#1 Sylvan's Story - Eastern Caribbean

Book 1: Silvering Years

by Sonja Mhyla Jonaro

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

Synopsis

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

After two years mourning the death of her husband, Sylvan's recreating her life. She's rebuilt her career, reconnected with friends. Now, she's on a cruise to nurture the power of her sensuality. For herself. Three days out, she's finally overcome her trepidation to be on the nude deck, early, for a private idyll in the Caribbean sun.

Lost in a haze of self-pleasure, Sylvan barely survives the shock when Marv, wearing nothing but a grin, shows up with a cool mimosa. This wasn't supposed to happen! But she's curious—What kind of man dares a first encounter on the nude deck?

It's too late to hide her sexy... and he can't hide his interest.

With Marv as an intimate accomplice, Sylvan explores the boundaries of her fantasies. But the ghost of her past love threatens to destroy her pleasures.

Could this be a second chance? Tempted to feel more than lust, Sylvan struggles with the fear that she'll destroy the new life she's worked so hard to create. Happy ever after might be in reach if life doesn't get in the way.

— — —

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. Marv's Story tells the tale from his perspective. Read her story, or his, or both! In the next set of books, Sylvan visits Marv at his home in Minneapolis. In the third set we'll find Marv visiting Sylvan at her home in Santa Fe. After that? Who knows where they'll end up... happily ever after...

Read more

Release date: April 4, 2025

Publisher: Ad Lectorem Publishers

Print pages: 304

Content advisory: A Silvering Years erotic novel.

Sample

The first Silvering Years erotic novel.

Wednesday 07:38

 

The golden rays of the Caribbean sun welcomed her with their warmth. It was five thirty back home in Santa Fe. Here she could be on cruise time, yet she had forced herself out of bed, intent on having the nude deck all to herself.

I can do this!

Sylvan breathed deeply, bracing for her sensuous adventure. The desert in her throat left by last night’s revelry made her wish she had brought along some refreshment. There was a bar by the pool on the deck below. On her way up, she saw some man was sitting there, and she wasn’t ready to deal with a close encounter in a skimpy bikini and thin cover-up.

A polite sign by a pile of towels asked her to use one to sit on if she would be naked. She took one and surveyed her domain as she spread the towel on a chaise turned to catch the sun. Canvas taut against the railing, no portholes or gangways in sight; no one could see her. For three days she’d been summoning the courage to be up here. Thirsty or not, she wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to be naked under the sun—all by herself.

Be brave.

She shrugged the cover-up from her shoulders and dropped it onto the chaise. A self-conscious chill shuddered through her. Standing there in nearly nothing, she looked down, distracting herself by considering how lucky it was her graceful three-inch pumps matched the sky blue of her swimwear. She had kicked these shoes off after stumbling through the door last night. This morning, she just slipped them on before leaving her stateroom.

With shaky hands, she tugged on the strings at her neck. The knot holding her top disappeared, and the triangles of bright fabric fell away. She slid the band around, unfastened the clip, and held the top suspended from her fingers. Applauding her daring act, she dropped it onto the chaise with a flourish.

Sunlight splashed across her breasts. Her nipples perked from her brazen display. She lifted her hands to examine their firmness, brushing her fingertips over their crowns, savoring her body’s response.

The tingle in her nipples melted in the warming rays of the sun, leaving a glow in its wake as it trickled through her to pool in the heart of her womanhood.

Now, the bottoms.

She hesitated, paralyzed by a spasm of indecision. Once more she checked, even though she knew no one was there. With a breath of courage, she slipped her fingers under the waistband, and before she could waver, she shimmied the bottoms down her legs.

Oh, how Harold had loved to watch her bend over like this, usually with a hum of pleasure, sometimes with a low growl that sent a thrill all through her. She held her pose with anticipation, but only the trade winds in the rigging purred a muted ovation for her accomplishment.

Gingerly, she stepped free and snatched the bottoms from the deck. Straightening up, she spread her arms, lifting her face to the sun.

I did it!

Defiantly, she dropped the bikini bottom onto the chaise, stifling the wail of inhibitions insistent she cover herself. She chuckled to think how she’d never in her life gone out with as little on as this bikini, and now she’d worn it for only a few minutes before removing it altogether.

This was her first bikini. Back when she was young and shapely, she hadn’t dared get one. Since then, she'd never believed such small slips of fabric were sufficient to maintain her modesty. A shiver of triumph dashed through her as the admiring rays of the sun confirmed her audacity. Up here, there was no need to pretend her most sensual places needed to be hidden.

On a whim, she had stopped at a swimwear shop during yesterday’s shore excursion. Searching for the perfect swimsuit, each more revealing than the last, she was quite surprised to discover how freeing it felt to uncover so much of herself.

With a hand on her belly, she curled to see what the sun saw, the silver of her hair framing her view in a glowing halo.

The years had left her breasts soft, but effort made her belly firm. A few weeks ago, she had shaved herself bare down there, leaving only a neatly trimmed delta of muff that still held a hint of its original auburn color. It was a challenge to twist and stretch in the shower the first time, yet to be bare was deliciously girlish, with her silvering muff a badge of her maturity.

She lifted her arms to embrace the sky, easing the tension in her back, swaying like a flower reaching for the sun. She bent to lay the chaise flat, then draped herself on the towel, her nipples tense, grazing the fabric still cool from the night. Resting her arms over her head, she sighed as wisps of a breeze danced along her back.

During her first summer with Harold, they had made love by a secluded lake in the foothills. She tipped her bottom the way she had when he took her from behind on the thick blanket drenched by the morning sun.

Harold had been a good lover, kind and attentive. She had to admit she didn’t have much experience for that assessment; she hadn’t known many lovers before Harold. He was the construction foreman on her first big job as an architect. She remembered still the ache that rose in her womanhood, watching him stride through waves of dust at the work site to meet with her.

Their early years together were a joyous celebration, a time to revel in exuberant sexuality. When the kids came along, the demands of earning a living and raising a family took their toll. She always believed that after the kids moved out, they would be able to recreate the early days. When that time came, she worked to make opportunities for the two of them to share. Yet, on too many evenings, dinner segued into some TV show, and they would head to bed with nothing more than a kiss goodnight.

She knew they had a good marriage by nearly any measure, and she had very much enjoyed being married. To Harold, certainly. The ‘being married’ part was a great joy as well, waking to a snuggly cuddle each morning, being assured through the day someone was there to help with the difficult times, going to bed knowing she was loved and cared for.

Still, something was missing. It had become a struggle to be intimate, finding the right time, the right mood. There was seldom energy left to share the joy of being together. She was working to figure it out when, suddenly, knowing made no difference as the life she knew came to an end.

The sun, warm on her back, held at bay the glacier of loneliness that had once overwhelmed her. Harold had been gone for three years now. They had shared thirty-one glorious years until he was taken from her by a heart attack.

Her sorrow had been deep and abiding. Each night a terror when she woke, shivering from the cold, wondering where he might have gone. Each day a hollow echo when she called his name before remembering he wouldn’t reply.

She closed her practice and lived off the insurance, relying on the beneficence of friends and family for survival, crippled by her grief. Until a year ago, she had mourned her loss, contemplating at times the end of her own days.

Her body glowed with affirmation. She had crossed the dark tundra of her grieving and survived.

Unexpectedly, a letter arrived, sent by a lawyer representing the estate of a neighbor who died shortly before Harold. She learned of a bequest he had left as a token of appreciation for the way she had helped with errands and housework so he could better enjoy his last years.

Certainly, she hadn’t done anything special, yet the gratitude sparked a wildfire that swept through the desolation of her existence. Like new life rising through the ashes, she realized even though she no longer had her precious Harold, she still had a trove of cherished memories and her enthusiasm for adventure.

She hatched a plan to re-imagine her life.

With no idea how to start, she just began. Clearing out accumulated possessions, their usefulness long past, became an opportunity to let go of old regrets. Renewing connections to dear friends became the means to recognize qualities she loved in herself. Replacing her dowdy wardrobe became the motivation to sculpt her body. Daily, she found new ways to be strong for herself, fixing things around the house, trusting what she knew of how things worked, dealing with mechanics, always men, not accepting their arrogance or insult.

