn’t wondered how extensive her research had been.

A cry of distress and a splash echoed from the pool. Somebody must still be tipsy from last night. He resisted the temptation to look.

More splashing, some laughter.

“Here you are. Thank you for waiting.” The bartender pushed the drinks across the bar. Marv signed the check. More was needed than to just show up. He would have to make that up as he went, which is what he always did.

He picked up the drinks. Noticing a pile of towels for the pool, he detoured and tossed one over his shoulder—for modesty, y’know—then followed the promenade around and climbed the stairs.

The slanting rays of the morning sun blinded his view. Moving carefully until his eyes adjusted to the glare gave him time to find his quarry and prepare some words of greeting.

There she was, on a chaise, facing the sun.

With a surge of courage, he stepped around the chaise, mimosas leading the way.

He stumbled to a stop. Mouth open. No voice.

In his travels, he’d been fortunate to experience some of the most beautiful works of art and architecture. All of them wonderful, some awe-inspiring, a few stunning.

None were alive, their beauty flowing from the life they contained. And now, lying before him, luxuriant in the morning sun, was beauty living as he had never imagined.

Holy shit.

Her eyes were closed, her expression relaxed, the soft curve of a smile holding a secret.

Maybe she’s asleep.

Time slowed. He moved carefully to not scare her, giving him time to concentrate every corpuscle of his being on every wondrous detail.

Her silvered hair danced in the breeze, arms resting over her head, lifting her tits, presenting her nipples like red pebbles dropped into the blushing pools of her areolas, suckled by the sun. Her body flowed in soft waves through the dip at her waist to the top of her mons, where a crisp triangle of silver-tinged muff pointed toward delights farther down.

Unbelievable.

This beauty was lying with her thighs spread, her feet on either side of the chaise, perched in those fuck-me heels.

Oh, fuck. She was completely bare from the delta of her muff to where her sexy mystery slipped beneath her. Her pussy lips lay open in their pouty glory, revealing soft, pink pleats within. Her clit peeked from under its hood, demure in its shrouding folds.

Slim and muscular, her legs were banded high up where a pair of shorts usually ended. She’s a runner. She won’t mind me sweaty.

His eyes skimmed along the line of her calf and dropped to her feet in those incredible fuck-me heels. What is it about those shoes that’s so fucking hot? Never in real life had he seen a woman naked, wearing high-heeled shoes, and not in some strip club—nor his bedroom, for that matter. Naked in high heels got moved to the top of his arousal hit parade, led by his cock bangin’ on a big bass drum.

He dared not move in case his knees gave out while his cock strained to get a better view.

His lungs burned, reminding him he had to breathe, bringing vital systems back online. He was on a mission to deliver mimosas!

I bet being naked would be less threatening. If he could get his cock calmed down. Even on the nude deck, a certain level of decorum was expected.

With one eye on the beauty, he stepped to the side and put the drinks on an equipment locker. He dropped the towel and stripped everything off.

What was this woman all about? She seemed poised and confident, lain out open as she was in those heels.

She must be the president of some company traveling incognito and, he chuckled, completely in plain sight. Who expected to see a CEO up on the nude deck?

Well, at least I don’t need a shirt and tie.

He ran his five-finger comb through his hair as best he could, then picked up the drinks.

The bit of distraction was enough to relax his cock.

Turning back to the woman, he shuffled about, thumping and bumping to see if she would notice him. Nope.

This is silly. What was the worst that might happen?

If he woke her, she couldn’t be too upset; all the pink bits would get burned lying in the sun like that.

I have a peace offering.

Maybe she was ignoring him. That would be embarrassing. It had happened before. He could handle it.

Okay, the worst that could happen was her husband showing up. A glance revealed no one on the stairs.

Only one way to find out.

Mustering courage, he stepped forward with the drinks in his hands.

“Hi there, I saw you come up here a few minutes ago and thought you might like a cool mimosa.”

Wednesday 08:04

 

Nothin’.

Shit. What should I do now?

Marv held the drinks out to make sure she saw them.

Crickets.

He inhaled to try again.

Before he could speak, her body convulsed. Her eyes flew open. She stared, the sun full in her face. Her calves banged into the chaise. She whipped a hand from over her head to cover her crotch. She tried to cover her tits with her arm. She squirmed to lift herself, and both hands slammed into the arms of the chaise.

All the commotion made him jump. He didn’t mean to scare her. Dreadful first impression. Stepping over to block the sun, he said, “I’m terribly sorry to startle you like that. I thought you would’ve heard me. I had a nasty bout of clumsy a moment ago.”

That seemed to help. The lady closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and rested her arms on the chaise. He nearly groaned from the ache in his groin as she lifted one leg and stretched it out, threatening to conceal those bare pussy lips. Lifting the other, knee bent, she propped her high-heeled foot on the chaise, leaving a little peek.

She isn’t running!

Using her hands for shade, she squinted to peer at him, a scowl tugging on the corners of her mouth.

Putting on the friendliest face he could manage, he moved to her side and held the drinks out again. “Mimosa?” he offered, hoping for a second chance.

She kept her eyes on his for a moment; then, a tentative smile skipped across her face.

“Oh sí… that would be wonderful,” the beauty said and reached to take one of the glasses. “Thank you for reading my mind.”

Wow, she wasn’t yelling, she wasn’t running, she’s polite. Say something friendly.

“Again, sorry to surprise you. I saw you come up here empty-handed a bit ago, and y’know, I was on my way up here anyway after a little run around the track, so I decided to stop to get us some refreshments. I had to wait for the pool bar to open. My name is Marv.”

That was everything his brain had queued up. While it was working on something else to say, it wasn’t able to stop his eyes from taking a quick tour of those very suckable nipples.

“Sylvan,” said the beauty, and he remembered to focus on her face. “I was dreaming about getting one of these, but it felt so good here in the sun I wasn’t paying attention to what was happening. Usually, that’s a bad thing.” She paused to peer at him. “This isn’t usual, or no?” She curved her lips around the straw and took a sip, keeping her eyes on his.

“Not even close,” was all that came to mind.

What should he make of that? She accepted his gift. She didn’t say she was expecting someone else. She didn’t try to make him feel unwelcome.

Next step?

He put his drink on the deck and grabbed the towel by his clothes. He turned toward a pile of towels that one was supposed to sit on when naked. He’d need one of those, too, and dropped them both on a chaise a few steps away.

These dang things were tricky. Grab it wrong, and it folded up. That would be embarrassing. He engaged his technical skills to assess the situation, bent down, and grasped the chaise. It worked. He backed up to where Sylvan had her chaise and put it down. He spread one towel to sit on and flipped the other onto the deck. He might need it if his cock didn’t behave.

With a deep breath for courage, he turned to her.

Up close, he could see she didn’t have a ring, yet the white band indicated it had only recently been left behind.

Danger, Will Robinson.

Either he’d died, or she’d divorced him.

That feeling of standing in a minefield swept over him.

Bet the farm. It was best to be direct with CEOs.

“I apologize for being rude—is it okay to join you? Just us chickens up here on the nude deck this early in the morning. But I won’t disturb your solitude any more than I already have if you don’t want company.” His body tensed, braced for the worst.

Her eyes locked with his. It felt like she was sucking vital information directly out of his mind.

A smile tugged at her lips. “I’m delighted you’re here, all bearing gifts as you are.” Her eyes dropped to check out the goods.

Wow, that’s fantastic.

His cock started banging on that drum again.

Down boy…

He picked up his drink and perched his butt on the edge of the chaise. Sylvan’s eyes didn’t follow him. She stared at where he had been a moment ago.

“Are you alright?” he asked, leaning toward her. Maybe too much sun.

“Oh sí. Sorry, I’m fine,” she said. “Even one sip must’ve hit me.”

“Know what you mean. To sunshine, health, and nudliness.” He raised his glass and tipped it toward her. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” she said.

Skipping the straw, he took a deep drink. Damn, that’s good in the morning. When he lowered his glass, Sylvan was twiddling the tip of her straw with her tongue; her eyes snagged on the view at his crotch.

His thoughts of nudliness and this amazing beauty only a step away had given him a majestic hard-on. His legs were wide open since the chaise was uncomfortably low for sitting. Usually, this kind of thing should be hidden. Too late now.

An apology seemed ridiculous. Besides, he wasn’t sorry.

“Y’know,” he said, snatching the towel from the deck and laying it across his lap. “I discovered how much fun it was a few years back to vacation in the buff, but it’s sometimes challenging for us men since we have this arousal indicator, and decorum prevents us from displaying it under certain circumstances.”

Color rose in Sylvan’s cheeks, her eyes still focused down below.

“I find you very attractive, and to indicate such at this point in our brief relationship may be indecorous, though, so true.”

Even if he wasn’t some kind of stud, a stiff cock was noble, a confirmation of maleness, a validation of strength; the libidinal ache a quintessential pleasure. Of course, his body was wired to feel that way. It was still exhilarating, even if it was only biology.

And this was the nude deck.

Stuff like this happened… didn’t it? Sylvan was feeling it, too. Her nipples had tensed into perky, dark berries, begging to be nibbled.

