Phyllis: A short story.

[Mature Romance]
Phyllis

She introduced herself as Ms. Parks to the class, but I already knew her as Phyllis.  Phyllis lived with her parents who the summer before had moved into the apartment next door to my estranged father.  That was the very same summer in which my beloved mother favored my sister to travel around the country with her, my mother being a school teacher herself.  Phyllis completed her teaching internship my senior year of high school, graduating to full-fledged teacher as I graduated into becoming a full-fledged college student. Within six months of my graduation from high school, my parents buried the proverbial hatchet which allowed my emasculated father to move back in with mom and sis.  But moving away and having my nose buried in books (most of the time!) I lost contact with Phyllis as there were plenty of college girls to eclipse the infatuation that had filled me with lust and love for the long haired, big breasted teacher to be.

That was more than thirty years ago.  I had attended my first two high school reunions, ten and twenty year, but had skipped the last, tired of the arrogant cliques that still remained despite the years.  There were two people I had always hoped to see again, Margret Olroyd and one Ms. Phyllis Parks.  At the last reunion, I was sadly informed of Peggy’s passing, succumbing to cancer.  I was only comforted by the additional news that it had only been two months from discovery to death.  However that alone had pretty much put the final nail in the coffin as for me attending any further high school reunions.  I guess Peggy’s death became the precipitous event that led me to finally accept the truth —there are no such things as a way-back machine.

And so it went until finally, I retired from the working world.  Unlike my parents, my own wife had made our trial separation permanent.  Our daughter and son had since married, each inconveniently moving to opposite ends of the country —daughter living in Boston while my son headed to Phoenix with his mother.  Thus I found myself stuck in the flat lands of the Midwest alone.

Retirement is an interesting phenomena.  Viewed for years as something of an idealistic panacea, its benefits hadn’t taken long to wane.  Oh, for sure I enjoyed not having to get up every morning to shoulder the drudge of another day at the office.  I certainly enjoyed having a house to myself after all the years of raising a family and two years of a divorced, out of work sister who finally found her white knight and rode off with him into the blessed sunset.  But having the house to oneself meant doing all the things that were once shared -meals, dishes, laundry and house cleaning, not to mention the yard which the ex had filled with ubiquitous gardens.  i.e. weeds to pull, shrubs to trim and train, flowers to divide and care for.  Yes, I stayed busy all the while seemingly accomplishing little with my new life of leisure.

There I was, languishing in leisure as summer put forth its final heat wave of the season, when an old friend encouraged me to volunteer at one of the local schools to read once or twice a week to children struggling with their words.  Eventually he persuaded me to sign up. So in mid August I found myself doing just that.  The young principle, cut just the summer before from his final pro league team, hired me Johnie on the spot.  An interesting young man of whom I would later find out that all the young teachers had nicknamed Clark Kent because of his chiseled face and heavy black framed glasses.
 
It was a rather large grade school.  Times were tough forcing the district to consolidate three schools into one.  I was glad that my schedule only called me in twice a week as the noise of youth was rapidly fraying the last few nerves left to me.  Women seem to fair better than men in either ignoring it all or just absorbing it all in a motherly fashion.  I suppose that was why of all the retirees volunteering at the school, only women chose to drive school buses —those reverberating yellow metal coffins of screaming mayhem. God help us all!

Basically this was how the school year passed and largely without incident.  I met many new people.  I even made a few new friends; had a parent or two try to set me up to meet either their single mother or grandmother.  God, was I getting that old?  ‘Thanks, but no’ I kindly declined though I wished for a companion to add a little noise to house every now and then.  And I suppose that would have been the end of it if not for the long haired woman who stopped in at the school office to pick up an ailing grandchild as I myself was signing out to leave for home.

Sometimes you know them for who they were almost immediately. Other times, even when introduced, you never really quite place the old with the new.  In this case, there was something in the way she moved, something in the way she placed her one hand on her hip while the other signed out poor little sick boy, Ricky Taylor.  The glossy brunette hair had now turned gray, losing much of its velvety sheen.  But it wasn’t dry or thinning as some of the women’s hair seemed to do after years of bleaching and coloring.  I was taller than her now.  She was still relatively as thin as she had been.  On the other hand, I had put on a few pounds directly below the expanding barrel chest.  She wore glasses while I sported newly laser corrected retinas.  Amazingly, she still seemed as gay and alive with energy as I remembered her thirty years prior.