She opened her mind and heart to serendipity and inspiration. One Saturday, while dusting her library of beloved books, she rediscovered The Erotic as Power, an essay by Audre Lorde, poking from the pages of Our Bodies. Audre’s words sang to her, inviting her to unveil her passionate self, to experience the pleasures and power of her body.

That would be her odyssey! To rediscover and appreciate the beauty of her mind, her body, her world, and her life, reliant on herself for pleasure and the strength to carry on. She would work to understand the aspects of her thoughts, her attitudes, and her behaviors she wanted to rejuvenate. She would seek to experience life with a new awareness, a new… urgency, yearning to find delight in everything she did.

At the beginning, her venture had been daunting. Many times, she wished for a snazzy wand to make things easier. Yet, she persisted, and with practice, learned how to make magic for herself.

She stretched, her body lithe against the cushions, feeling lean and strong and sexy—the sensations on her skin bright and alive, unrestrained.

With the first steps on her journey, she understood what had been missing in her marriage—it was desire. The feeling that came so easily at the beginning. A wanting of a different kind, not one arising from deprivation. Rather, one that enlivened and motivated her being. She committed to nurturing her desire to experience beauty, passion, and pleasure.

No one was there to notice the flush warming her cheeks as her mind filled with the myriad forms of pleasure she had discovered. She learned to savor each moment, to be awed by beauty, to be enthralled with the thoughts of her mind and the sentience of her body. To pursue the erotic in music, art, and literature. To find passion in the flowing of a creek or the colors of a sunrise. To experience sensual and seductive touch for herself.

The hold that patriarchy had on her mind and her body fell away as she dared to pleasure herself all the way to orgasm. It would still be there in the way she was treated, but it would no longer control what she could think and feel.

She made several trips to the library to browse the shelves and was quite surprised at the amount of intimate information and arousing fiction lying there in all its explicit glory. Her fear of meeting someone she knew made it a near-death experience to take her trove of libidinous intel through the checkout.

Tension blossomed in her womanhood, remembering the books she had found filled with erotic art and literature. Until then, she’d never looked at risqué pictures or read naughty stories to be aroused. The feeling was unfamiliar yet alluring. She had been taught to be ashamed of feeling that way—by her mother, by the feminist studies classes of forty years ago, by the people in the church she had left. She had discovered the fallacy of those lessons, realizing she no longer had any reason to be ashamed.

She learned to savor words like tits and ass and pussy. A friend had whispered names for manly parts, verga and ’jónes. But she hadn’t had a chance to say those words for real.

And, even if the images and tales themselves weren’t so thrilling, the fantasies they stirred left her breathless. More than once, she caught herself daydreaming of what she might do with that man ahead of her in line at the grocery store and had to give herself a touch of relief in the parking lot.

What about that man at the bar?

Maybe she could take a closer look on the way back to her stateroom.

She pressed her mons into the cushion to massage the bud of her clit, adding sensation to the fantasies dancing in her mind, savoring the arousing perspective she now had of the ordinary world around her—the gossamer breeze a seductive caress, the snap of a pennant an unexpected spank, the lingering scent of night a musky harbinger of physical passion.

She rediscovered the energy of sexy. She had used it to lose weight and keep herself intact through the challenges of motherhood. At sixty, it gave her a reason to get her body toned and flexible. Videos teaching belly dancing inspired her; she went to yoga class and took up running.

When she felt sexy, she couldn’t help but look sexy. And not for the male gaze! She used her sexy to be healthy and intentional, her body working efficiently, her mind clear—for herself. She found leggings and sport tops to complement instead of conceal, letting her body move. Dresses that flowed and fluttered, setting her feelings free. Fancy undies and stockings, lacy and sheer, for looking pretty in the mirror. Even a corset for special times, swaddling herself in sensuality.

She slowly rocked her hips, adding the pleasure of her motion to the pleasures of the sun and the breeze on her body.

On her journey, she discovered treasure beyond sexy. She had found what it meant to be erotic.

Sexy was her body, guided by her mind. Erotic was her mind, guided by her spirit. Deep, intimate. Sensual, libidinous. A wellspring of power and energy. Beyond sensation. Beyond thought.

The more she understood the erotic within her, the less willing she was to accept powerlessness, despair, self-denial, to be satisfied with shallow motivations, impulsive gratification, or smooth words.

Deep within, the soul of eros was desire, the source of ‘yes’, her response to new experiences, new sensations. No longer would she fear her desire.

With the acceptance of desire came a visceral need to be immersed in sensuality. It was fuel for her passion, the source of pleasure and beauty.

An arousing ache gripped her womanhood.

Just one touch…

She lifted herself from the chaise. She adjusted the back to recline. She peeked around to be sure no one had joined her before dropping onto the cushions.

Remembering to be bold, she opened her legs and dropped one foot on either side of the chaise, revealing herself to the unabashed gaze of the sun, letting its flirtatious rays savor her bareness.

She had been working to open her legs, to move more freely, lounging, exercising. Her sexuality was energy, no longer stifled by keeping her legs closed. Doing as she had been taught from a young age.

Closing her eyes, she returned to her idyll. Her hands swept over her thighs, pausing indulgently to stroke her pussy lips and snuggle her clit between her fingertips. Her fingers danced upward. She cradled her breasts, circling her areolas with a tweak to her nipples, making them tighten into firm buds.

She blushed to think this was quite surely inappropriate behavior for the nude deck.

Lifting her arms over her head, she eased her body back toward relaxation as the breeze feather-kissed her skin to a delicious shimmer.

She couldn’t help it… One hand wandered back between her legs, her finger tracing the plushy swell of her outer lips. Soon, the other joined it to work in concert, pressing her lips together, massaging the deep parts of her clitoris, spreading the warmth of the sun on her tender places to the far reaches of every nerve. She inhaled sharply as her clit responded, growing firm at the glans with a quickening throb.

Damn… Reality interrupted her pleasures with the sound of splashing from the pool below. Either she had to stop now or go back to her cabin to finish.

With a reluctant sigh, she returned her arms to their place over her head. She wasn’t finished celebrating the achievement of making it onto the nude deck. There was plenty of time to delve into the hedonistic delights down below in her stateroom, so for a few minutes longer, she would daydream.

Her womanhood clenched, imagining a date with her favorite toy—her Pink Thing—that she had nearly decided not to bring along.

Harold had found her Pink Thing on the web, along with some other toys he got during a bout with dysfunction. She would ask for it at times because it was very effective with the shaft that shivered in her vag and the thumb that thrummed on her clit. But she had not been one to ask for much. She had come of age with the understanding that the man should be in charge of sex.

Now I’m in charge.

Inspired by her expeditions to the library, she had searched for the box under the bed where Harold kept the vibes. By the time she pulled it out, the batteries were all dead. The Pink Thing was rechargeable. She found the charger and plugged it in. The Blue Thing used replaceable batteries. She found the right ones and put them in. There was also the thick Red Thing, a dildo they had tried. Another one, long, with rainbow-colored bands, she had never seen.

The heat of the sun and the kiss of the breeze livened the flame in the heart of her womanhood.

One more touch before I go…

Her thirst intruded upon her reverie.

Okay, fine! I’ll get a bottle of water at the bar, but what I really want is a…

“… mimosa?”

The voice was deep, sonorous, weaving itself into the fabric of her imaginings.

Wednesday 08:04

 

Fuck me, a la maquina!

Sylvan’s body convulsed as a bucket of ice-cold panic dumped over her. How could someone see her like this? Here she was, in an oh-my-god state of naked except for her blue fuck-me pumps, thighs spread, her bareness completely revealed, her skin glowing from the sun and her sexy thoughts.

And not a touch of makeup!

Playing with myself!

I’m going to die right here.

Her eyelids flew open like shades let go and rattling in her head. She was blinded by the glare of the sun. In an instant, her legs tried to close, and her calves slammed against the sides of the chaise. She wrenched her arms from their repose to conceal her breasts and between her legs. When she tried to shield her eyes from the sun, she ran out of hands.