Restraint was getting stretched mighty thin. It was devilishly difficult to sit there with this dazzling woman only a few feet away, naked all over and bare down there. In those shoes, too. He wanted to jump up to tell her how fabulous she looked, and he was alone and really, really wanted to make love to her every day for the rest of his life. Twice a day if she wanted.

Go easy… you’ve made it this far. Don’t screw it up now. Act like there’s nothing strange.

Tearing his eyes from her nipples, he pivoted his legs onto the chaise and brought the towel along. He stretched out, knit his fingers behind his head, and closed his eyes, his cock tenting up a ridge.

Better think of something to say.

“I figure we have another ten minutes up here before the sun gets too high and too hot without some serious sunscreen.”

Sylvan sighed.

That was the dumbest thing you could say. She’ll think you don’t want to be out here.

Drop a gear and try again. Start with the basics.

“Sylvan’s an interesting name.”

“My parents had a cabin on a lake called Sylvan. They loved it there. My mother said she gave me that name so she could feel the joy of two things in only one word.”

“Wow. You still go there?”

“Sadly, no. They had to sell it when the economy went bad in the eighties.”

“Aw, that’s awful.” He paused. Course change.

“I’m plain old Marvin, a family name. No back story there.”

“What is your story?”

“Well… I live in Minneapolis. I call myself a forensic engineer because I figure out why things fail and fall down. A lot of my time is spent on the road looking at big construction sites. My two daughters are in their thirties and gloriously on their own with wonderful husbands, one in Denver, one in Savannah. No grandkids, yet.” He looked her way.

She nodded, her eyes on him. It took all his will to keep his eyes from strolling over that luscious body; when her lips began to move, he nearly missed what she said.

“What brings you cruising?”

Well… there’s missionary, bendover, maybe some anal, and a spanking if you’re good.

That wouldn’t work.

“I got carried away with the work and the travel, so a couple years back, my wife left me to sample the joys of a boy toy half her age. After that, I redefined my priorities. I still work hard but this is one indulgence I take every year to be pampered like this. Oh… there’s no Lady Marv, though I hope that’s not a permanent situation.”

Hint, hint.

He ached to tell her how much he wanted to indulge in her too. Go easy… He kept his mouth shut.

“I was in Minneapolis once. All I ’memmer was the water. It seemed as if you have lakes everywhere. I have two kids, a boy and a girl. My son is twenty-nine and my daughter is twenty-eight. She has two children, and my son just got married last year. He’s doing graduate work in mathematics. I grew up in Colorado, but I’ve lived in Santa Fe forever.”

Sylvan paused, turning away.

No, no, no, no, no. You don’t have to go.

He tensed, ready to jump up.

She closed her eyes. “I was married to Harold for thirty-one years until he was taken from me by a heart attack three years ago,” she said, the pain clear in her voice.

Shit.

Divorce is bad enough, but it’s hard to say it wasn’t expected. Having your husband drop dead is much more difficult.

“I’m so sorry, Sylvan,” he said. She kept her eyes squeezed shut.

Thirty-one years. What kind of life did she have with Harold?

She took her ring off. She must be over the grieving.

She’s willing to be up here. Maybe she’s willing to have some fun.

“That’s hard,” was all he could think of to say.

Do I have to compete with Harold?

“What brings you cruising?” he asked quietly, struggling to relax, not sure if he was back in that minefield.

She held her drink with both hands. With her eyes still closed, she spoke in a rush. “After Harold died, I mourned for more than two years. But then I decided to reconnect with myself, to explore new ways of loving myself and being self-sufficient. I worked to renew this body so I could have more fun with it. I now approach life as an explorer as I figure out how to experience the most from it. I loved cruising with Harold, so that’s why I’m here, but this is the first time I’ve been up on the nude deck.”

Holy shit.

That was the most incredible thing he’d ever heard. Sylvan opened her eyes and he felt them peer into his soul. He stared back, processing her story, his brain doing fast calculations with this new information.

She has to be incredibly strong. That’s why she looks secure and capable.

She works out. That’s why she looks fit.

She’s up here. She must be daring.

High school + college + MBA + get a good job + courtship + marriage + mourning + these last few fantastic minutes = Sixty-one.

“Wow, lady,” was all he could think of to say. In his head, he was running around, jumping for joy. He’d read about the way some women who suffer tragedy get hard and bitter, all of them used up, yet here lay a fabulous woman who was able to come through the darkness to a full life, eager for adventure.

“Now that I really admire. I sort of stumbled through life and found a new normal that seemed to fit. Not much thought or planning. But, I guess one common characteristic of our recoveries was learning to love ourselves. Men don’t have any good way of describing that. For us it’s more about becoming comfortable with one’s self than talking of love. We love outwardly, not inwardly, and that can lead to all kinds of problems. Of course, it cost me a few thousand in therapy bills to be able to say that.”

He double-checked his arithmetic. This woman seemed perfect in so many ways his brain didn’t have enough digits. He engaged another high-definition surface scan, gathering important details.

Silver hair dancing in the breeze. Crinkles at her eyes. Tits soft, full. And those kissable nipples…

A nasty scar slashed across her ribs. Probably from swimming with sharks. Ripples of stretch marks pooled at her nearly-nothing hummock of belly.

MILF!

She had a pert delta of reddish-gray muff. Everything below was bare, bare, bare. She must have spent serious time trimming and shaving. Legs sculpted and lean, certainly capable of wrapping themselves around him for a slow ride. Her tan line high up, right near her crotch. Short shorts out running.

Damn, Sylvan had the most fabulous mature-woman body he’d ever seen. Of course, lately, he hadn’t seen many. Still…

Besides, he was carrying a few more pounds than he needed.

She was mature, alright, yet here she was, naked, talking to some strange guy. On the nude deck, for cripes’ sake. That required a kind of daring that screamed adventurous.

I bet her company does underwater demolition or something.

With a long sigh, Sylvan closed her eyes. A gentle smile filled her face as she settled onto the chaise. She uncrossed her legs and rolled her arms outward, lifting her palms up.

She was letting him look at her! She could have made his gaze unwelcome with a scowl. Or she could have just gotten up and left.

Before he could fully appreciate the significance of this, his brain crawled under the fence for a romp in the tall grass.

He imagined how he would cuddle her tits full in his hands and twiddle her nipples to make them firm and suckable. He’d kiss a wandering path across her belly down to her tiny muff and into her woman’s cleft, dividing his attention to flow around her bare pussy lips, then back to her clit.

He’d known a couple of women who trimmed themselves bare down there. They said it was a lot of work. Glory be… to kiss bare pussy lips was an act of religious significance.

His cock was rigid yet again. This is self-torture. He tore his gaze away and reached for his drink.

The sun was higher and hotter; the glare turned his mind from its carnal imaginings. He emptied the glass and closed his eyes, giving his cock some time to relax.

A little burble of air announced that Sylvan had finished her drink. With a soft tink, she sat the glass on the deck.

What now? Is she ready to go? She can’t stay in the sun forever.

“Well, Sylvan,” he said, “should we get you back under wraps before those pink delights begin to burn? I have to apologize again for my arousal indicator, but please consider it the most sincere of compliments and not some form of demand.”

Moving before thinking, he leveraged himself off the chaise and stood, letting the towel drop to the deck. Even though his cock wasn’t hard, it was on standby, full and heavy. His balls hung slack in the heat, a reassuring presence against his thighs.

Sylvan’s eyes dropped like rocks, her hand twitched, and her tongue teased her upper lip.

Donning his most gentlemanly demeanor, he held out his hand.

She lifted her gaze to his face as a flush crept up her cheeks. She reached up and he closed his hand to embrace hers.

Time slowed as Sylvan moved to rise. She straightened her leg to swing it over the edge of the chaise—the longest, sleekest, sexiest leg he had ever seen, going all the way from the perky patch of a muff to the fuck-me shoes on her feet.

And, shit, revealing her bareness for a heartbeat until the other leg followed.

Sylvan planted her feet on the deck with a clack, then pulled on his hand.

The charms of this woman flowed from her body to pool around her feet in those fuck-me shoes. She floated into view before him with a smile on her lips—both pairs, he hoped.

He released her hand and took a step back. She turned, her movement fluid grace, and bent to pick up the shards of blue bikini that had been lying under her.

His mind broke free from reality as his universe shrank to the heart-shaped curve of Sylvan’s ass.

Her shadowed cleft opened to reveal her pussy lips pouting from between her thighs. At the nadir of her motion, a valley of pink ascended from the cloak of her clit to her bronzy anus. The wonder of her woman’s mystery lay before him with stunning clarity. Her bareness left nothing to separate his eyes from the furrow that marked the passage to her depths and the exquisite flower that circled the dimple of her anus.

Damn, that little vixen. She let him see all that, too.

He exhaled as she stood, concealing her secret places, giving him the elegance of her greater curves in consolation.

“My, oh my, Sylvan,” he croaked. Further words were useless as his eyes found hers.

Sylvan blushed. Her coy smile said she knew what she was doing as she dropped her gaze to watch his cock rise to presentation stature. No stopping it. He didn’t want to. Should he be embarrassed by the presumption of his little man or proud of the response she provoked with her audacious display?

