It was the 1970s. I was a young bachelor living in a small Midwestern city, beginning my career as a writer. I bought a modest home on the edge of town. The house next door was a rental property that changed renters every year, it seemed.
The latest occupants were a quiet couple. He was older and struck me as kind of a dour and unhappy guy. His wife was younger than he, 33, I came to find out. When I would see her outside she was always dressed very modestly – plain colors, skirts below the knee, modest tops, “practical” shoes. Her long brown hair was worn pulled back with a barrette or a hair band.
I don’t want to sound unkind, but she really wasn’t very pretty. Her figure was hidden under her modest clothes, she wore no make-up – not even lipstick – and she wore the expression of someone who had lived a hard life. We would say “Hello” and exchange casual greetings across the yard, but we hadn’t had occasion to get acquainted.
That changed the day I came home from work and found a package on my porch that had been delivered to the wrong house. I carried it over next door and left it on the porch, then went home and fixed dinner, thinking nothing more about it.
The next day I had no sooner walked into the house after work than there was a knock on the door. The neighbor lady had a plate of fresh-baked cookies for me, a thank you for delivering the package. She had seen me through the window. “I was disappointed when you didn’t knock,” she said. “You looked so handsome in your suit.”
This was the first time I had looked at her up close. She was more attractive than I had thought. And it looked like she had made an extra effort to look nice – she had fixed up her hair a little and wore lipstick – albeit a subdued color. I guessed she was about 35, 10 years older than I was (I was close). I thanked her for the cookies, but didn’t invite her in; we stood on the porch and talked. She pressed a piece of paper into my hand with her name – Arleen Burke – and their phone number “in case of emergency or something,” she said. I reciprocated with my name and number. She hesitated for a moment, as if she had something else to say, then turned and headed back home.
It had seemed like a strange conversation, but the cookies were good. I liked to do a little baking myself, so the next time I made bread I did an extra loaf for her, and took it over, returning her plate. This time I knocked on the door, and she opened it right away. I gave her the bread, she thanked me, and I saw her husband frowning a little from the hallway behind her.
Then it began. I would come home to find cheerful notes stuck in my door. “Hope you had a good day at work,” one day. Another day, “I really liked the tie you wore yesterday.” It seemed almost creepy, but the notes were innocuous and friendly, so I shrugged it off.
My next day off work the phone rang about 2 o’clock in the afternoon. It was Arleen. She asked if she could come over, she had baked more cookies. I had been mowing the lawn, and she must have seen me walk back into the house. “Of course,” I said. “I like cookies.”
She was at my door in a flash, and this time I invited her in. She gave me the plate of cookies and asked if I had a minute to talk. “Sure,” I said, and gestured toward a living room chair. I apologized for being all hot and sweaty from mowing the lawn, but she dismissed it saying she had watched me. I sat across from her. She had come in carrying a small tote bag, which she set next to her chair.
“My husband is at church, so I wanted to take a chance and talk to you,” she began, blushing a little. “This is very hard for me, but I am desperate, and hope you can help me.” She was wringing her hands. I told her I would help if I could.
“This is my second marriage,” she explained. “I married my first husband right out of high school. It was a mistake. My father was abusive, and I just needed to get out of that house. My husband was immature, couldn’t hold a job, liked to drink, and was unreliable. I think he actually did love me, but before we could settle into a mature relationship he was arrested for a string of burglaries, and went to prison. I was left alone with nothing. I couldn’t move back to my parents’ house, I had only just escaped from there.
“I wound up in a homeless shelter run by a church. The people were very nice, and tried to help me find some self respect. One of the volunteers was an older man who paid me some special attention. It was Jacob, my husband. He was kind, in a quiet way, and after a time he asked me to marry him. He was alone, lonely, and needed someone to cook and clean and look after him. He made pretty clear that it would be what you might call a marriage of convenience – I would look after him and the house and he would give me security. He helped me get a lawyer and a divorce. We got married the next week.”
She paused for a moment and looked at me to see if I was with her in her story. I was a little puzzled about why she was telling me all this, but tried to appear interested and concerned.
She went on, “Jacob has kept his word, and I have kept mine. We don’t have much, but he is reliable and he provides. I have been a faithful wife to him for 15 years – but there’s something missing. I’ve done without it for so long, and I’m going crazy.” What had been a slight blush as she told her story deepened to flushed cheeks. “Jacob is a very religious man, and reads the Bible every day – it’s the only thing he reads. He believes that sex is only for the purpose of procreation, and any sex act not directed at making a baby is a sin. And he doesn’t want to have children, he’s too old, he says.
“Bottom line, I haven’t had physical intimacy with a man since my first marriage, and I need it. I need to have sex. I respect my husband’s religious beliefs, but I can’t go on without some release – physical relief. You seem like a kind and generous young man. I’m hoping that you will help me out by taking me to your bed.”
Wow. This was a lot to digest. It wasn’t actually the first time I’d been propositioned – that had been a couple of years before, shortly after I’d arrived in town and one of the local girls had wanted to “try out the new guy.”
But this was the first time I’d been approached by an older woman, and a married one at that. And one living next door with her husband. I needed to stall.
“What about you – how does this fit in your religious beliefs?” I asked.