She froze as everything went black.

“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.” The voice was coming from in front of her as it blocked the sun.

Be strong. This is the nude deck. You’re supposed to be naked. You can leave if you need to.

Forcing herself to be calm, she dropped her arms to the chaise. Stretching one leg, she casually rested it on the chaise. Lifting the other, she propped her heel on the cushion. Settling in, she lifted her hands to create shade for her eyes and sought to add a face to the voice that had startled her.

The voice was rich, resonant, with a timbre hinting at laughter lurking behind the biggest grin she had seen in some time. The dazzle of the sun gave this man the look of someone stepping through a space warp like in the movies, outlining his form in a glowing halo, shining through his tousled hair, dancing in the breeze.

He stepped to the side, drinks in both hands. “Mimosa?” he asked again, holding one out to her.

“Oh sí,” she croaked. “That would be wonderful,” she said, recovering her faculties. What about not accepting gifts from strangers? But that smile was disarming. She reached for the dewy glass. “Thank you for reading my mind.”

“Again, sorry to surprise you. I saw you come up here empty-handed a bit ago”—Shit, is this the guy from the bar? She stifled an impulse to run. No clothes.—“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.”

Stay calm… There’s that smile again. And more than the sun was caressing her body, as his eyes slipped downward.

“Sylvan,” she said, and his eyes sprang back to hers. “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. “This isn’t usual, or no?” she asked and took a sip, eyeing him carefully, not hearing any warnings from her intuition.

“Not even close,” he said with a casual wave of his hand.

In one fluid motion, he sat his drink down on the deck and turned toward the pile of towels by the sign.

Her eyes had adjusted to the sun. They followed him. A la…, she thought, pondering his movement, decisive and dynamic, unrestrained by even a stitch of clothing.

He grabbed a towel from the pile and bent to snatch another from the deck near his abandoned clothes. He dropped the towels onto a chaise nearby. His back to her, he studied the situation, his body tensed for action. After a moment, he spread his stance and reached for the sides of the chaise.

Whoa!

She inhaled, feeling herself being lifted along with the chaise, his shoulders swelling. The muscles in his legs rippled as he walked the few steps to position it close by.

She exhaled slowly. What was he? Sixty or so? About her age. Shades of gray, thinning on top, white at the temples, silver like a cravat on his chest. He seemed in pretty good shape. Even with a bit of softness at the sides, his body looked sculpted by action and endeavor. A man in control of his life?

Marv bent to straighten one towel on the chaise and dropped the other onto the deck. When he turned to her, he caught her staring. “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.”

Those were his words, but his tentative smile said to her, Please, oh please, let me stay.

She inhaled to say ‘no’. She was on this cruise for herself!

She wasn’t finished rebuilding her life. Big holes were left where Harold used to be, and no one could fill them, especially some random man. Maybe she didn’t want them filled. She was working hard to not need them filled.

Even so…

She couldn’t help feeling a very hopeful little boy was standing before her, all grown up into a wonderful man. Courteous, thoughtful, kind were her first impressions. He acted like a real gentleman. What harm could there be in letting him stay? Maybe if she thought about it, she could come up with a few points.

Yet, she had to remain open to serendipity.

He can stay.

“Yes.”

What kind of man had the audacity to create a first encounter on a nude deck?

“I’m delighted you’re here, all bearing gifts as you are.” She stole a glance and delighted she was, though the double entendre was unintended. He’s a nice package of a man. And no ring. He acted confident and poised, comfortable being naked, moving freely with no hint of trying to conceal anything, not a shred of embarrassment in his demeanor.

Not trying to show anything off, either.

In a way, it was fortunate she had been surprised. If he had been up here when she arrived, she would have scurried back to her room; now, she was warming to the idea of having a naked man close at hand. The notion of that would inspire her fantasies for months. She grew light-headed from the crazy ideas streaking through her imagination.

“Are you alright?” Marv was peering at her closely, sitting on the edge of the chaise with his glass raised.

“Oh sí, sorry. I’m fine,” she lied, struggling to get her mind back to the delectable reality right in front of her. “Even one sip must’ve hit me.”

“Know what you mean. To sunshine, health, and nudliness,” he said, tipping his glass in her direction. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” she said and dared a peek into the shadow between Marv’s thighs as he took a long drink. His legs were parted, with his bottom barely on the chaise since it was too low for proper sitting. And there, rising proudly, was the plum-colored mushroom head of a growing erection with the boys hanging brazenly below. She inhaled through parted lips, fascinated by the shameless display.

How does he have the nerve to do that?

She barely had the nerve to get naked.

With a shudder, she realized her mind had wandered off again. Marv grinned, welcoming her eyes back to his. Busted, she thought as a flush warmed her cheeks.

“Y’know, 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.” This he said while reaching for the towel on the deck, laying it across his lap. “I find you very attractive, and to indicate such at this point in our brief relationship may be indecorous, though, so true.” He gave her a disarming look as he fiddled with the towel, not realizing it didn’t conceal everything.

Her mind grappled with the situation. How can he be so casual about being excited like that? Should she be afraid? She sensed no threat to her safety, no demands for her attention. Marv wasn’t forcing things to happen. His manner was calm and considered. No persuasive whining, no judgmental clichés. He wasn’t even ogling her.

Yet the idea he was excited made her body glow, fueled by the tension in her womanhood rising to fill her. Her nipples tightened into hard berries. The flutter in her vag made her squirm.

She wondered if Marv had noticed the changes in her body. Probably not. He was swinging his legs up, pivoting onto the chaise, no longer watching her. Maybe there was a nude-deck protocol she didn’t know about. Can’t hide how you look. Don’t hide your feelings?

He adjusted the towel, his hard-on visible as a ridge extending to his navel. I’ll consider that an honest compliment, plain and simple. She worked hard to look this way because she had come to love her body very much.

“I figure we have another ten minutes up here before the sun gets too high and too hot without some serious sunscreen,” he said, stretching his arms in a grand gesture, knitting his fingers behind his head. Closing his eyes, he heaved a great sigh.

Sunscreen! Forgot that too! His ease with being naked put her at ease. She could lie here all day contemplating this man; instead, she sighed as well and closed her eyes to let time move slowly.

“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. 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.”

“What brings you cruising?” she asked.

Marv cleared his throat. “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.” He inhaled, said nothing more.

Hmmm… a divorced workaholic.

“I was in Minneapolis once. All I ’memmer was the water. It seemed as if you had 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.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, pondering her next statement, surprised to discover she didn’t want to scare this man away.

Don’t hide your story.

She could wait to tell the whole story… the story wouldn’t change. If he didn’t like it, better to find out now than after wasting precious time and emotion.

“I was married to Harold for thirty-one years until he was taken from me by a heart attack three years ago.”

She tensed with apprehension. Would his next move be off the chaise and down the steps to find someone less damaged?

“I’m so sorry, Sylvan,” he said finally, his voice soft and earnest. She kept her eyes closed. After another pause, he said, “That’s hard.” Again, he paused. “What brings you cruising?”

I guess he isn’t leaving… She’d been holding her breath. She exhaled slowly, inhaled deeply to give herself time to compose her thoughts.

She wasn’t damaged anymore.

Just keep it simple, the story doesn’t change. She didn’t need this man. Her story was a very important part of her. She could learn as much about him from his reaction as he could about her.

Would he laugh? Or worse, would he try to teach her everything he thought she needed to know? Would he jump on his gleaming stallion to save her like a knight in shining armor?

The words tumbled out. “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.”

That’s everything. Misgivings welled up. She opened her eyes.

Marv still had his fingers knit behind his head, looking at her with an inscrutable expression.

“Wow, lady,” was all he said. A dancing twinkle filled his eyes as they met hers.

He continued. “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.”

She was holding her breath again. She gave a hic and exhaled slowly, hoping to not be obvious. He wasn’t running; he wasn’t laughing. His steed was still in the stable.

What was he feeling? Thinking?