He stood stupidly, the need for modesty beyond his reasoning.

Wednesday 08:22

 

“My, oh my, yourself,” Sylvan said, her voice husky.

Her eyes grew large. The tip of her tongue flicked her upper lip.

Looking down, he found himself standing on the brink, the tension in his groin screaming toward an impending orgasm.

Shit.

The cognitive parts of his brain scrambled back online, jolted by what was about to happen. He shuddered, realizing his uncomely circumstance, and took a quick look around to see if they had been observed.

No one stood aghast. No harm. No foul.

“Sorry,” he muttered, grabbing his towel from the deck and wrapping it around his waist, his cock still panting for attention.

Sylvan gave a sigh, her eyes fixed on the contour of his shaft straining at the leash.

Slowly, her face tilted upward. With a glint in her eyes and a smirk on her lips, she handed him the top of her bikini… then turned.

Oh, shit… not again. He wasn’t sure he could take any more of this. His arousal indicator was wound pretty tight already.

With her bottoms suspended from her fingers, she bent purposefully to step into one side, then the other. The muscles of her ass flexed to reveal the barest part of her once again and then again. He groaned from the ache that clenched in his groin.

She pulled the bottoms onto her hips with a shimmy. Then she raised her arms and clasped her hands behind her head.

What’s she doing now?

So little of his brain still worked that it took him a breath to figure out what was happening. She handed you the top. She wants you to put it on her.

Some little guy was running around in his skull rerouting power to get primary systems to full function. A shake of his head got the lights back on.

Here was where his engineer mind could shine. He took a quick look at the top: two swatches of fabric on a band with strings to tie behind her neck. He knew what to do. With the ends of the band tight in his grasp, he lifted it over her head, then nestled it under her tits and clipped it in place at the back.

She lowered her arms. So far, so good.

Moving close, he reached around and grasped the string of one side, lifting it past her neck. He had to reach farther for the other string and nearly lost his balance. Bringing the strings together, he snugged them up, ready to make a knot.

Wait.

When Connie put on a bra, she gently lifted each of her tits into place. That must be what women do.

Letting one string go slack, he reached across and slipped his hand between the fabric and her breast. He swooped his hand upward, molding the compliant boule to the contour of the cup. Sylvan inhaled sharply. She didn’t run screaming. Good call.

He slipped his hand under her other beast, slowly this time—he couldn’t help it—savoring its weight and the softness of her skin as the bud of her nipple tracked across the flesh of his fingers. With a sigh, he pulled the strings snug, lifting her tits, and tied a bow at the nape of her neck.

Sylvan turned toward him, slowly, her face ashen. She was still smiling.

“I hope I wasn’t too forward,” he said with a tentative grin. “I used to see my wife lift her breasts like that. It seemed the perfect thing to do.” He wanted to do that about a thousand times more. Even once was probably pushing his luck.

“Húi, that was all lovely, Marv. Yes, the perfect thing to do.” Sylvan took a shuddering breath, then dipped down to retrieve her wrap and gingerly slipped it on.

That’s when his towel broke free and dropped to the deck, revealing all he had.

Fuck.

Should he try to be funny with some joke or serious with some apology? Sylvan didn’t even notice. She stood there looking his way, unfocused, a gentle smile on her face.

He bent to snag his shorts, pulled them on, wrestling things into place. Then, his shirt.

His little man lost its tension as he cradled Sylvan’s arm to steady her on their way down the stairs to the elevator. She shed her stupor as they walked, the clack of her fuck-me heels on the decking becoming more resolute with each step.

Without a doubt, he wasn’t going to let this one get away. She was more daring than any woman he had ever encountered. Completely uninhibited. And sexy as all fuck.

Shit, this was rapidly becoming the best day of his life, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock!

“May I see you this afternoon?” he asked. “We’re docking. I would love to be part of your day.”

Say yes. Say yes. Say yes. Say yes.

Sylvan turned to him and inhaled to speak. He expected some answer. Instead, a subtle smile curved her lips, and she caressed them with the tip of her tongue, her eyes wide, drawing him in. Her look raised the hair on his neck. He was going to be eaten alive.

The elevator chimed, and it was over, her face softening toward a bewildered look. The doors opened.

Dammit! He didn’t have her answer.

He struggled to compose something more.

“Promenade deck, twelve-thirty?” What he wanted to say was, ‘Let me take you to my stateroom and make breathless love with you for the rest of my life’. He’d probably have a heart attack if she said yes.

Same if she said no.

Sylvan got on and turned, her eyes swiveling to find his as she reached for the button.

She nodded yes.

“I’ve had a wonderful morning… See you later…” The doors closed. He stood looking through them to the place where Sylvan had been, her image bright in his mind’s eye. That spankable ass. Those oh-so-kissable bare pussy lips. Those little freckles on her shoulder. Every one of those silver hairs on her head.

What was this woman all about? She had quite a story to tell and had overcome great misfortune to be here. She seemed too good to be true, yet she was real, and he would move heaven and earth to get to know her better.

He climbed back to the nude deck to retrieve the rest of his things and the drink glasses. After a quick pat down to verify he had everything, he made it down the stairs and dropped the glasses off at the bar.

Bottles of water rested in a bed of ice; he took one. His mind was in tatters. He found a chair off in a corner. He needed to get his act together to make sure he wouldn’t screw this up. It was damn near forever ’til twelve-thirty. No use trying to think of something to do to kill the time.

Not since college had his mind been wound this tightly around his cock. Now, more was at stake than just getting laid. Back then, some sweaty sex was the point. The physicality of it was all he had needed. Now, there was adventure. Now, there was celebration. Exploration. Sensuality. Kink.

He hadn’t felt this alive, this vital, in decades. His body hummed with anticipation, each thought sending another shiver down his spine.

Fancy heels. Naked. Ooooh naked. Bare pussy lips. Those pearls for nipples. And that cute little ass. Her daring attitude. Her life strength. Her self-confidence. And sexy. Every molecule, sexy. And mature. And confident…

He began to catalog each trait.

Ooof.

The bottle of water had tipped from his hand and splashed all over his shorts. He bounced out of the chair and grabbed his phone from his pocket. Good save. It was now nine ten. He dropped the bottle in the recycling and headed to his stateroom.

It didn’t occur to him until he got there that he should have been embarrassed by the large wet spot at his crotch. He stripped naked and tossed his things onto the closet floor. Take a shower? Take a nap? Even his cock didn’t know what to do. It waved, half hard. This way, that way. With a start, he realized he was standing there waving his cock back and forth. Sheesh.

Take a moment to think.

Dropping onto the chair at the little desk, he opened his notebook. He uncapped his pen. Back home, he had a dozen of these books memorializing his ideas and concerns, records of meetings and people to call, stepping stones in his life, signposts. Over the years, he had come to see the blank page as a way to chart the journey he was on.

— Sylvan.

I have met the most fantastic woman on earth.

The words shimmered on the paper.

He’d met some women. Within his demographic, the divorced ones were often on their own for a reason, and sadly, many of the widows had let their sensuality die with their loss.

Sooner or later, they all left. Or he had. He’d done his time in the sentence of marriage. These days, he was in it for the fun.

Wasn’t he?

Something was different. Fun was only the beginning.

What made Sylvan so special? Yeah, those shoes and being bare were pretty special. And more—she was daring. And more still—she was intentional about getting the most from her life.

He started a list. He was an engineer, after all.

self-acceptance—high self-esteem – up on the nude deck

unafraid—adventurous – daring – didn’t run away

on her own—brave – independent – self-assured

smart—CEOs are bright – son—mathematics

more than sexy—bend over incident ! ! !

spontaneous—‘put on the top’ incident

overcame her tragedy – important

what does her company do ?

serious—sense of humor

fit and sex x x x x y

wonderful ass !

naughty ?

He remembered Maslow. He thumbed through the early part of his journal. He had read an article that talked about self-actualization in the silvering years and had written down some thoughts. Appreciate life, look for peak experiences, express emotions, acceptance… Damn. Sylvan had already achieved everything he was trying to accomplish.

He also read—self-actualization is not the basic person with something added; it’s the basic person with nothing taken away.

… or hidden. Can’t hide anything on the nude deck!

The page went blurry.

His world had taken a sharp turn toward the fabulous, and he was hanging on for dear life.

When the turbulence eased, he checked the time. Still two and a half hours to go. He would have to be very careful to not let some accident befall him in this crazy state of mind. Only a small part of his brain was working with reality while the rest analyzed every tiny morsel of his experience on the nude deck.

Showing off a hard-on. He could be tossed in jail for that. Pink delights. Could he have said anything stupider? She probably thinks I’m some kind of workaholic fuckhead.

… she nodded ‘yes’. She’ll see him later.

After a very careful shave, he reached for his nose-hair trimmer. Shit, weeds were growing up there. In his ears, too. Maybe she hadn’t noticed.

The shower was frigid. With nearly all of his mind on Sylvan, he was impervious to the shock. As it warmed, the lapping tongues of water made his cock hard as steel. One couldn’t ignore something like that, so he had to spend a minute stroking himself. He would have kept going, except banging his elbow on the side of the shower diminished the fun.