“Oh poor boy,” I heard her comfort the ailing child as she turned toward the door of which I continued to open to both.

“See you Monday,” I called back to Renee at the office desk, smiling back at me as always, waving as I stepped out into a beautiful cloudless day.  Oh if only Renee were single!

I followed the woman and child out to their car parked inappropriately in the reserved ‘Staff ONLY’ parking lot.  It was one of those new German SUV’s with automated this and automated that.  Someone had money to burn!  

“You take care Ricky,” I called out as the woman closed his door before walking to the back of the vehicle as its rear hatch closed all on its own.

“Forgive me,” I asked as I tilted my head to one side, summoning the gray haired woman’s attention, “but have we met?  I don’t mean to be rude but there’s just something in the way you were standing at the desk, signing Ricky out that brought back a long forgotten memory.”  Careful, boy, I warned myself.  Mustn’t be too free with age related recognitions.

Standing upright in perfect feminine posture, the woman turned and looked at me full in the face.  Searching every movement, I could not divine her thoughts.

“Well, I don’t know.  Are you from around here?” bright eyes inquired without any sense of resentment of being bothered by the questioning.

“I grew up here, graduated from high school but moved away until just a few years ago when, after my parents had died, I moved back into their house.”

“What year did you graduate?” she asked.

“Sixty-seven,” I answered, almost ashamed at the antiquity of it.

“Really!  That was the year I interned at the old high school that burnt down.  What class were you in?”

“Yours. . . . Phyllis?”  I asked leaning toward her, cocking my head slightly seeking affirmation.
Call it what you will, but there is something I find strangely enjoyable when I have someone lost for an answer.  The licking of her glossy red lips, the quick twinge of nose and slight raising of her glasses begged me to reveal myself.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I. . . .”  People sometimes form sentences which are left unfinished with the express purpose in extruding information lost to them.

“Don’t recognize me?  That’s okay.  It has been a long time and I suppose I’ve put on a few misplaced pounds and then there is this,” I said pointing to my well-groomed white goatee.  “I suppose I could tease you and tell you were I sat and in which class.  Or I remind you about the time when a certain young boy got caught flashing a Playboy centerfold while you were up at the board with your back to us as Mrs. Ryan just happened to look in through door window checking up on how you were doing.”
I watched as the woman raised a hand to her mouth, drawing a deep breath as she cried in her sing-song way!  “Oh my God!  Yes, I remember that.  Are you Brian? Ummm, give me a second. Brian Biggins?”

I suppose I had it coming.  I had teased her memory instead of just being mature and up front with who I was.  Brian Biggins had been a fat little turd who, now looking back on it, had always been strangely popular.  Ever and always, he was quick with a joke or some witty sarcasm that often had even the teachers smiling at him.  Unlike myself, he had gone on to become a prominent local land developer who’s wealth had made him arrogant and totally suspect of even his best of friends.
Just smiling to her, holding out my hand, I finally confessed laughing, “No, not so fortunate.  Ron.  Ron. . .”

“Ronnie!  Ronnie Kucera!  Oh my God!” she screamed again in apparent delight.  “How are you?  Do you teach here?  What have you been up to?”

“Oh I’m retired” I confessed, shaking my head no.  “No, no.  I just come here a couple of times a week to read to kids who are struggling with their words.  And you?  You still live around here?”  I asked, greatly desiring a miraculous healing of little Ricky so I could scoot him off back into the school and have this lively woman all to myself.

With a sad face she answered me, “No, I’m just here visiting my daughter and her husband.  I live down in Florida.  My husband and I retired down there.”

“You’re married?”  I asked trying desperately not to let on my disappointment.

“I was.  David died last year when a drunk teenager ran his car up over the curb and into the table where David and I were eating.  I never even got knocked off my chair but David….”
I watched as the brightness in her face was eclipsed by the memory of her loss.  

“I’m sorry.  I truly am.  I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Ron, it was good seeing you but I suppose I should be getting Rickie home and in bed.  Is there a way I can get in touch with you? Are you married?”

“Not any more!” I confessed with an inappropriate smile.  “Here, let me give you my cell number.  I don’t have a home phone any more. If you’re free, I’d love to take you to lunch sometime, or better yet, a night out up in the big city?”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I had driven home as giddy as a high school boy knowing his choice of femme fatale had accepted his offer to escort her to the prom. These sorts of things only ever happened in the movies, or at least to other people, never me. And Phyllis looked great. Why had I stopped my regiment of exercise and diet after the wife left? Genetics had still kept me in the game but athletic was now only looking average. Still, on those rare occasions where I actually bothered to look at myself in the mirror, I turned away from the thought that all the good days were just about over.