His eyes drifted away from hers, floating over her body like a bumble bee touching every flower.

She sucked on her lip to stifle the urge to cover herself. Never in her life had she felt this naked, letting some stranger look at her that way. She inhaled a deep breath of courage.

Naked isn’t a bad thing.

She let her body unfurl as she slowly exhaled.

A smile curved her lips. Being looked at has to be part of the nude deck experience, she thought, warming to the idea of being the subject of his carnal examination. More than that—his gaze stirred a thrill, touching something deeper, something unfamiliar…

When she discovered desire, she also awakened an inner sexy—a way to feel that let sensuality saturate her being, opening her to fearless joy. Every part of her was now vital to knowing erotic pleasure—her skin interpreting the touch of arousal, her ears revealing the majesty of Beethoven, her eyes wandering through the mists of Monet, her nose gathering the essence of earthy pheromones. Each different, yet all the same—the means to experience her life with new passion.

She became for herself one of the many sources of pleasure she explored. Both creating and experiencing, and now sharing, as Marv’s study brought a smile to his face.

With a deep sigh, he turned away to look out over the ocean. He reached for his mimosa and took a long drink, emptying it.

What will I do if he asks me to go back to his room? A chill ran through her. She realized she might not have the will to say no… or yes.

What would he do if I asked?

Was she ready for that possibility?

She swallowed hard. Too early to even think of such things. Yet, she hadn’t been ready for Harold leaving, or for her neighbor’s bequest, or for nearly anything else that had changed the course of her life.

There’s time to find out. So, for now, she finished her drink, remembering she was thirsty. And the sun was getting hot. It was time to go.

“Well, Sylvan. 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.”

With that, he stood, dropping the towel.

A la maquina! Even though Marv’s verga was no longer stiff, it remained half engorged, full of potential. It swayed with his motion as he moved, his ’jónes suspended loose and heavy. The muscles of his stomach tapered to create valleys at his groin where his male energy flowed to his manhood. Her body tingled as his virile nakedness flooded her with lust.

Oh my!

This man was nothing but strength—confident, poised, courteous, thoughtful. She was running out of boxes to check off.

Breathe…

Her gaze floated upward to where his lips curved with the touch of a smirk. Damn. There was no denying the sight of him was arousing, as if every fantasy she wove in her mind, every sensual touch she lavished upon herself, every toy she used was now embodied by the man in front of her.

And he knew it.

Breathe…

He held out his hand. For a moment, she wondered what he wanted. With a start, she reached up, and his fingers enveloped hers. She swung her legs off the chaise, planted her feet with a clack, and pulled against his hand, rather forcefully she thought. It didn’t give way.

She stood with a calm assurance lifting her. Marv didn’t try to grope her. He hadn’t made any stupid comments. He wasn’t struggling to impress her. He certainly doesn’t have to. He smiled, chasing the thought across her mind that she could get used to that smile.

Marv let go of her hand and took a couple of steps back.

Now it’s my turn.

Wednesday 08:21

 

Did she dare?

She turned away, bending deeply. A feather of breeze tickled the cleft of her bottom, letting her know she was all presented to his ravenous gaze. She held her pose for a long moment before gathering the pieces of her bikini from the chaise.

Marv intoned a soft whistle through pursed lips as she stood with the pieces of the bikini in her hands.

“My, oh my, Sylvan,” he breathed as she turned toward him.

Blushing from the exhilaration of her saucy maneuver, she put on a coy smile and soon saw the reaction she expected. Marv’s verga had been well-behaved, but now there was no stopping it as the head grew large and dark, lifting from between his legs. She had seen this many times. Even so, this time was different. This time, she was conjuring the transformation with her desire.

Rising within her was a feeling that startled her as it engulfed her—a need to imbibe of his passion, using that thing of his to quench her thirst. She yearned to touch it, to kiss it, to feel the velvet texture of the head against her lips—to take it into her body, to feel its vitality exploring her depths.

“My, oh my, yourself.”

Her womanhood clenched. Until this moment, she hadn’t considered the possibility of having a man again. She was satisfied with sensations of her own creation, her toys, and her fantasies.

Can there be more?

This was not the time or place to discover more. In fact, Marv gave a start, glancing around to see if they had been observed. He grabbed the towel from the deck and cinched it around his waist.

Can I handle more?

To touch him, to kiss him… would she lose control? She had worked so hard, come so far, to be in control—of her life, of her body, of her mind—yet she was overwhelmed by feelings straining to be released.

Do I want more?

A deep sigh cleared the fog in her head. Her feelings were real and honest. She just wasn’t prepared for them to be so intense.

Yes! I want more. Marv seemed the gentleman. She felt safe. She could focus on the best that could happen, not the worst.

She handed her top to Marv and turned away.

Bending deeply, she stepped into one side of the bottoms, slowly, then the other, then pulled them to her hips with a shimmy. Each move artfully performed.

Did she hear again the growl that thrilled her?

A naughty thought skidded across her mind. Rather than retrieve her top, she stretched her arms skyward and clasped her hands behind her head. It took a beat before Marv figured out what she wanted.

Holding the ends of the band, he reached around, dropped it below her breasts, then lifted it back up. He pulled the ends together and secured the hook at her back.

She lowered her arms, pleased that Marv was able to play along with her made-up game of put-on-the-bikini-top. He reached around to find the string to one cup. His breath at her ear rustled deep, feral feelings, the earthy note of fresh sweat mingled with alcohol curling through her nose. He reached for the other string, his body close. The hair on his chest crunched against her back; his still-firm verga brushed against her hip. Stepping back, he maneuvered the strings behind her neck and snugged them into place.

He paused. She tensed. Marv let the strings go slack.

His breath… He slipped his hand between the fabric of the top and the underside of her breast, lifting it, tensing the string to support it. She froze, too stunned to react, his touch unexpected, though there were no rules to her game.

His body… He slipped his hand beneath her other breast, his palm cradling her soft flesh, molding it into place. With a few motions, he cinched the strings at the nape of her neck, finishing with a soft ‘aaah’.

Three years…

She stood motionless, struggling to hold herself together. Through sheer power of will, she stayed balanced in her heels. Slowly, she turned to bring her eyes to his.

“I hope I wasn’t too forward,” Marv said with a tentative grin. “I used to see my wife lift her breasts like that. It seemed the perfect thing to do.”

Her lips formed a feeble smile to give her mind time to gather a few words together. “Húi, that was all lovely, Marv. Yes, the perfect thing to do.” She bent to retrieve her wrap and pulled it on with as much grace as her shaky body could summon.

A whirlwind in her head was spinning thoughts like dried leaves, each inscribed with something sensible to say. She had only to reach out to grab one, but she could focus on nothing except… the perfect thing to do.

Marv dropped the towel and pulled on his running shorts and T-shirt. I need to say something. The spinning in her head was making her dizzy. Marv held her arm as they negotiated the stairs down to the elevators.

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

What a gentleman. What would I love? Below decks… for the rest of the day? Her brain was not creating coherent thoughts.

“Promenade deck, twelve-thirty?” Marv asked, guiding her onto the elevator, then stepping back out.

Turning, she pressed the button for her deck.

She nodded. Oh sí, I want you… want to.

“I’ve had a wonderful morning…,” Marv said. The look on his face was striving to say more than he had spoken. “Later,” he called as the door closed, and she was on her way down to her stateroom.

Wednesday 12:02

 

Tweedle. Tweedle. Tweedle. Tweedle. Tweedle.

It was a soft yet persistent trill worming its way into Sylvan’s dreams. After the events on the nude deck, she had made it to her stateroom, kicked off her shoes, and crashed, completely drained. Fortunately, she had had sufficient presence of mind to set the alarm on her phone to ten to give herself a couple of hours to get ready and visit the brunch, leaving time to think over a cup of coffee. Reaching to swipe the alarm off, she glanced at the bedside clock.

A la maquina! Twelve-oh-two! No!

She grabbed her phone. Ten. It was still in airplane mode and hadn’t updated the time. Dammit! She hadn’t even noticed it was two hours behind.