Reluctantly, he turned his attention to washing every single square millimeter. He dinged his head when he bent to wash between his toes. He wasn’t sure he’d ever washed between his toes before.

Still hard as steel. Probably some chromoly variant, case hardened. Jeez. Well, he would just have to learn to live with a perpetual hard-on.

He turned to let the water cascade onto his back with warm, massaging fingers. His cock needed another minute of attention.

He couldn’t even keep his mind on that task.

What if he scared her away? There wasn’t time to have done something to offend her, was there? He’d been a bit forward up there. She seemed to be okay with it. Maybe she wasn’t ready to get to know someone new. Maybe she wouldn’t show up. Maybe he had smelled bad, all sweaty. And waving his cock around like that?

The little man wasn’t hard anymore.

He tried to ignore the monsters in his head.

She didn’t seem offended and she did bend over. Don’t forget the bikini top. And the tit fondle, though that was a functional fondle, not a feely fondle. Kinda…

See? Nothing to worry about… unless he let the monsters out.

Dammit.

The water was freezing. Must have hit the handle with his elbow. He got out, snatched the towel, and dried off. He wished he’d paid more attention to what was on the schedule for this afternoon. He brushed his teeth twice as long as usual.

What am I forgetting?

They didn’t have to sign up, did they? What about his fingernails? He got the clipper and trimmed a couple of sharp corners. Will she want lunch? Take some cash. Did he need his swimming stuff? He had remembered his morning pills. What else?

He was worn out by the time he left the bathroom.

Dropping onto the edge of the bed, he heaved a sigh. Things were good. No reason to think otherwise. Be yourself, don’t pretend, be confident.

Two hours to go.

His cock had eased. That was probably going to be a problem all day long. He chuckled. He hoped so! He groaned at the same time.

Should he dress more formal or more casual? Jeez, his formal stuff was too formal, and he didn’t want to get too casual. He had simplified his wardrobe years ago, leaving few choices. He was comfortable in everything he had. He chose a red and yellow print Hawaiian shirt with his light-colored tropic-weight pants.

Under it all, he wore a thong. He’d been wearing thong underwear for decades, ever since he first discovered them. Supremely comfortable, far more sensual than boxers or briefs, snuggling his cock and balls up out of trouble. He’d need that. Sexy as hell. Maybe he’d need some of that, too.

An hour and a half ahead of time, he was ready. Maybe he should take his book up on deck, but only one story was playing in his mind. Waste of time and another thing to carry. Up on the promenade, he walked the perimeter of the ship, ending up on the pool deck to get another mimosa.

A chair in the shade invited him to relax. He settled in to wait.

What if I can take her home?

He was surprised that he dared to imagine what the future might hold.

Home had always been in Minneapolis. After the divorce, he found a place near Minnehaha Creek that flowed through the southern part of the city. It was small enough to manage easily, yet with space for a workroom and a small home theater. He set up an office in the basement bedroom, hired a housekeeper and gardener to keep the place in order.

Plenty of room for two.

But it wasn’t a home. He was hardly ever there. Would Sylvan make it a home? His mind slipped from one vignette to another. Sylvan in the kitchen, his mind letting her wear only an apron. Greeting him at the door dressed in nothing but a smile. Reading by the fire with toasted buns.

Shit. This is stupid. He had to make adjustments.

He struggled to change channels in his mental theater. There she was on the patio, hot summer day, blue high heels, sheer linen dress, short, way too short, the breeze lifting her skirt to reveal a tiny thong panty painted onto the hummocks of her pussy lips, her white lacy bra barely able to restrain the swaying of her tits as the top of her dress slipped away when she leaned down to kiss him.

A low groan escaped his lips. He would have sat there with his fantasies until they carried him off the ship if his cock hadn’t started barking about its discomfort.

He shook his head to hit undo and took a long drink of his mimosa. The tension in his crotch eased. All he could see now were the women who had come out to enjoy the pool and the sun. The lusty glow of watching those semi-naked ladies kept his arousal indicator on hot standby.

Problem was, since he couldn’t keep his mind off Sylvan, there wasn’t anything else he could get it interested in. Guess I’ll just have to suffer through it, he thought with a discreet wiggle, letting all kinds of wonderful scenes stream across his cerebral cinema.

His phone finally showed twelve twenty. He dropped his glass off at the bar and wandered down to the promenade deck in case Sylvan was one of those people.

Half the ship must be going to the island. The elevator chimed over and over. No sign of Sylvan.

Maybe she forgot.

Two more carloads…

Yet again, he pulled his phone out. Twelve forty-three.

I’ve been stood up.

Wednesday 12:43

 

The elevator chimed. The doors opened. People streamed out.

No Sylvan.

Damn.

He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, wrestling with the disappointment.

Gritting his teeth, he turned to go.

One last look.

Like magic, there she was, standing in the empty car. A shiver shot through him when his eyes found hers.

If she hadn’t been looking at him, he wouldn’t have been sure it was her. This woman looked fabulous. She was absolutely radiant. She must have spent the entire morning crafting her hair and makeup with the help of her fairy godmother.

Just for me.

He caught himself hyperventilating when her soft red lips curved in a smile.

A blouse of translucent white fluttered around her. Pants of the whitest white hugged her hips yet swayed around her legs as she walked his way.

He devoured her with his gaze. Her hair danced around her face, a perfect silver complement to her deep hazel eyes. Silver palm trees dangled from her ears. The whiteness of her bra glowed under her blouse. He did not care whether it was by neglect or intention that she had not fastened the last button needed to conceal it.

“Hi, Sylvan,” he croaked. She stopped three steps away. What’s wrong? Had he forgotten her name?

Before he could check, her hands swept from the swell of her hips to the hem of her blouse, lifting it to her waist. She began a slow pirouette, her motion calm against the rushing of guests going ashore.

His eyes dropped to her pert, round ass, sheathed by the fabric of her pants, her cheeks tensing and releasing in the rhythm of her motion, divided by a delta of thong, luminous white under white.

Her feet were lifted from the deck by high-heeled sandals, her red toenails peeking through the fronts. The perfect combination of hot button for him and cool comfort for her. He inhaled deeply and sighed, his mind awash in her charms, his body yearning to embrace her.

When she turned back to him, he slowly lifted his eyes to hers and gathered together a few words lying unused in his head. “You look as beautiful within your clothes as without them. You shimmer through the fabric,” he said as she closed the distance between them, a demure smile curving her lips.

He took a step and reached out to draw her close, struggling to find other ways to compliment her. Before he could speak, the tender thumped against the side of the ship, and she turned with surprise.

Navigating through the crowd was the perfect excuse to keep her close with his hand at the waistband of her pants, slipped casually under the fabric of her blouse, one finger, sometimes two, resting on her skin—by accident, of course.

There weren’t enough seats, so he found a place where they could stand close to the gunnel. His instinct was to protect her, to steady her against the chop on the water. One hand anchored to the rail, the other splayed on her belly.

Sylvan’s ass moved against his thighs in a sensual rhythm as they bounded over the waves. His cock registered the effect. By the time they pulled up at the island, things were getting tense down there.

Just when he thought he might be able to reach in and give himself some room to grow, she grasped his hand from the rail and placed it over his hand on her belly.

She had to feel his cock against her ass, yet she kept his hands clasped in front of her.

That thought only made him harder.

When the crew opened the gate to the gangway, Sylvan heaved a sigh before releasing him.

His cock went back to snoozing as they made their way off the tender. That gave his brain a chance to play back a few bits of the presentation the excursion director had given on the way over. There was a nude beach, a beach, not nude, a market. They could rent a car and tour the island on its one road. They could wander the shops, hike the bluffs above the town.

Sylvan hadn’t brought a swimsuit, and blushing, she noted they had already been nude once today. The market seemed fun, and they could drive around the island.

Market and tour it was. Off they went, hand-in-hand.

The market occupied an open area off the main street with maybe thirty vendors offering local crafts and foods. Many people walked among the stalls. Most were from the ship, recognizable in their sparkling cruise wear. Local people were in the crowds as well, conspicuous by their joyous clothing and flamboyant conversation. Everyone knew each other.

The sharp scent of roasting coffee beans curled through the air and wrapped itself around them. Sylvan said she had missed breakfast—getting ready for me—and was in dire need of caffeine, so they followed their noses to a café Cubano stand. One barista was roasting beans behind the stand. One was pulling shots of espresso from a three-headed machine as fast as he could tamp grounds into the portafilters. A third was assembling the tiny cups, making a froth with a splash of espresso and a spoon of sugar, then slipping the rest of the shot under the foam, reverently sitting each cup on a tray at the middle of the counter.

People dropped coins and bills into a bin, took a step, grabbed a cup, downed the shot as they took another step, left the cup in a basin before going on their way. Some people chatted together, not even breaking their conversation or their rhythm. Some expected the barista to take their money, soon realizing they were holding up the line.

Sylvan squeezed his arm, bouncing with excitement. She dug into her purse. He was quicker with a five pulled from his wallet, and they stepped into line, moving with the dance.

Sylvan snatched a cup and tossed it down with perfect grace. He had a stumble. Too much of his attention was on her and not enough on where his mouth was. He wiped the foam from his cheek with the back of his hand. Maybe she didn’t notice.