Would she call or had she merely been polite? And here it was, Friday night. Would I have to struggle through another weekend alone or would the gods favor me and allow me just one more opportunity to enter the dance?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I had finally given up and run out to get something to eat before returning to the house for another brain numbing night in front of the fifty-inch flat screen. After both wife and sister had finally vacated the premises, for a brief expanse of time I allowed wicked women into the house to dance for me on that very same stage. But all were either too young or took their clothes off too fast. They also neglected appreciating the art of arousal via breast lust. Rather it was one second strolling around the house, the next fucking wildly in anything but a realistic, identifiable way. Was I so strange to want some semblance of normalcy?

And so there I sat till I could take it no longer, turning it all off before rising to stand in front of the window, looking out on the world as it passed me by. The mini mall across the street was a hive of activity between the best BBQ in seven counties, a carry out only pizza hole-in-the-wall and a most convenient discount liquor store. But my driveway was dark and empty. ‘How did one go about rekindling the fire?’ I pondered.

As I was about to turn out the lights and retire to the back bedroom only to turn on yet another tv so as to numb me into dreamland, Phyllis’s rented SUV, or one just like it pulled deep into the drive. I remained standing in front of the large twelve foot window till the SUV’s lights went out and its driver side door popped opened. Sure enough, it was my long haired, big busted, beautifully dimpled face Ms. Phyllis Parks; only her last name had changed over the years. Racing to the side door, I flipped on the outside light and went out to greet my guest.

“What are you doing here? I waited for you to call but then I thought that you thought it best just to leave things be.” Sometimes I cringed at the way I think about things and the way I always seem to be of the habit of revealing them.

Half hanging her head, Phyllis spoke as she drew nearer, “Well what I didn’t tell you this afternoon was that my flight back to Florida was scheduled for tonight. And truthfully, that was where I was and where I was headed. And though you might think ill of me for saying this, frankly, I was ready to leave after spending ten days with my daughter. Don’t get me wrong, I love her to death. And her husband is a sweetheart if there ever was one. But it was just time to leave.”

“Does your daughter know….” I asked, not purposefully leaving my sentence short, and yet, doing just that.

“Does my daughter know that I missed my flight? No.” It was a pitiful ‘No’ that tapered off in a quiet sense of lostness.

“Phyllis . . .” This time I caught myself thinking it better to move her and the conversation inside. “Would you like to come inside? Can I offer you something to drink?”

Phyllis had pulled into my drive shortly after ten. Now it was nearly one and that long awkward silence we had both been starving off finally raised its ugly head. We had laughed. We had pulled out old pictures and swapped countless stories especially those dealing with spouses and children and now grand children. We had even talked a little about politics and religion before the awkward silence loomed up before us and seemingly refused to go away.

I remember King Arthur of Camelot singing the question, “What does a man do when a woman is thinking –for they don’t do it often?” Then he confesses, “Oh my mind is at war!” And so too was mine. Phyllis arrived wearing a sharp blue-gray matching suit jacket and skirt complete with a white, button down the front, blouse. If she had stood with brief case in hand, she could have easily been mistaken for some highfalutin business executive or perhaps even a higherfalutin politician. To use the word grandiose would not have been out of character. But after a second glass of Italian wine, Phyllis had discarded the jacket and loosened one more button of her blouse before relaxing in my father’s favorite easy chair. Behind her was an old pole lamp with a dim 60W light bulb that illuminated her being as if being captured in some Dutch Reformation still life.

While Phyllis talked I took the opportunity to observe and record everything about her. That once shiny brunette head of hair was now in fact a mixture of brown’s and grays. Somehow it seemed to suit her perfectly. She had arrived with it neatly tucked up tightly behind her, again in that professional woman’s way. I liked the new Phyllis. Her eyebrows were thin but right for her face and the style of glasses she wore complimented them both. The crow’s feet which sprang out from the sides of her eyes made her smiles more real and her tears more painful. The vertical creases at either side of her mouth still accented every pursing of the lips. Only the slightest increase of fullness beneath her chin gave evidence of age, and then probably only to me. The upper vermilion her mouth now wrinkled when she talked. That too I found strangely appealing, pondering -always pondering- whether or not she would allow me to kiss those lips. And if and when she did, would it be as good as I had, oh so many years before, imagined it would be?