With no way to reach Marv, she couldn’t warn him. And he’d probably think he was stood up and leave if she were late. Shit! Shit! Shit!

Blasting off the bed, she tore the wrap and bikini from her body. She had planned to take a shower. Not going to happen. Carefully choose her attire? Nope to that.

“I need coffee!” she cried out in despair.

Just break this down—clean up the important places, slip on the good undies and the linen pants with the linen blouse, the one with buttons to accidentally leave undone. My chunky sandals. Good to go. Find some coffee on the island.

She couldn’t wait for the water to warm, so the shock of the washcloth on her face left her buzzing with energy that brought goose bumps to her skin. Gritting her teeth, she kept moving. By the time she washed her tender places, the water was warmer, and she got the cloth wet one last time to rinse herself.

Sweeping the terry fabric over her breasts filled her with the memory of Marv’s hands, leaving her nipples tense and tingling.

No! She scolded her image in the mirror. A deep stirring of arousal enticed her.

No! She couldn’t indulge herself for even a second.

Short hair was perfect for times like this. At forty, she thought it a clear sign of aging. Now, as a woman celebrating her silvering years, she wore her hair short to keep things simple; a brushing and fluff made it perfect.

Her makeup routine was much simpler these days as well. A hint of shadow and a touch of blush, a flick of mascara, and an arch of taupe. Less is more, she chuckled to herself. A whisper of sheer lipstick and dots of her special perfume finished the details.

From the dresser, she snatched shimmering white thong panties with a matching bra. Even though she hadn’t set out to engage in an intimate relationship on this cruise, she’d spent quality time finding special panties and bras to celebrate.

These panties would be perfect under the linen pants that hugged her bottom yet flowed free and easy around her legs. In the right light, it was possible to see exactly what was under there. The bra had an edge of lace that would look enticing if it peeked out and provided a lot of cleavage when it didn’t. Before turning to the closet, she hung a pair of earrings from her ears—palm trees in platinum—just for fun.

She swept her pants onto her legs and snugged the waist. Her blouse floated light and airy around her shoulders. She chuckled at how much time she saved by leaving the last couple of buttons undone. Sandals with a heel that would still be comfortable for a mile of walking finished her attire.

Three minutes to go. Enough time to gather her essentials into her small handbag designed for travel, and she was on her way to the promenade.

Marv was there waiting. Of course. It was jarring to see him with clothes on. He was leaning on the railing. When he saw her, he stood tall, his face growing brighter with each step she took.

“Hi, Sylvan.” The intensity of his gaze stopped her short. He studied her with rapt appreciation as one would the sensuous sculpture of a master—slowly, from her silver hair dancing in the breeze to her recently pedicured toes peeking from her sandals.

Her hands embarked on a mission of their own, gliding along the curve of her hips to the valley of her waist, lifting the hem of her blouse. She turned slowly to let his gaze complete its work.

“You look as beautiful within your clothes as without them. You shimmer through the fabric,” he said, stepping close. Her impulse was to reach up to embrace him. Before she could, the passenger tender bumped against the ship. They joined the queue to get on board, Marv’s hand hovering at the hollow of her waist.

The boat was crowded. Marv maneuvered them to an open space by the railing, guiding her with his hand at the waistband of her pants, under her blouse, each brief brush of his fingers against her skin causing sparks of passion. He stood close while they sped toward the shore, her hand on the rail snug against his, the wind exhilarating in her face.

In all of her studies to reimagine her sensual self, she had not pondered how she would feel to be touched again. Marv’s hands on her breasts up on the nude deck stole her breath. That was one of so many shocks up there; it wasn’t meant to arouse… was it?

What about when his touch is meant to arouse?

His touch was arousing no matter what his intention. And her body welcomed it… Was she ready? Would this man take the next step with her on her journey of reawakening? What would that step be?

Her breath came fast and shallow as she wrestled with her emotions. Fear of the unknown. Eager anticipation. Lust. Her body shimmered with sensual celebration. And trust. Yes, trust. She could let go of her fear. That left anticipation… and lust.

On the way over, the excursion director had described several activities for them to pursue. They skipped the nude beach; it seemed redundant. They decided to walk through the open-air market. Afterward, they would tour the island on its one road.

The market was a festive hive of bustling activity, vibrantly alive, the air filled with joyful singing and the sweet-tangy scent of roasting delicacies. The wariness she had felt being alone on yesterday’s excursion was pleasantly absent as she settled into a dance of motion with Marv, a natural synchrony guiding their steps, a harmony to their gestures.

They found clothing and accessories made from brightly colored fabrics, jewelry made from bits of shiny material picked from the beaches, figures and drawings by local artists.

And coffee.

The smoky, rich scent of roasting beans drew them to a café cubano stand. A roastery was assembled in the back. In the front, one barista worked pulling shots, another prepared the tiny cups and sat them at the end of the counter for a blast of grab-and-go goodness. People tossed money into a box and snatched a cup, not even slowing their pace as they downed the shot, leaving the cup in a basin at the other end of the counter.

That looked like such fun she was bouncing on her tiptoes. Before she could get money from her purse, Marv was waving a five for them to use. She stepped into line, Marv right behind her. Within seconds, she had tossed back the most luscious bit of perfection she had ever experienced—smooth, sweet, intense, a blanket of velvet espuma topping a mouthful of liquid love.

Again. Only this time, she curved out of line with her tacita of espresso seduction warm in her fingertips, letting each tiny sip glide between her lips and float across her tongue, first the foam, followed by the infusion, the scent of bright sugar and dark coffee filling her nose, deepening the sensation in her mouth.

Her eyes, however, were on Marv. She was watching his form yet seeing his nature. Like layers in the cubano, on the outside, he acted with the grace of a man. On the inside, he was filled with the enthusiasm of a child.

He was courteous and respectful. He opened a place for her in line with a sweep of his arm. With a touch of his hand, he kept her close. He took her cup and asked if she wanted another.

Two is enough.

Leaving the stand, he reached for her hand. Whenever they got separated, she found his. She smiled to think they were communicating in a silent language between the two of them alone.

They listened to street musicians playing steel drums. Their lunch was from beach chefs with their jerk chicken and goat on bamboo sticks, filling the air with savory smoke and lively banter. They found dainty cups of prune flan and rice pudding as smooth and rich as Marv’s touch.

One merchant was carving a figure, another weaving a shawl, another painting a beach scene from memory. Each time they stopped to watch, Marv’s hands slipped around her, starting at her waist, on to her belly. Sometimes, one high, one low. Sometimes, knitting his fingers. Sometimes, his hands would descend, his fingertips splayed along the band of her thong as if to chart the geography of its extent. She would lean into his embrace to make it clear she welcomed what he was doing.

Of all the things there, nothing struck her as sufficiently glorious to purchase. She settled on the practicality of a wide-brimmed straw hat to protect her from the sun. Marv found one too, though more suited to his manly taste.

They walked through a retail area catering to the cruise crowd on their way to the rental car agency. Marv used his card to cover the car. She let him. She had enough cash in her purse to make things even.

The map showed only one road. They followed it to where it took them. Marv drove. That was fine. She could better pay attention to the luscious scenery around her, the verdant growth, the blue-green ocean, the soaring gulls.

After passing through a grove, the road ran along the brow of a cliff overlooking a cove with the most enchanting turquoise water she had ever seen. There was no one else around to be captivated by the stunning view. Their excursion was such an exquisite way to enjoy the island; she expected many would have rented cars, yet they had not met or passed anyone on their way to this cove.

Marv stopped the car where a narrow path led to a patch of level ground a short walk from the road. She got out and went on ahead. Marv came up behind her and slipped his hands around her waist, holding her close as she immersed herself in the beauty around her.

“You smell absolutely wonderful,” he whispered in her ear. “Your scent matches the view.”

“I love this stuff. 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.” She tipped her head to the side, opening her neck to his nuzzle, the emerging stubble on his cheek leaving a thrill on her skin where the Poison lingered.