“I need another one!” she said, circling around to get back in line. All he had left were three singles; that’s what went into the bin.

This time, Sylvan stepped out of line, balancing her cup reverently in her fingertips. She lifted it to her lips and took tiny sips. He stood mesmerized, watching this woman caress the cup with the tip of her tongue, savoring each molecule of coffee, her eyes never leaving his, drawing him into their hazel depths.

Before he had to make a choice between being consumed or running in fear, a soft smile broke the trance, spreading across her face as she finished her cup.

“D’you want another?” he asked. She shook her head, so he took her cup and put it in the tub.

She held out her hand and they returned to the commotion of the market. The smokey-sweet scent of barbecued food-on-a-stick announced the offerings for lunch—jerk chicken, grilled pineapple, rice pudding, flan. This was the most intimate dining experience he had ever shared, the subtle seduction of nibbling tidbits and licking lips serving as erotic punctuation in their many-coursed meal.

Whatever grabbed their attention was the topic of conversation, their thoughts as light and airy as Sylvan’s clothes fluttering about her. He felt no need to seek depth, to learn, to ponder; he already knew all that he would ever need to know. He wanted only to experience—sharing her smile, her laugh, her eyes meeting his, filled with delight, her touch.

Conversation and laughter swirled around them; clothing, bags, and hats, radiant with color, danced in the breeze. Artisans sold their jewelry made from little scraps scavenged from the beaches. Musicians played steel drums and marimbas, gathering crowds dancing to their music.

He was fascinated by the casual beauty of the handmade items and the brilliant colors of the clothing. Sylvan was too. Maybe he could get her something. She said no because it wouldn’t work with her wardrobe; besides, they would have to carry their purchases the rest of the day. However, since they were unprepared for being out in the sun, they both found wide-brimmed grass hats for protection.

Re-awakened feelings coursed through him, some he hadn’t known in many years—a sense of vigilance to anticipate a hazard or a threat, a sense of responsibility for this woman’s wellbeing. He was alert to their surroundings and other persons when they came close, especially the younger men who seemed to ‘accidentally’ bump into her as they passed by.

And there were familiar feelings that he strove to nurture daily like precious flowers in a secret garden—joy, wonder, surprise. Now, he was sharing those feelings with Sylvan, feeling hers in concert with his, amplifying his experience, making it invigorating and alive.

He savored having Sylvan close, touching her, holding her hand. He reveled in the contact, and she responded by placing her hand on his as it rested on her hip or drawing it to her belly under her blouse. Their nude deck encounter made it easy to dispense with tentative gestures and feigned apologies for errant touches.

While he used his hands to touch Sylvan, she used her whole body to touch him. She would caress him with her tits or her ass or her hips as she turned or stopped. Seeming to set up situations. He wondered whether she was doing this for her own thrill or to tease him.

Who cares?

The full face of the sun made him thankful for the grass hats as they finished touring the market and continued on their way to the rental car agency. They walked through a retail area for the cruising crowd—high-end clothing, shoes, lots of jewelry, cigars, some ostentatious art—with no desire to stop.

In a shop window… he nearly missed it. The perfect dress—dazzling white, sparkling, flowing, displayed on the mannequin to emphasize the sweep of a halter, seductively open from neckline to waist, and the drape of a skirt, split in front from ankle to thigh.

The impulse to stop became only a hitch in his step as he recognized the name of the maker presented in gold lettering on a card at the bottom of the window.

He nearly missed the rental agency as well since most of his brain was still imagining how Sylvan would look in the dress.

She complained when he dropped his card to cover the fee for a car. She didn’t complain when the agent handed him the keys.

The agent led the way to a tiny car, more the kind that you slip on than climb into. Marv went to the passenger side to get the door for Sylvan. With a slick move, the agent cut him off and opened it instead. A feigned bow of courtesy allowed him to stare at her tits.

Little weasel.

Sylvan settled into the seat with a smile and a ‘thank you’, tossing a wink at Marv to let him know what he had seen was a lot more interesting. She had grabbed a map. With only one road, there wasn’t much need to navigate, so she tossed it onto the dash.

Moving the seat back before one gets in was a lesson he learned long ago. Once he unfolded his legs, it wasn’t too bad. It had been a few years since he’d driven a clutch, so there were a few embarrassing shudders before he regained the hang of it.

The road ran along a ridge around the island, the lush landscape dropping to the turquoise water that stretched to the horizon. They were all alone—no other people from the cruise or even locals. Everyone must be at the market. With one eye on Sylvan and one on the stunning view through the window, he wasn’t able to fully watch the road, so he was happy to go slow without a worry about traffic. He was tempted to imagine it was their world alone to explore.

About a third of the way around, they passed through a lush grove, emerging from the cool shade high above a small cove with sparkling water, glimmering sand, and gently swaying palms. He pulled off the road at a lookout to appreciate the view beckoning to them.

As the car jerked to a stop, he jumped out to get the door for Sylvan. Too slow. Again. She was already out and on her way down the narrow path to a patch of sand below the road that had been used by many before them.

She stood with her face into the breeze from offshore, eyes closed, arms wide, her clothes floating in translucent beauty on the wind, her silver palm trees catching bits of sunlight and throwing them his way.

He stood, imagining the breeze caressing her skin, touching her as he would, feeding the rising arousal in his cock. Inspired by the audacious breeze, he stepped close and slipped his hands around her waist and onto her belly, pulling her close. She leaned into him, swaying with the waves and the trees.

Hints of magnolia danced on the breeze and twined seductively with the mysterious scent Sylvan wore. He inhaled deeply, letting her scent fill his head and capture his mind—the exotic flowers, wild berries, and earthy notes imprinting themselves into his memory. Something sweet and grapey, hiding something intense, maybe something dangerous.

When he opened his eyes the world was brighter, more vibrant.

“You smell absolutely wonderful,” he whispered, snuggling his cheek against her hair to immerse himself in her aura. “Your scent matches the view.”

“I love this stuff,” said Sylvan. “It’s called Poison. I wore it thirty years ago, and I discovered an unopened bottle deep in my closet. I need to be daring to wear it.”

Sylvan tipped her head and he bent to kiss her neck. Intoxicating, he thought, brushing his lips over her soft skin, her scent rising to captivate him. He placed his hands at her waist, and her body curved, willing his hands upward.

Where’s this going?

What was left of his cognition issued an alert.

“Y’know, as intoxicating as you are, standing by the side of the road is probably not a good place for this kind of diversion,” he said, straightening up. “Let’s find a way down to the water at that cove. I think I see another road over there.”

Sylvan stumbled against him when he moved. “See, intoxicating for you, too.” He reached out to steady her, encircling her with his arm as they walked back to the car.

Back on the main road, he drove slowly, watching for the turnoff to the track he had seen from the overlook. Sylvan curved her fingers inside his thigh, high up, tingling excitement flowing through her touch. More, too. Her grasp was anchoring, possessing, focusing. Before he could glance her way to understand, he spotted the track dropping away through the tall grass.

The side road proved primitive yet passable. No fences or muddy spots to impede their progress as the little car swayed along the parallel ruts in the sandy soil. Tall grass and leafy shrubs obscured their view. Only the clouds and sun above assured him they were going in the correct direction. As they rounded one last bend, turquoise water glistened and the vista of the cove opened before them.

He stopped the car in front of a strange little house with a ‘for sale’ sign in the yard. The house looked abandoned. The sign was rusted, tipping precariously. It looked to have been there for quite some time, which would be expected since the sign provided no advertisement for the sale of the house, placed as it was.

“Well, let’s tour this exquisite beachfront property,” he said, laughing.

Sylvan was out before he could unfold himself. He quickly caught up and went ahead to check things out.

The house was constructed from concrete blocks, strong and squat, on an oversized slab. The roof was corrugated metal with large patches of creeping rust. That’s where the work ended, with no doors or windows, only the openings. He peeked into the gloom. Only a few twigs and a pile of old beer cans.

He turned toward the water, Sylvan trotting to catch up, her blouse fluttering like a flight of doves, striving to lift her skyward. He caught her in his arms as they walked the few steps into the grassy side yard and stood looking at the waves gliding on the turquoise water.

His eye followed the shore, traveled past the point and across the horizon. Billowing clouds marked the edge of the earth, the scene befitting the thoughts in his mind, expansive, unknown. What was to discover way, way out there?

Would this woman at his side help him find out?

How could he know? Could he hope she would be there tomorrow, exploring, sharing, learning, growing? A reason to travel to the horizon, even now, in their silvering years?

He glanced at Sylvan. She was lost among the clouds in the sky, her eyes roving after the gulls.

If first impression was anything, she was certainly everything. A shiver crawled up his back even though the sun was high and bright. And hot.

Their hats were in the car.

“Let’s sit under that tree instead of getting burned.” He tipped his head in the direction of a large magnolia. The tree had probably been planted to grace the yard many years ago when the house was started. Today, the subtle fragrance from the mass of magenta blossoms filled this corner of paradise with joy.

The carpet of soft grass under the tree beckoned, nurtured by the sunlight filtering through the blossoms, caressed by the breeze from offshore.