There were times during our conversation when Phyllis would absentmindedly scratch the back of her neck as she looked down to one side in some deep contemplative ruse. That was when I was able to assess as to whether or not the years had been kind to her breasts. Though her blouse was of luminescent white, I could discern no pattern of lace beneath, no seam, not even much of an indentation from a shoulder strap. And having only the two top most buttons unfastened, I, sad to say, could discern little cleavage. But there was no hiding the fact that it was in there. Nor was there much pretense to the fact that Phyllis’s breasts had filled out, if not indeed, grown further since our school days. I searched the mental archives but drew a blank as to what had been previously observed and mentally recorded other than being proportionately large and often cloaked behind sweaters and the fashionable blazers of that time.

“So I thought, what the hell, it wasn’t like there wasn’t anything desperately waiting for me back home. I know, I should have called or at least texted you. I guess my impetuous nature hasn’t lost any of it impetuousness over the years. I find it seriously helps me from growing old or being scared to explore another facets of life. And that is very important at this stage of the game, don’t you think, Ron?”

I was glad that Phyllis had dropped the familiar name of youth, ‘Ronny.’ There were other hints subtly dropped along the way that gave me hope that per chance this impetuous girl-woman might spend the night! And if I played my cards right, maybe, just maybe she’d even spend it under my sheets.

“I couldn’t agree more. However, in admitting that, I will have to confess that I haven’t been very impetuous of late.” I laughed a sad sack laugh before adding, “There hasn’t been any reason to.” I looked up at two bright eyes that were leaning forward in my father’s old chair. Was this an invitation?

“Maybe you just need to look around a little harder to find something new to get excited about!” There it was again. Surely this was an invitation.

Standing to my feet, Phyllis rocked forward with two arms wrapped about herself as I drew close to her. Smiling a queer little mischievous smile, turning her head ever so slightly as she looked up at me, I leaned down and slowly brought my lips close to hers. “I’ve always been attracted to you,” I heard myself confess.

“I know,” she replied, this time with a widening of that mischievous little smile. “Why do you think I took the chance and came back?”

My eyes widened as I looked breathlessly within her own. Slowly she closed them and pressed her lips on mine.

There are times when two pair of lips are just made for each other. I’ve kissed countless women over the course of my life but only three of them perfectly matched my own in a way that no others had ever achieved. One was a summer fling just out of high school —Denise. The other was at the end of a three days stay at an old college friends home after which she kindly drove me to the airport to see me off —Diane. The third now had her hand behind my head, tenderly injecting her passion into me. The kiss lingered forever, long enough to make the position uncomfortable. We parted slowly as eyes opened equally as slow before pursuing their search for answers. Only centimeters apart, our breath mingled as head positions began randomizing, seeking both optimization of placement and permission.

I suppose if I had been younger, I would have pushed her back in her chair or dragged her off on to the floor and had my way with her. Perhaps if she had been younger I still might have done it. But there was a maturity about all of this that told us both that there was no need to rush. This was no affair of youthdom. This required neither of its participants to be home before midnight. Besides, that hour had long come and gone. Nor was there any conflicting thought of explaining the lateness to an awaiting spouse. We were both consenting adults. We were both, for-gods-sake, consenting senior citizens. We were both free. For the first time in my life, I knew what it meant to feel free; to be free with a woman who was so ardently there for me —just me; a woman who had dared to change the direction of her life, without any selfish manipulation on my part, just to take a chance on me. The mere realization of it made me stumble back away from her. “What?” she begged before the mischievousness of her demeanor exuded a shy smile.

“ I, I, I…” I stuttered. “I guess I’m just having a hard time taking all this in. I stopped looking for you a life time ago. I just gave up. It was too hard to keep looking. Too many disappointments. So many hurts. Hope became a dangerous thing for me. But it was always you. I have been waiting for you all my life.”

At this Phyllis reached out with extended finger tips and took one of my hands as she looked down at the floor as if to make confession.