When he bent, she lost contact with his body, leaving only his hands at her waist, his cheek at her neck. His hands moved upward. She stretched to ensure that what she thought was their destination would be easy to reach.

His hands stopped, leaving her suspended in anticipation.

“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,” Marv said. “Let’s find a way down to the water at that cove. I think I see another road over there.”

She stumbled off balance as he stepped back.

“See. Intoxicating for you too.”

With the assurance of his arm around her, she turned back to the car. He held the door and lifted his hand to help her get in. Hehe, she chuckled to herself, just like being on a date.

Whoa! Then it hit her—she hadn’t been on a date with a man who wasn’t her husband in thirty-five years!

Oh my. I’ve spent four thousand dollars to go on a date!

Wednesday 13:41

 

Today was the third day of a week-long cruise. Sylvan had chosen an adults-only cruise because they were much quieter, which made them more relaxing, mostly couples, women in groups of two, three, or four. She didn’t remember seeing another man on his own.

She looked across at Marv as they continued down the road.

Maybe he’s some kind of gentleman gigolo, smooth and sophisticated, crafting his persona to exploit my weaknesses.

A la…

That broke the spell.

In an instant, the noise of the car rattled her mind. Every bump in the road jarred her body. Sunlight poured through the windshield like molten swelter, making it hot and smelly and dirty in this nasty box on wheels. She peered at Marv to see if he had fallen through the space warp with her.

No. He was carefully scanning the road ahead, unaware of her discomfort.

She could hardly believe how her world was changed by his presence. Having him close made everything bright and beautiful. Imagining some treachery let the ugliness intrude. Maybe she should pay closer attention. Right now, what she had missed was nothing but unpleasant.

He’s given me no reason to doubt his integrity. I can trust him.

Reaching across the center hump, she laid her hand on his leg, settling her fingers along the inside of his thigh, feeling the flexing of his muscles working the brake and accelerator. A soothing calm returned as she reconnected with his aura. Her intuition sensed no danger. Besides, Marv wasn’t all that smooth and sophisticated.

She thought about moving her hand further up, deciding it was prudent to let him drive with most of his attention on the task.

The road curved along the cliff before dropping down toward the water. There Marv found a smaller road, nothing more than a track really, heading back in the direction of the cove. The going was slow, even with no gates or barriers to stymie their progress.

The water of the Caribbean was at their side, and around one last bend, they discovered the water of the cove ahead of them.

They found themselves in what appeared to be a yard surrounding a strange remnant of a house. A ‘for sale’ sign was planted in the ground.

That seems terribly odd—how would anyone know it’s for sale?

“Well, let’s tour this exquisite beachfront property,” Marv joked. He climbed out of the car and came around, holding his hand out to her. Again, she was struck by his maleness, his strength. What was it about this gesture that affected her so?

The house was squat, built from concrete blocks with a coat of light green paint, faded and chipped nearly to oblivion. The roof of corrugated metal was more rust than tin. There were openings for windows and doors, yet no light entered to fill the darkness.

Honestly built, simple, and sturdy, the house could withstand a hurricane. But there was no joy in its design. It needed wide doors and a broad porch to become part of the beauty around it. Maybe one had to accept the risk of some damage in the worst of weather to be able to appreciate the magnificence in all the rest.

Marv let go of her hand with a subtle push that stopped her. He went ahead and peeked through the doorway. When he turned toward the water, he held out his arm to gather her up. She ducked under and was folded into his embrace.

They stood looking out at the waves, watching the gulls clamor offshore. The breeze blew fresh on her face, the sand sparkled.

In moments, she realized the sun was high and quickly becoming hot. And she had forgotten her hat in the car.

“Let’s sit under that tree instead of getting burned,” Marv said, tilting his head in the direction of a large magnolia. The carpet of grass underneath looked soothingly inviting, even if they would have to duck down to get under the branches.

Wait! I have white linen on. I can’t even think about sitting on grass.

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

“We know how to solve that problem,” Marv said with a snicker, reaching to his waist. In a flash, he stepped out of his shoes, kicked off his half socks, and was pulling his pants from his legs. “D’you need some help?” he asked as he straightened up.

She gasped.

“What? Never seen a man in a thong before?” Marv quipped smartly.

“Ombers, Marv. Húi…” He was wearing something she never knew existed.

“I’ve been wearing this kind of thing since eighty-five,” he said as he turned full around. His package hung sheathed in a pouch of wine-red fabric, just begging to be fondled. The bare buns of his bottom flexed an entreaty for her caress, divided by the strap that disappeared between his legs to secure the pouch holding his verga and ’jónes in such grandeur.

“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.”

Regaining a semblance of composure, she worked on the buttons at her waist. She steadied herself on Marv’s arm while she slipped the legs of her pants over her sandals. It didn’t occur to her until she was carefully folding her pants that she hadn’t felt any trepidation about removing them, and now, standing in her blouse and panties, she marveled at how comfortable she was in this state of partial undress. They could be surprised at any time.

I hardly know this man! Well, he has seen it all.

Marv wheeled to sit against the trunk of the tree and opened his arms to her. She lifted the hem of her blouse and ducked down to sit next to him.

The thick grass was crinkly on her bottom, tickly on her legs. She lifted herself and scooted back to lean against his chest. The warm air under the tree lay heavy with the musky scent of nature mixed with the sweet notes of the magnolia.

After a moment, she sensed his hand moving at her side.

Am I ready?

Her journey of reawakening had taken an unexpected turn. Was it careening out of control, or was the path simply one she had not considered? To continue meant she had to trust—her instincts, her preparations, and Marv. To turn back meant she had to stand up right now and give up knowing what was to discover around the next bend.

I want to know.

She lifted her arms, reaching toward the sky to become part of the beauty around her.

To discover.

The soft fabric of her bra and blouse smoothed the texture of his hand, wandering upward. His touch felt uncontrived, honest, vital.

Oh, yes!

He curved his fingers to caress her through the fabric, seemingly absent-minded about his endeavors, his one hand joined now by the other, his breath at her ear, slow and deep, raising the hair on her neck.

She closed her eyes, her nipples vibrant with delight. “Do you think we’re all alone out here?” she asked, looking toward the cliff above the cove, her view broken by the foliage. There were no living souls she could see except the birds flying over the water. And Marv. She was protected.

“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,” She rolled her eyes as she released the last buttons holding her blouse. She leaned forward against his hands until he got the hint and lifted the blouse from her shoulders. When she didn’t lean back against him, he unhooked her bra and helped slip it from her arms.

Ah, sweet freedom, she thought, her breasts easing into their natural contour. The freedom on her mind was that of an explorer about to set foot into a vast new territory, uncharted, maybe untamed, holding boundless promise. Or disaster? Not around this corner, I hope.

She leaned over to lie on the grass, cool against her back, her hands a cushion for her head. Marv’s eyes drifted over her form, a pensive look on his face. In a burst of motion, he swiveled around and got to his feet. From the waist up, fractured pieces of him showed through the leaves and flowers of the tree. From the waist down, he was presented in pristine wholeness, making it obvious his thong was no longer able to contain the passion growing between his legs.

Even though there must have been some urgency to free himself, he slowly unfastened the buttons of his shirt. He shrugged it off, let it drop to the ground. Only then did he reach in and set himself free before sliding his hands along his hips, slipping his thong down and off.

When he stood, his instrument of pleasure lifted strong, befitting the wealth in his purse suspended below. She inhaled deeply, her eyes growing wide to take in the sight.

The verga and ’jónes of a god.

She lifted to her elbows to see better. The head of him was purple, swept back toward the ridge as if moving fast. His shaft looked cut from stone; the veins distended like vines around an ancient column. Did it hurt to be so engorged? He didn’t seem to mind in the least.

Marv wrapped one hand around his shaft. He seemed proud of his equipage. Her lips curved in a smirk at the display of his manly vanity. Honestly, though, it was something to be proud of.

Dropping to his knees at the side of her legs, his gaze locked with hers. He spread his hand high on her belly. His brow arched.

Oh sí! Oh sí! Oh sí!