He stumbled into Sylvan when she suddenly stopped, her face ashen, staring into the dappled green under the tree. He scanned the ground to see if they would soon be attacked by a horde of marauding scorpions.

“Uh, Marv,” she said, a plaintive look on her face. “I can’t sit on the grass in these pants. They’ll be all ruined.”

Wednesday 13:58

 

Talk about opportunity disguised as difficulty.

“We know how to solve that problem.” Marv took a quick look around. Seeing no reason to stop, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. He stepped out of his shoes and pulled the pants from his legs.

“D’you need some help?” he asked, flashing an impish grin.

She gasped and lifted her finger to her lip as she stared.

“What? Never seen a man in a thong before?”

Sylvan slowly shook her head. “Oombers, Marv,” she croaked, her hands holding her face. “Húi…”

“I’ve been wearing this kind of thing since eighty-five,” he said, turning around to give her the entire presentation. “Underwear stores were just getting started back then, y’know, and I stopped in to check one out and found my first thong. It was kind of funny because it was a stretchy women’s thong, and the saleslady said it was a man’s. Of course, I didn’t know any better either. It didn’t work well, but the idea of it was intriguing, so I found the right kind for my gender and loved the way they felt. Like a jock strap, only simpler.”

His cock swelled, absorbing her gaze. Sylvan’s eyes struggled to climb to his as she fiddled with the buttons of her pants. He stepped close. With her hand grasping his arm, she bent to slip one leg and then the other over her sandals.

Caressing her with his eyes, he studied the curve of her under the fabric of her blouse and the way her hips flexed as she lifted her legs. The breeze caught her blouse and flipped it onto her back, revealing the band of bright white crossing above the cleft of her ass, where it met another band of liquid white coursed downward out of view.

Fuck! This woman is made from sexy.

He willed time to move slowly.

She stood. A grin tripped across her face when her eyes snagged on the bulge in his thong. He thought of sweeping her up in his arms. Somehow, that seemed too familiar, too forward. Instead, he pivoted around, dropped to the ground and scooted back against the trunk of the tree, the grass cool and crinkly under his legs.

He reached out as she swooped in next to him. She snuggled against his chest, making a purring noise. They sat like that, watching the gulls and the sea, a soft panoply of natural beauty.

The scent of her mingled with the magnolia and the grass, flooding his mind, dissolving his restraint.

She’s certainly the type to let me know.

As an inquiry without words, his hand sought her breast, his fingertips asking gently.

Her response was a soft moan. She stretched her arms upward, lifting her tits to his touch. He explored, massaging with his fingers through the fabric of her blouse and bra. His other hand moved to share the task and he became lost in savoring the grace of her body.

With his fingertips, he circled ’round the pebbles of her nipples, taut and straining. With his eyes, he traced the contours of the waves and the billowing clouds, complements to the compliant flesh in his hands. With his mind, he explored his memory of her barest curves, sheathed in the sparking fabric of her panties.

Sylvan opened her mouth to free her breath, coming shallow and quick. He grasped her tight buds to roll them and lift them until a soft groan signaled the line between pleasure and pain.

His cock strained to be free, the only distraction to his reverie.

“Do you think we’re all alone out here?” Sylvan asked. He glanced around. Nothing indicated otherwise. He hadn’t noticed the little house from the overlook on the cliff and the lane was hard to find.

“I think so,” he said. “If anyone comes in by car, they’ll make a lot of noise on that dirt track, and besides, we’re here to investigate this lovely property. We just got carried away with the splendor of the place… Oh, and just so y’know, no STDs or other nasties.”

“I’m glad you thought to tell me. Me, neither,” Sylvan chuckled as she released the buttons of her blouse and leaned forward. It took a beat for his brain to catch up to what was happening. He lifted the blouse from her shoulders, then carefully floated it onto her pants.

When she didn’t move back against him, he unfastened the hooks of her bra. She hunched her shoulders, and the bra slipped down her arms. With a couple of deft moves, she folded it up and held it over her shoulder. He laid it onto her other things.

Steady now.

She was damn near naked.

Go easy.

Only one way this could go if he didn’t mess it up.

Slow is smooth.

No need to rush.

Smooth is easy.

It felt like the first time… somehow. Yet, he knew what to do. They were headed in the same direction. He didn’t have to manage things.

Savor this beauty.

Sylvan slipped from his grasp as he reached out to gather her into his embrace.

Shit.

She laid out in the grass beside him. In graceful slow motion, she uncrossed her legs, stretched and sighed. She looked up with a coy smile as she tucked her hands under her head.

His eyes embarked on a slow tour of the wonders of this woman. Every detail was clear in his mind from the nude deck. Here, it was different—lush, inviting. The sweet scent of magnolia and the earthy notes of grass submerged them in an aura of luxuriant sensuality. Dapples of sunlight filtering through the blossoms revealed lambent pools of beauty on every part of her body. This is what artists through time have endeavored to capture in their most erotic works.

Almost imperceptibly, she flexed her legs open as a pool of light awoke where the rise of her mons was covered by the snow-white of her thong. The sparkling fabric rippled at her clit then flowed over her pussy lips to cascade between her legs.

He wished to wander in the glory of that sight until he was completely lost to its intoxication.

With intoxication comes lethargy.

This beauty needs more than to be stared at.

The glint in her eye told him they shared one thought. She wasn’t there to take a nap on the verdant quilt under the tree.

Spurred to action, he ducked from under the branches and stood, Sylvan’s eyes following closely.

He unfastened the buttons of his shirt and let it fall from his shoulders. He slipped one hand into the pouch of his thong to release his stiffened cock, then slid his hands under the waistband and carried it to his feet.

No complaint…

Sylvan lifted up on her elbows as he stepped from the ring of red fabric, her gaze fixed on his cock, strong and ready, engorged and purple, the head throbbing with anticipation. Her eyes grew large when he wrapped his hand around his shaft in a habitual gesture of affirmation. He released himself and dropped to kneel at her side. She laid back and looked into his eyes.

Holding her gaze, he placed his hand on her belly. Yes or no? he asked with a lift of his brow. Her eyes widened; she inhaled… and sidled her legs apart.

Her breath caught as his fingers slipped downward. She lifted into his hand as he caressed her mons through the fabric of her panties. She closed her eyes and sighed as his hand flowed over her pussy lips.

His fingertips furrowed the sleek fabric, descending in the crease between her pussy lips and her thigh, returning up the valley of her clit. Down one side, back up, down the other side, back up, circling the bud of her clit each time, making it firm and vibrant under the thin fabric.

What now? Should he ask? Should he act? Removing the last veil would set the course.

She wasn’t yelling.

He inhaled a breath of courage.

Act.

In one bold motion, he reached over and slipped his fingers under the side bands of her thong and started it down her hips, peeling it away to reveal her bare pussy lips.

Is she willing?

Sylvan’s eyes fluttered open and she flexed her hips to release the strap from the cleft of her ass. He caressed his way down her legs with the thong in his grasp. After disentangling the wisp of fabric from her shoes, he tossed it onto her other clothes.

Now, the shoes. He unbuckled her sandal, slipped it off and set it aside. These shoes were sexy as hell, not in a ‘fuck-me’ way like this morning. In a casual ‘I’m available’ way with her red-painted toes peeking out.

Then the other. This time, looking into her eyes, he took her big toe into his mouth and grasped it with his teeth.

Her eyes grew large; her mouth opened. He massaged her sole with his thumbs while sucking on her toe. When he moved to its mate, she dropped back to the ground and moaned.

He laid her legs out wide. Dancing and dallying on her velvet skin, his fingertips flirted their way toward her pussy lips.

She lifted her mons to receive his touch. He cuddled her bare pussy lips with his fingertips, then slipped into her valley, down low, his finger gliding smoothly through her moisture, bringing it to her clit. She pursed her lips and inhaled as he circled her bud, flexing her legs to open herself.

Not yet. It would be easy to spread her wide and take her, pumping hard, a rush to climax. Not yet. Go slow. Savor that body. Build her passion.

But he was an ass man, a connoisseur of derrières, and Sylvan’s was one the finest he had seen—no, really—but it was hidden beneath this fabulous woman.

His engineer mind kicked in before all the blood got sequestered down below. To ask her to roll over would be inelegant—the grass would get in the way, sticking up between her legs, and the ground was awfully hard for those soft tits.

She can lay on me.

“Here,” he said, dropping down, laying on his back. “Use me for a cushion. I want to play with your lovely ass for a minute.”

Sylvan lifted onto her elbow with a scowl. Oh, oh. It vanished when he opened his arms, replaced with a saucy smirk.

With lithe grace, she lifted up and opened her legs to straddle him, then lowered herself with a warm kiss of her pussy lips on his cock.

She swept her tits back and forth across his chest, her nipples brushing through the tangle of hair before settling onto him. She stretched her arms out and laid her head next to his, cheek to cheek, exhaling a soft moan as her body found a natural fit with his.

The weight of her was satisfying and real, like holding her close, yet his hands were free to play.