“Well, I was raised in a household that was not religious, and I was in the shelter where I met my husband for food and a roof, not out of faith,” she said. “I respect that my husband’s faith gives him comfort and grounding, but I don’t necessarily share it, and he doesn’t force it on me. I figure that God, if there is one, would not have made sex pleasurable if he didn’t want his children to do it. So Jacob and I part company there. I’ve lived by his rule for 15 years, and I’ve decided that’s long enough.”
It dawned on me that in her awkward and timid way, Arleen had been grooming me ever since the day with the package – watching me through the window – the gifts, the notes, the compliments. I also realized it wasn’t because I was so special, it was because I have a cock.
“Arleen, I don’t want to get in the middle of somebody’s marriage,” I answered slowly, and as gently as I could. “It would go against my beliefs to cause a couple to break up.”
She was ready with an answer. “You are thinking of it wrong. If I can’t get some release, it will force me to end the marriage. I could get an annulment for failure to consummate. But I don’t want to do that. Except for the sex, I am satisfied with the arrangement Jacob and I have. If I can just get laid once in a while, I’ll be a contented wife. That’s what I need from you.”
She stood. “Can you please just hug me right now? I need a man’s touch.” I stood and walked to her. I took her in my arms and held her. Her body melted into mine. For a moment I thought her knees would give way. I realized she was crying, softly. “Please, Patrick, you seem like a nice guy. Please take me to bed and have sex with me. I will do anything. Just have me.”
I broke our embrace, looked her in the eye, and kissed her. It was a gentle, caring kiss. Then I took her hand and led her to the bedroom. She began to unbutton her blouse and I said, “Let me do that. I slowly undid all the buttons, pulled the shirt out of her waistband, and slid it off her shoulders. She reached over and tugged my t-shirt over my head. I reached down and around and unfastened the button on the back her skirt and slowly slid down the zipper. She pulled down the skirt and stepped out of it, revealing very unsexy Kmart bra and panties. She unfastened my shorts and pulled them down, along with my briefs, exposing my “package.” I was standing proud. She reached back and undid her bra, slipping it off as she pulled down her panties and stepped out of them.
We stood back and looked at each other for the first time. I was young and fit and trim, six feet tall and 180 pounds. I’m not hung like a monster, but my cock is big enough to do the job. And at that moment after just coming in from doing yard work, I must have been smelling very manly indeed. Once out of her dowdy clothes, Arleen had a very nice womanly figure. She started to go to her knees, looking up at my eyes. I stopped her and helped her back up. “You don’t have to do that this time,” I said. “Let’s keep it simple.”
With that I laid her back on the bed, lay down beside her, and we put our arms around each other and kissed. Our hands explored each other’s bodies. She moaned when I touched her breast and stroked her nipple. She reached down and grasped my mighty tool. Then, with a couple of moves that belied her years of enforced abstinence, and saying “I can’t wait any longer,” she slid her body under mine and guided my cock into her eager pussy.
“Ohhhh, aahhhh, yesss,” she moaned as I began to move inside her. “Oh, Patrick!”
I didn’t know if I should take it slow and gentle to ease her into sex after so many years, or if I should go right after it and get her off, relieving the yearning that had tortured her so long. As it turned out, I didn’t have to decide. She began humping and bucking and working me like the old town pump. It was all I could do to keep up with her. I was determined to hold off myself until after she had an orgasm – imagine waiting 15 years and then discovering you’d seduced Quick-Draw McGraw! But one thought led to another. I wasn’t using a condom.
I paused the action. “Arleen, what if you get pregnant? Are you ‘okay’ that way?”
“It’s okay,” she said. “When I targeted you I went to the doctor and got on the pill. Jacob doesn’t need to know.”
Thus reassured, I went right back at it, and soon we both were rewarded as her eyes rolled back into her head, her legs tightened around my back, her chin dug into my neck, and she rolled through an all-consuming orgasm. Her head began to rock back and forth and her wetness soaked us both. I came soon after, and we collapsed together in a heap.
When she caught her breath she began to mumble, “Thank you, thank you, oh god thank you.” She raised her head and kissed me. “You have no idea what this has meant to me,” she said. “When I first spotted you I knew you would be the one to take my virginity for the second time. And you were perfect. So kind, so gentle, so energetic.”
With that she looked at the clock. “I have an hour before Jacob will be home. Why don’t we take a shower together. Then if you have clean sheets I’ll change the bed. I want to be a good guest so you will want me back.”
So I got out some clean towels and we got into the shower together. She had brought along her own soap and shampoo in that tote bag so she would smell right when her husband got home. After we carefully bathed each other she got down on her knees and took me in her mouth.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“It’s okay, my husband is the repressed one, not me,” she said. “Remember, I used to be married to a ruffian. There isn’t anything I haven’t done.” With that she gave me an expert blow job. I came in her mouth and she swallowed.
We rinsed off, dried each other, went back to the bedroom and got dressed.
“When can we do this again?” she asked. “Jacob works second shift, and he volunteers at the shelter every other afternoon.”
I thought for a minute and we made a date for the following Tuesday after work.
“I need to change the sheets,” she said. “Why don’t you put those cookies in another dish and I’ll take my plate back.” I showed her the linen closet and by golly she made my bed.
Once done, she left with her plate and her tote bag. Over time I would come to appreciate just what a practical woman she was.