His hand floated downward, slowly, his fingertips gliding over her skin, jumping the band of her panties, flowing like warm chocolate over the silky fabric. She tipped her head back and moaned, lifting her mons to his caress.

Like flame to the tinder of her passion, his touch set a fire alight in her depths. She lay back and opened her legs. His fingers caressed her lips on one side, then the other, crossing over at the ripple of her clit. He ran his fingers through the valley, massaging the soft tissues on the way to her entrance, pressing on the hollow with the pad of his finger.

Her senses lost focus, immersed in the sweet, lemony scent of the magnolia, dappled by golden sunlight sparkling through the waving flowers. Her body was vibrant with anticipation, her womanhood tensing and releasing with a rhythm of its own.

His fingernails scratched sparks as he grasped the side bands of her panties. He loosed them from their mooring and tracing the curve of her hips, he slipped them free.

She shimmered with desire, wanting, needing, seeking to be filled with the pleasure of sharing her body with this man…

From a dark corner of her psyche, decades-old social conditioning issued a warning—That’s all he wants from you. What are you getting?

She opened her eyes.

His touch was gentle. His expression caring. The pleasures real. That’s enough. Offering herself to the pleasures of sensuality and delight, she released her defenses and lifted her bottom as Marv eased the thin band from her cleft.

His fingers danced her thong down her legs and over her shoes. He tossed it onto her blouse, then lifted one foot in his hands, unbuckled her sandal, and removed it. He did the same with the other. This time, he opened his mouth and, placed her big toe between his lips… and bit it.

Oh… fuck! That had never happened before. The shock of it shot up her leg and burst like fireworks in her pussy. He caressed her foot, massaging the arch with his thumbs, all the while holding her toe with his teeth, watching her reaction. When he lowered her foot to lift the other, she could no longer hold his gaze. She tipped her head back and sighed, her body melting into a pool of molten lust.

Marv continued his discourse with her legs, addressing each with the finesse of one who knows this craft, awakening a craving that engulfed her, a feeling she had not known for many years. The intensity of it made her shiver.

As he moved his attention higher, she lifted to him, anticipating his touch on her there… It did not come. His hands left her, and she fell back to earth.

What does he want? Her eyes flew open, ready to pierce him with her ire. She was offering herself to him. He didn’t take her. Is he playing with me?

“Here,” he said, rolling to his back beside her. “Use me for a cushion. I want to play with your lovely ass for a minute.”

A thrill ran through her, whether from the brazen nature of his instruction or the sensual implications, she didn’t know. The sting of her pique vanished as he opened his arms to her.

What does he have in mind?

She moved seductively to lay on him, sweeping her nipples across his chest before nestling her breasts into the frizzle of hair. She burrowed her face into the crook of his neck and inhaled the scent of his body, fresh and civilized, mingled with that of the earth, primal, untamed.

Her legs naturally parted to either side of his. As she relaxed onto him, the head of his verga teased at the cleft of her vulva. The touch of him tempted her to slide downward. To take him. Yet she resisted, to do as he bid, to share this physical communion, to inspire their erotic connection, to let him savor the pleasure of touching her as she did being touched.

He is playing with me! The fire of her desire cooled to smoldering coals, allowing her to savor Marv’s touch more deeply. She could easily rouse her fire, so for now, she would float in his sea of sensual delights.

His hands were strong, not rough; he worked with his mind. His fingers wandered over her back, stopping behind her heart to hold her close, molding her to his body, moving her in dreamy undulations. He moaned a low note as his hands descended to squeeze the cheeks of her bottom and slip through her cleft, dallying at her entrance and flirting with the rosette of her anus.

Buoyed on the sea of Marv, the waves of his breathing lifted her up and eased her down. The temptation returned to slide down, to be done with it, to have him in her. Before she could act, he grasped her cheeks with both hands, pulling her upward.

His fingertips tickled the reticent dimple of her anus. It tightened reflexively. She willed it to relax, stirring unfamiliar pleasures. He massaged her whole bottom in bold motions until her body drifted weightless.

Each time he reached down, the muscles of his chest tightened under her breasts, soft against his strength. He pulled her higher, his hands positioned to spread her thighs. His fingers slipped down to fondle her pussy lips and the folds shrouding her clit.

Oh… that’s delicious. His touch swept the moisture through her valley, leaving the luster of a chill, assurance she would be wet enough to take him.

The craving engulfed her.

This can’t go on.

She placed her hands on either side of his shoulders to lift herself into a sensual asana.

My turn to play!

She locked her eyes on his as she pulled her legs into a cowgirl pose.

My celebration.

Marv looked surprised, confused. She set her jaw as if to speak, to ensnare his thoughts while she held his gaze. Curling to receive him, she pushed back until she felt the kiss of his manhood at her entrance.

Time stopped. She held herself suspended on the edge of desire, her body screaming to receive the physical passion ready at her pussy, her mind reeling to trace the course of her life that had brought her to this juncture.

For nearly forty years, she had experienced the passion of only one man. Long ago, she had stopped wondering what it might be like to have another. For three years, she had been without entirely, her body weaned by force, then revived with the awakening of her inner sexy. Yet her passion was solitary, her pleasure of her own creation.

Now, I’ll take the first step of a new journey with this man.

Wednesday 14:19

 

Sylvan closed her eyes to focus on the sensations and was swept to another reality.

The memories of Harold held in the fibers of her body flooded over her—the way he moved, steady and strong, the way he smelled of dark leather and dust of the earth, the low growl of his lust.

A maelstrom of emotions and images threatened to inundate her spirit, to drown her in a torrent of grief and regret.

All past! That journey ended!

With a great breath, she opened her mind to the light and clawed her way back to the present, to the feelings real and vibrant.

Hopefully, Marv would see the wild look as her ecstasy and not her fear.

Focusing every particle of her being on the act, she unleashed the fire of her desire and pushed back onto him, her vulva slipping over his tangle of curly hair, her clit taut with anticipation.

The head of him opened her, stretching her with a subtle ache. She moved slowly, the boundaries between their bodies dissolving. His manhood caressed her vag, his head seeking her grotto, leaving ripples of pleasure as he passed.

How much more?

The girth of his shaft chafed her.

She lifted to spread her moisture, then eased him deeper, savoring each bit of him moving in her.

As he filled her, his expression smoothed from surprise to pleasure, the arc of a smile creasing his lips.

So much!

Her motion stopped, her body wedged between his verga and his mons. She held him fixed beneath her, yet he quickened within her, now larger, now deeper, now pulsing, now receding, his manhood engaging an intimate choreography with her body, his eyes dancing with her suspended breasts.

Walking her hands down his chest, she sat, resting her weight full on Marv. His passion stood firm and strong, his desire clear and present, an anchor in a whirlpool of sensations.

She thought she might burst with joy as his eyes found hers, his face lighting up to share his delight. His hands flowed through the dip of her waist to lift her breasts, kneading and caressing. He tweaked her nipples into bursting buds, traced glowing rings around her areolas.

She closed her eyes in homage to the pleasures of sex and sensuality, silent lauds for this man between her thighs, his hands upon her, his ’jónes snuggled in the cleft of her bottom, his verga filling her—each morsel of touch between their bodies a way to relish the truth of his maleness.

Clasping her hands behind her head, she began a loping rhythm, rubbing her clit on the pillion of his mons, rocking like she was the one with a penis boldly fucking some beauty.

Riding a slow horse, she added motion up and down until the whole seductive length of him was running through her womanhood. In careful time, she squeezed powerful Kegels, gripping his shaft in the fist of her vag, making the head of him more distinct, his shaft more rigid, as if carved from unyielding stone, a phallic monument to their shared passion.

A new sensation rose within her—intrepid, unfettered, venturous—a Valkyrie of lust.

For a year, she had worked to rediscover sensual pleasure through her own touch. Emancipated from the old way of sexual pleasure, to accept what was given to her, she had reached deep to connect with her erotic self. She had learned to define for herself the nature and course of her desire.

Grasping Marv’s wrists, she pinned his arms to the ground. A shake of her head stopped him when he tried to wriggle free.