He caressed his way onto the small of her back then swept his fingers through the dip of her waist and along the flare of her hips, circling below the cheeks of her ass, until his hands could stretch no farther. Her skin was supple and silky, the muscles of her ass firm. He fondled her cheeks and within her cleft, brushing the flower around her anus.

No protest.

Sylvan pressed her mons into his belly as she opened herself to his touch. The head of his cock pulsed with delight each time she moved, eager to explore for itself.

He closed his eyes and inhaled Sylvan’s scent, mingled with the scent of the magnolia, the grass, and the earth. Learning the shape of her, massaging and stroking, he created a map in his mind of her womanly contours, the sensitive places that caused a hitch in her breath, the luxuriant places that caused a soft moan, the places that tightened then released when he dug deep.

Grasping the cheeks of her ass full in his hands, he pulled her higher. He splayed his fingers to explore her cleft, persuading it open.

Still no protest.

His touch wandered into the hollow at her entrance, adding sensation to the image in his mind of how it opened as she bent over on the nude deck.

Dipping in, he gathered dew from her pussy on his fingertips, then continued up her valley to explore her anus. It tensed, yet Sylvan tipped her ass to open herself, welcoming his touch as it softened, a low moan resonant in her throat.

A celebration of sensual delight tingled through him. Sylvan moved in slow waves, pressing her mons into his belly while he worked her ass. He grasped her cheeks and massaged, pulling her higher, then he reached to caress her pussy lips, stretching farther to fondle her clit, making her body shudder.

Sylvan’s moans confirmed the accuracy of his recon on the places that gave her pleasure as he wandered back toward her pussy, now slick with her moisture.

She was ready. His cock strained to get in on the action.

He grasped her hips to lift her.

She tensed. He pushed.

She didn’t move.

Instead of following his direction, she wedged him between her thighs and walked her hands into position on either side of his shoulders.

Her luscious tits filled his view. When he tried again to flip her over, she placed her hands on his shoulders. Holding him in place, she pulled her legs beneath her.

What’s happening?

Her gaze found his, her face radiant with lust, the tip of her tongue teasing her lips.

Is this what she wants?

She began a slow slide downward, slipping from his grip, her hands pressing his shoulders to the ground.

Oh shit.

He hadn’t planned to be on the bottom. He hadn’t planned anything else either. Now Sylvan was in charge.

Did I move too slow?

He inhaled to mount a protest. Her eyes narrowed, and with a sideways glance, she commanded him to shut up.

Maybe it’s not a problem.

His cock pulsed as his head touched her valley.

Too late now.

Sylvan arched her back and his head slipped toward her entrance, the trail of moisture from her pussy defining the path.

Do I measure up?

He squeezed his cock, lifting it, the tension palpable.

Am I strong enough?

She closed her eyes.

Can I last?

She dropped her head and gasped as his head kissed her entrance. Then she froze.

What’s wrong?

A dart of fear shot through his mind.

Maybe she’s tantric or something, meditating.

Maybe she’s changing her mind…

Before he found the answer, her eyes flew open and she gasped a vivifying breath. She pushed back and he slipped into the warm, luxuriant grip of her pussy.

This is it, the first time.

As she took him, he wondered if he would fit. He knew he wasn’t that big, yet it felt as if she was forcing him in, her pussy wrapped tightly around his head.

Shit, she must exercise that thing.

He didn’t remember ever feeling that.

She moved slowly to take him. Part way in, she stopped and lifted to tug on his head with the ring of her opening. Tantric. The thought was blown away by the explosion of sensation from his cock.

Then, she took all of him in one powerful surge. The length of his cock running through the ring of her opening until her ass landed on his groin. The feelings caught up in a rush, like freefall, jumping from a cliff into a deep pool of ecstasy.

Fuck. It seemed for a moment as if he had never experienced the pleasures of a woman before. Certainly nothing like this.

Silver pussy is some damn fine pussy.

He stared into her face, her breath quick, her eyes wide as they shared the sensation.

He squeezed Kegels to make his cock dance. She squeezed back, her pussy a satin collar tight around his shaft, emphatic, possessing. She pushed back until his cock ached from the force.

Shit, she’s going to break it off.

Walking her hands onto his chest, she eased the pressure and sat up.

The stillness let him regain his composure. He could breathe again, a sense of euphoria flowing through him.

Sylvan breathed slowly and deeply, heaving her tits. A smile softened her face and her eyes focused on his, their communication mute.

A warmth swept over him. In some way that he couldn’t discern, his feelings crossed from lust into a bold, new frontier. It was more than feeling his cock within this woman. But what…

She closed her eyes and tipped her face toward the light, sighing, her hair wild, fluttering in the breeze. She swept her arms behind her and placed her hands on his thighs, curving her back, lifting her tits.

With ravenous fingers, he traced the circle of her areoles, her nipples ripening into taught, bright berries. He rolled them between his fingertips and plucked them gently, like tender fruit. A flutter through her pussy drew an involuntary twitch from his shaft. He tugged a little harder. Harder still. Until a soft groan escaped her lips.

With a deep breath, she straightened and swept his nibbling fingers from her nipples. She began to rock her body to a slow carnal rhythm, her motion sinuous, her pussy devouring.

She replaced his hands with hers, lifting her tits, massaging them in the cadence of her motion, twiddling her nipples to tease him.

Her motion became broader, bolder. Delight tugged at the corners of her mouth, her eyes wide, sharing her lust.

Every sensation grew intense. The weight of her pressing on him. The warmth of her around his cock. The rustle of leaves and the splash of waves. The grass, the earth, the magnolia. The motion of his body was driven by this woman riding roughshod on his cock.

Wednesday 14:15

 

Marv was being well and truly fucked.

Never had he experienced the passion of a woman with this intensity. Sylvan swiveled her hips as she screwed herself onto his cock, his head stroking deep within her. His hands gripped her thighs, feeling her muscles flex, pinning him to the ground.

Her motion slowed. She must have known he was close, the end in sight. She closed her eyes. A look of contemplation filled her face, serene and focused; her lips curved around a murmur of her pleasure. She knit her fingers behind her head and spread her elbows wide, suspending her tits, covered in spangles of sunlight streaming through the leaves.

She moved slowly. Each time she curled her belly, her clit peeked from between the soft cushions of her pussy lips, nestled in the curly hair around his cock. With each pivot of her hips, the muscles of her legs tensed and released, gripping him in their sensual embrace. With each breath, he inhaled Sylvan’s scent—the Poison—and the musky scent of her sex mixed with the sweetness of the magnolia and the spice of the grass and the sea.

He dropped his head onto the grass, absorbing the sensations, letting them saturate his body and his being.

With a start, he realized she was moving faster, her pace increasing with a strong, sure rhythm. She gripped him in her pussy when she pulled back, released him when she pushed forward, making him feel larger, stronger, more powerful, as the tension in his cock increased.

Changing her dance, she lifted until his cock extended full between them. Dropping, she sent him coursing to her depths, landing on his mons with a bounce, the glove of her pussy a velvet fist around his shaft. She timed the rhythm of her ass with the rebound of his body, pounding him into the earth, forging his cock into a tool for her pleasure.

He grasped her tits, hanging on to slow his rush toward the brink.

She stopped moving.

He shuddered, anticipating the next percussion.

Without warning, Sylvan grabbed his wrists and tore his hands away. She swept his arms upward and pressed them to the ground over his head. Rocking back onto his cock, she sat up with a great breath, looming over him.

What’s wrong? A gust of panic coursed through him, leaving a chill of fear. He searched for an answer on her face.

He moved to regain his grip. With a sidelong glare she commanded ‘No’.

Maybe she’s one of those psychopathic CEOs.

He wasn’t on the brink anymore.

Still rooted on his shaft, her body softened. Lifting her face, she reached toward the blossoms of the magnolia, letting a great sigh escape her lips.

A flutter in her pussy drew his attention back to his cock. She resumed her motion, her arms high, her belly rolling in slow undulations as she worked her pussy.

She picked up the pace and continued her dance—rocking, squeezing, stroking.

Within a few rounds of this lewd choreography, she had him screaming toward a climax once again. She didn’t seem close to coming.

He clamped down and held on, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

Without preamble, she lifted until his shaft spanned the gulf between them.

She dropped—engulfing him, shaking his hold.

She lifted. His body screamed for release, charged with a power past anything he had ever known.

And dropped—consuming him, breaking his grip.

She lifted and locked eyes with his.

“Let go now,” she commanded.

And dropped—obliterating his resolve.

Every muscle and sinew heaved with his climax. His body arched, driving his cock, lifting Sylvan pinioned on his shaft.

His cock throbbed, his body given wholly to this fuck, his entire life lived to arrive at this moment, with this woman, in this confirmation of their union.

Over and over, until he had no more power to sustain the storm.

He stood and watched, the wind growing calm and the thunder receding as the last of the dark clouds rolled on to the east. The sun burst through, casting its renewing rays across the field, drenched and cool, as the smell of grass and soil and rain filled his mind. He’d been witness to renewal, to the power of nature—to the power of life.

That was long ago, long before he knew the power of sharing himself like this.

Fractured bits of light brought his mind back to the present. He opened his eyes. Sylvan was still astride him, floating among the sun-blotched leaves. She wasn’t moving nor squeezing; she simply held his cock in her pussy, comforting.