“David and I met at a parents-teacher conference. He was a widower, fatherly, caring, handsome, employed, seemingly having his act together. It wasn’t one of those instant connections. It was gradual for both of us. Well really, it was a desperation on my part. Perhaps you’ve never thought about it but once a woman graduates from college and begins a career in a local community school system, she has pretty much locked herself in to a very small room of opportunity. I mean, I never was one to shop at some local bar. I never did that even in college. I suppose I was never really that lonely. I loved my job. My desperation was different than that. I wanted a family of my own. Some find their mates within the system but men who become teachers are, more often than not, nerdy, though often nice. I guess, at least for me, if you work in a bakery all your life the last thing you want on your plate is another donut. So David was a convenience. . . and, as it turned out, he felt that way as well. He never fell out of love with his first wife. I don’t fault him for that. Though he never betrayed it, I do think,” Phyllis stopped confessing long enough to admit the reality out loud, “-no, I know there were times when he was making love to me that he was really closing his eyes in an attempt to make himself believe that I was her. I tried. I honestly tried to be her for him. But we’re all unique and in the end we are all who we are. So our marriage became more a brother-sister affair, friendly but not true lovers. We were just two people sharing the same house while struggling to raise our family. I still loved him as a husband. Don’t get me wrong. I guess it’s complicated. And when I lost him, I thought the world had ended for me. Have you ever been on one of those single dating sites for seniors? The female to male ratio is like a thousand to one. You men are either all married or dead. So I guess, like you, I had stopped looking. I have grown content just to enjoy my life to its natural end. Financially I’ve never been more secure. Freedom? All my kids are married and living their own separate lives though we are close and stay in touch. Elizabeth, my youngest and most dear to me, lives the closest and she lives in Georgia.”

Phyllis continued to finger my hand as I looked down at her, reaching out and caressing the top of her head. How quickly and thoroughly she was becoming precious to me all over again. I knew not what the future had in store for us –if it had anything at all. I only knew that she was here and for the moment, all other cares and concerns had ceased to exist. Within me raged a mixture of emotions. I felt the protector. Here was a delicate flower that had been long neglected. It needed a bit of cultivation, a little nurturing to make it strong enough to once again shoot forth a dazzling array of blossoms. I also felt a strange sense of calm with her. No need to rush it. No need to secure, claim, mark her as my own. She was here because she wanted to be. But there was still a strong desire to just tear her clothes off and fuck her like she had never been fucked before. So utterly fucked that she would curl up next to me after it was all over, just like a little girl and beg servanthood. So utterly fucked that every other encounter would be like just so much dross. So utterly fucked that the rising sun would no longer mean a new day for her but a new era in her life.

I pulled Phyllis to her feet, tightly drawing her near to me, squeezing the life out of her elbows, screaming at her without words as her eyes turned into big question marks, searching desperately to discern the answer as to whether or not I had, after all, turned out to be something altogether wrong for her. Me? I suppose I was having one of those “It’s a Wonderful Life” episodes where Jimmy Stewart grabs Donna Reed at the bottom of the stair, letting the phone of one life drop to the floor as to grab another life never to let it get away ever again.

“Look here, Phyllis. I’m no carpetbagger. I’m not a loser who sits every night like a fungus in front of the tv. I’m a man who . . . who cannot be played with. I must know the truth now. Are you playing me? Am I just a convenience to you like David was back then? I don’t want that. I never want that again.”

Phyllis’s answer was probably the best. She tore herself away from me with fire in her eyes. I’d never seen that flame before. I’d never been ready to. As if to emphasize her resolve, she threw herself back into my arms. As tender and slow as had been the first kiss, the second was heated, each of us desperately searching for that little crevasse into which to hide ourselves; that vehicle which allowed two souls to become as one. My search had ended. Letting go of self, I wrapped her in my arms. It felt so right. It felt so amazingly right.

Phyllis was now a head shorter than myself. With two hands I pulled it back and looked once again into her eyes. Not allowing me to linger there for long, she stood up on tippy-toe as she brought my mouth down to her own, performing CPR on my soul. Her kisses overflowed with a hunger that caused me to fear my inability to match it. My freedom was not use to this sort of attention. Perhaps in part, it was due to her being such the aggressor. All of life’s experiences prior to this moment had been ever and only the woman giving in to my own aggression. But here, at life’s last light, came a woman unlooked for, hungry for every bit me as much as I for her.

My house was clean. The cat boxes had been changed that morning and all the dishes had been washed and put away that night. Clean sheets had been placed on the bed. I had showered and shaved just a couple of hours before her arrival. Windows were open while the unobservant whole house fan silently sucked in the refreshing late spring air.