I’m in control.

She sat up, opening her arms to embrace the beauty all around her, lifting her face ’til the blossoms of the magnolia filled her view, their perfume magnifying the sensations within her, making them sharper, brighter. Sunlight dripping through the branches circled her in a dappled halo of dancing light, glowing with the aura of her passion.

She renewed her pace; her movements now broader, more sinuous, riding deep in the saddle on his verga, grinding forth and back, massaging her clit on his mons, stretching herself on his shaft, grasping him in her vag.

My celebration.

Marv’s eyes grew wide, and he began to squirm, his face red. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. He would be coming fast and hard.

She suspended him at the precipice of release, drawing out the sensual torment. Marv’s eyes turned glassy, teeth clenched, legs rigid, belly tight. He was ready. She bounced on him two times, then she lifted away.

On the cusp of expectation, she said, “Let go now,” and dropped herself onto him.

Marv exploded.

He arched his back, lifting her transfixed upon his verga. Surge after surge wracked his body as he emptied his passion into her, each thrust punctuated with a feral grunt, each burst drawn from him with a powerful Kegel.

In time, his motion slowed and stopped. Drained and sated, he lay there like a rag doll, his breathing deep and slow.

His abundance still filling her, she carried her weight on her knees, studying the character of his maleness, the silvered hair on his chest a playground for her fingers, his muscles firm with strength that lifted her, his scent musky from his exertion, with a note of sweet, like the magnolia. All this a fitting complement to the gentlemanly manner she already knew.

That is one well-fucked man. She grinned, proud of what she had done to him.

But where had she found the audacity to have sex with some man she had known for only a few hours? She shivered from the thought. And only to feel him come!

Everything is different now!

After her reawakening, she defined her existence in a different way, by what she was, not by what she did.

No longer did she see herself as a wife, now a widow, or an architect. Instead, she was a sensual, sexual being with a good sense for design and the visualization of things. She was a whole person who found joy in doing what she was good at. She didn’t need to be someone’s wife to be fulfilled. She didn’t need to be an architect. Someday, she might do something different, maybe write.

When Harold died, much of her had died as well. Now, here she was, her life renewed, a different person—maybe a better person—but she’d never had the opportunity to share this self with Harold.

A pang of guilt shot through her. For a moment, she wondered if he had to die so she could be here.

No! I’m here because I chose to overcome that tragedy.

Marv began to rouse, bringing her mind back to this man. He stretched his frame. The ground was unforgiving, and he had been ridden hard.

“Wow, lady,” he said hoarsely, opening his eyes, his hands loose at her waist. She lifted herself to release him and climbed off her stud. Wiping bits of grass and dirt from her knees, she rolled to his side. She propped her head on her hand to better see the whole of him in one glorious view.

“Did you like that, or what?” she asked with a chuckle. Marv shoved his hands under his head.

“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 placed her hand on his chest. “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,” Marv said, stretching a piteous look over his face.

“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.”

“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.”

Marv’s verga had returned to normal, at least what she imagined to be normal, since she had seen him exclusively in some state of arousal. His head would probably be too sensitive to touch. She reached down to gently cradle his ’jónes.

He smiled a delightful little-boy grin. “With attention like that, the boys will be ready for more adventure in no time.” As he chuckled, a grimace crossed his face. He rolled his body from side to side, stretching out full with a low groan.

She was feeling achy as well. Even though she had worked to renew her womanhood, and thought herself quite successful, she also knew all the preparation in the world was not the real thing.

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

You are no mere mortal.

“Homage to the gods of passion and desire.” She sighed and studied his face. “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.

At least for today…

Marv bounded up with an unexpected grace. She grasped the hand held out to her, and he pulled her to her feet. He didn’t let go. Stepping close, he guided her hand to his neck, lifting her, wrapping his arms around her. He closed his eyes and parted his lips to kiss her.

Shit, we haven’t even kissed!

That realization shook her more than the temerity of their act of love! We’ve only known each other for seven hours.

Marv’s lips were moist and soft as they met hers, his body cool and firm. His tongue caressed her lips, searching between them for her tongue, his full attention on this sensual conversation, consuming her.

She returned Marv’s kiss with the kind of passion he had roused in her earlier, powerful and unambiguous, compelling and visceral. She tipped her mons into his groin, rubbing the delta of her muff against his verga.

He held her with one hand at the small of her back, the other behind her heart. His hands moved her body like dancing in place, the hair on his chest crunchy on her nipples, the curls around his manhood impressed upon her belly. She experienced anew the assurance of a man’s arms around her.

Time slowed as the pleasure of his lips and the comfort of his embrace saturating her being. Their kiss waned, their lips parted. She looked into his eyes.

What is he feeling? More than passion? More than pleasure?

Did she feel more? Did she need more?

It doesn’t matter! This is just a fling.

Her feelings were running to catch up with what had just happened.

He released her and she flowed through his hands, returning to earth, caressing a path downward, her hand forming a path through the tangle of silvering hair on his chest.

Someone helped to grow this. Am I another conquest?

“Sylvan, oh, Sylvan,” Marv said in a husky voice. “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 his little-boy grin. “I’m pretty much what-you-see-is-what-you-get, literally, y’know?” he said, tipping his hands toward her.

Could this be more than a fling for him? Did it matter? Maybe he could be her first conquest.

I don’t need a man.

Maybe if she told herself that enough, it would feel like the truth.

She placed her hand full on his chest. “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 for thought. “I guess a good fuck every now and then, que no?” she added as a lusty smile curved her lips to reflect the glint in Marv’s eyes.

“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,” she said as she looked into his eyes, running her finger along the length of his shaft.

Turning her bottom toward Marv, she bent deeply to brush herself off. When she peeked, he was staring, completely absorbed. She retrieved her panties and pulled them on, carefully fitting them into place. She picked up her pants and reached out for a steadying hand.

Marv’s mind had taken a little vacation. He gave a start before offering his arm. She slipped into her pants without mishap, then stepped into her sandals. Bending deeply one more time, she picked up her bra, handed it to Marv, and turned her back.

A bra is different than a bikini top. He figured it out quickly enough and reached around for her to put her arms into it. He carefully snugged the band and fitted the hooks, sliding his fingers under the straps to smooth them, tugging it down at the sides. He did the scoopy thing, reaching across to one side, then the other, his breath and body now an anticipated pleasure.

She was quite surprised he knew how to put a bra on a woman.

One of many surprises, she surmised as his hands swept through the curve of her waist.

He picked up her blouse and held it for her. She fastened only a couple of buttons, leaving the collar to fall away, revealing her breasts sheathed with a lacy edge.

It was her turn to stare as he pulled on his clothes, contemplating the fluid motion of his body, the way the fabric flowed over his muscles. His pants were a tropic-weight cotton, light and airy. Because she now knew what to look for, it was easy to tell there was nothing under there to cover the cheeks of his bottom. He buttoned his shirt and grinned.

They walked arm-in-arm toward the car. “Wait here,” she said, and ran ahead to get her phone from her bag. Turning, she framed a picture to include Marv, the tree, the grassy patch, and the water. He smiled, casually stuffing his hands in his pockets, thumbs out. The perfect picture of a man. She showed him the image, then handed the phone to him, slipping her arm under his to hold him close. “Selfie, please.” The phone was awkward in his grip and tilted when he touched the button, yet it perfectly captured their wondrous smiles. “Thank you. I want to remember this place and time. Our bower for loving with the baldachin of the magnolia over it.”

He held her close. “What d’you do for a living? 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 turned with an inquisitive look and leaned against the car.

“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.”

Marv slowly nodded his head with a soft smile. “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 Cristo Mountains to the east.” She set the scene for Marv with a sweep of her arm across the sky.

Marv had a pensive look. “O’Keefe. 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.”

She held on as the roller coaster of emotion swept her along.

Marv studied her intently, bringing her gently to a stop. “That explains a lot. And I look forward to learning more,” he said as he opened the door. He helped her get in. After folding himself in behind the wheel, they crawled their way up the dirt track, then turned back toward town on the one road.