“Wow, lady,” he rasped as his eyes focused on her face, circled by spangles of light.

A diffuse ache crept into his body, becoming centered in his hips as he regained his senses. He stretched to loosen tight muscles. He’d been ridden hard on the unyielding ground.

Sylvan smiled as she wove her fingers through the hair on his chest—her attention reassuring, gathering him back together.

She lifted from him; the breeze chilled his shaft as it dropped onto his thigh. She lay at his side, her head propped on her hand.

“Did you like that, or what?” she asked with a grin, weaving a tapestry of curls on his chest with her fingertips.

“Oh, I did,” he said. “I’ve been to a place where no man has been before, but I feel bad I wasn’t able to take you to the edge and push you over myself.”

“Marv.” She laid her hand full over his heart. “Not to worry. What I did to you was high pleasure for us both. I wanted to feel you come. My gift, but my celebration, too.”

“You did seem pretty focused. What were you celebrating?”

“Your maleness. The way it made me feel so alive. Being on top. Maybe most of all, that I was even here… Hope that’s okay.”

“I’m certainly not complaining… But my balls got smashed when you landed on me. Everything exploded, and I swear I passed out. The boys are a bit achy now, y’know.”

Which was the truth, dramatized with a look of feigned anguish.

“If they aren’t fine in a few minutes, I may have to show them some special attention to take their minds off their plight.”

“That may be necessary. But then I get a turn to celebrate all over you.”

“I look forward to it,” she said, swishing her hands around, erasing her work.

“It sure seems like you know a lot about good fuckery.”

“That’s what happens when one does some exploring. All kinds of magic and mystery are revealed on the pages of books and in naughty videos, but there’s nothing like a little practice to bring it all together,” she said with a quick chuckle.

A lusty look spread across her face and her eyes wandered down to check on the equipment. She gently snuggled his balls into her palm, the warmth of her fingers a soothing comfort.

“With attention like that, the boys will be ready for more adventure in no time,” he said, as a spasm in his back stole his breath. He wished to lay there the rest of the afternoon, this fabulous woman fondling his balls… he would never be able to move again.

Sylvan released him as he stretched the kinks out. That’s what happens when you’re past sixty and fucking on the ground. He didn’t care; he hoped to be fucking on the ground when he was ninety, especially with some hot woman like this who knew no fear.

“That was an incredible experience,” he said. “Now I owe you one. We’ve started something here mere mortals might find hard to keep up.”

“Homage to the gods of passion and desire.” Sylvan looked into his eyes. “It’s been a long time since I had a man in me. Now I have my very own love god.” She thumped him on the chest, making his body jump.

Love god? All I did was lay there!

He bounced up and turned to her. She grasped his hand and he pulled her to her feet. Rather than let her go, he carried her hand past his neck and wrapped his arm around her waist.

Her body melted into his like liquid passion. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers, striving to consume her with his kiss. He could feel all of her at once. Her ass in his hand, her mons on his thigh, her tits full, yet yielding, her lips caressing, her tongue exploring, her teeth nibbling.

He’d never thought he could fuck some woman with a kiss, yet that’s what was happening. His definition of sex was expanding into new territory.

The kiss waned. He didn’t let her go. It seemed natural and comforting to hold her close, one hand at the rise of her ass, the other behind her heart, her arms around his neck.

Sylvan looked into his eyes with a question. Before he understood, she was slipping from his grasp to stand before him.

Everything between them was a first, with no boundaries, no limitations to what they could share—to what they could create—together.

“Sylvan, oh, Sylvan,” he said, his voice filled with feeling that surprised him. “I’m enjoying being with you beyond any fantasy I’ve ever had. I’m so at ease with you. You seem so capable and assured. I like that.”

He grinned. “I’m pretty much what-you-see-is-what-you-get, literally, y’know?” he said with a glance downward.

She lifted her hand to his chest over his heart. “I’m having fun too. This is one of the best parts of being old… er. One knows one’s self. Both of us have learned to love ourselves completely. We’re healthy. What can be all better than that?” She paused.

His inner second-grader pumped his hand in the air.

She beat him to it. “I guess a good fuck every now and then, que no?”

Shit, yeah.

“I suppose we have to go,” she continued. “You need time to recover ’cause I think I may need Mr. Penis and The Boys to come ’round later for some further dalliance.”

If he hadn’t come a few minutes ago, right now, he would’ve been hard as steel and coming fast as she ran her finger down the length of his shaft with a blip to his head.

Sylvan turned away, brushing bits of grass from her arms. She worked downward, bending ever more deeply with each swish, until she was completely bent over, her ass open, her woman’s delights fully presented, glistening. Still bent over, she lifted her hands up and swept them from the crack of her ass to her ankles. And once more, slowly this time.

He finally got it… That naughty wench!

He couldn’t breathe since most of his brain was needed to record what was happening. Her show didn’t end there. She snatched her panties from the ground and lifted one leg, then the other, each accompanied by a peek of her pussy lips; then she carefully slipped the back strap into place between the finest cheeks of ass he had ever touched. And wished to touch again. And again. And forever, until his fingers were worn down to nubs from fondling those wonderful curves.

Sylvan was buttoning her pants when his brain finished writing her little performance into permanent storage.

His clothes were nearby and he got dressed in a flash. When he turned to her, Sylvan held her bra dangling from her fingers and her face held a sexy smirk. The bikini top had gone well enough. How much trickier could this be?

One semester of topology, two of statics, and that summer of continuum mechanics helped him figure it out. It’s not as easy to tell the inside of a bra from the outside as one might think. Let’s see—genus 3 torus, F=mg balanced by orthogonal -kx, uniform tension, cantilever moments left and right.

Why did women have clothes that buttoned, clipped, or zipped in the back? He could imagine few things as inconvenient, yet women readily mastered skills to render the issue moot; she didn’t need him, yet it was fun that she pretended to.

Grasping the shoulder straps, he swooped it over her head so she could slip her arms through. He parked the straps on her shoulders and grasped the ends of the band, dropped them down, then back up, tightening it behind her. First hooks or second? Second. Room to make adjustments. Tug it down at the sides, run your fingers under the straps.

He was well into a self-congratulatory mental back-slap when he remembered the most important part. He inhaled to focus and reached around to slip his hand between her breast and the fabric of the cup. With a throaty growl and measured care, he lifted it into place. Then the other, just so, Sylvan’s nipple a tight bud strumming across his fingers.

Another thing he could do forever. He sighed and bent to retrieve her blouse from the ground; she gave him a coy smile as he lifted it onto her shoulders.

This is one present that’s as much fun to wrap as it is to unwrap.

She didn’t use all the buttons this time either.

Tucking her hand under his arm at the elbow, she pulled him close as they walked to the car.

“Wait here,” she said and trotted to the car, returning with her phone. She held it up and clicked a couple of pictures then returned to his side, grasping his arm.

“Selfie, please.”

He always had a hard time holding the phone while pressing the button. The scene was tipped. Before he could try again she snatched the phone from his grasp.

“Thank you. I want to remember this place and time. Our bower for loving with the baldachin of the magnolia over it.”

He dropped his hand to her waist as they continued to the car. “What d’you do for a living?” he asked. “I’ve never heard anyone use the words ‘bower’ and ‘baldachin’ in the same sentence. I may have never heard anyone say ‘baldachin’ ever, for that matter, outside of St. Peter’s.”

He leaned against the car, watching her, the lush growth and sparkling Caribbean a backdrop.

“I’m an architect. I have my own practice. Just me. Mainly residential. Nothing big like the projects you must see.”

“Yeah, well, big buildings are like mountains, impressive. Beautiful homes are like gems, stunning. Is all your work in Santa Fe?”

“Nearly so. Mostly in the surrounding canyons and upscale suburbs. I work in a contemporary southwestern style with expansive sheets of glass that open a space to the beauty of nature while remaining energy efficient. My favorite projects are out in the desert—houses that sit all by themselves yet are intimate with their surroundings.”

“I’ve been to Santa Fe. I loved it. A friend of mine was looking to buy a place there, so I’ve heard a lot about it. Why d’you like it there?”

“I enjoy the brilliant sunshine and fragile desert. I’m there because of Georgia O’Keefe and her paintings that capture the subtle colors of the Sangre de Christo Mountains to the east.” She swept her hands across the sky as she spoke.

“O’Keefe,” he said. “I love her work but don’t know much about her landscapes. How can paintings lead you to a place?”

“When I was at UC-Denver working on my master’s, I went to an exhibit of her work focused on landscapes around Santa Fe. I was pretty deep into design, and the colors and forms made a connection with me that has influenced everything I’ve done from then on. I worked for a firm in Colorado Springs out of school and met Harold on my first big job. He was the foreman. He grew up in Santa Fe so we moved there.”

“That explains a lot. And I look forward to learning more,” … later. Now he could feel the sun turning up the heat. He opened the car door.

Wow! He knew almost nothing about underwater demolition, but architecture… There were twelve thousand years of building things to talk about!

He origamied himself behind the wheel. They crawled up the dirt track and turned back toward town on the one road, his mind barely able to serve up enough attention to keep the car between the lines.