Phyllis excused herself to clean up. By then we both knew that her rented SUV was going to spend the night parked in my drive. The two bedroom bungalow had but a single bathroom in it though. Both attic and basement were finished. To the latter I retreated while she ‘tidied up a bit.’ In the laundry room, next the washer and dryer were two oversized concrete sinks, large enough to bathe the dog in. But on this night, it offered a quick chance to freshen up a bit myself before returning to await my guest.

Phyllis had retrieved a small garment bag from her vehicle before locking herself into the bathroom. I could hear the running water and the flushing of the toilet. In arranging the house for her re-entrance, I left a single dim light on in the kitchen that washed out across the dining room floor while opposite facing security lights from the mall across the street dimly filtered their way through the front hedge of holly, privet and two sentinels of arborvitae. It was all enough to set the mood. Candle lights couldn’t have done it better though I had lit two of them in bedroom. The door handle sounded; then a clicking off of the bathroom light. Like a cat out of the darkness, silently she stole back into the room.

Had I died and gone to heaven? Had I won the largest lottery in the nation’s history, garnering me femme fatales at my doorstep desperately wanting into my life? I had not anticipated the woman who stood before me. Where had she acquired that garment? And more puzzling still, why had it been packed only to visit her daughter?

“Do you like it,” Phyllis enquired, performing pirouette for me to see all of it. “As I sat at the airport, trying to decide whether or not to chance finding you here tonight, I spied it in the front window of one of the little, overly expensive boutiques —and it just spoke to me!” She said it with the same youthful gaiety that had captured me so absolutely those many years before. “So I took the chance. Is it to your tastes?”

With a mouth hanging open, my answer was an unconscious licking of the lips and a nearly inaudible, “Oh my god, yes!”

Phyllis had clothed herself in an antique whale boned bustier. It was black as the night with horizontal rows of widely spaced stars. The garment made her breasts appear even larger than first imagined while revealing shapely thighs that were anything but fat. Its hem, gathered in tight, short ruffles, ended just where her black bikini panties began. Phyllis wore nothing else. Myself, only dressed in a pair of well weathered shorts and an emblematic polo shirt, stood up to meet her.

Phyllis was definitely one of those, rare-in-my-life, cup-half-full sort of people. She was confident about herself and her choices without being arrogant or demanding. Normally, all things being equal, I would have romanced a woman of this caliber. But this woman on this night, dressed in this garment purchased while making this decision begged forgoing any and all such genteel indulgences.

We met and kissed as her body movements directed me toward the back of the house and onto my bed. “Lay down,” was her command after removing my shirt and pushing me playfully back onto the bed.

Looking down at her hands, Phyllis spoke. “Ron, you will have your turn, I promise you. But would you mind if tonight was my night?” I frowned, tilting my head but said nothing. “I’ve got something to confess to you. After I married David, I had so many expectations. Naive little girl I was. I thought when people got married certain things were a given. You know, things like I cook, he does the dishes.” She laughed to herself. “Not really. Forgive me. I not used to talking about such things. I expected sex!” she blurted out. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “I mean, I expected passion. As I said earlier, we sort of had a brother/sister relationship. David made love to me, obviously. The kids didn’t happen by themselves. But he rarely initiated sex. I could probably count on one hand the number of times that he actually did. However, even then, it was…..” she hesitated in her confession. “It was polite -almost as if he was just fulfilling his obligation. It wasn’t what I expected,” she apologized. “In time I learned to adjust my expectations. When I got pregnant David made me feel like I was radioactive. Good girls didn’t have sex when they were pregnant. And then my milk came in almost a month early. My breasts swelled and my areola darkened. David never came right out and said it but I could see it in his eyes that he disliked the change.” She hesitated before finally getting to the point. “Little David wasn’t any thing like his father. I nursed him for a year and a half!” She again gave a little chuckle before continuing. “I was with Elizabeth by that time and having a kids on each boob was more than Dave could take and told me it was time for his son to get off.” Again she nervously laughed. “I didn’t mind. I had so much milk that having two kids nursing helped keep me from wetting every blouse I put on. But that was twenty years ago and David never did pay much attention to my breasts. So….” Phyllis took a deep breath before asking, “Would you mind tonight if I were to ask that you just suckle me?”

I extended my hand out to her, smiling a smile that had no means by which to convey the thoughts and emotions that were racing through my being. Decades, literally decades, since earliest childhood memories I had desired for such a woman. And here was just such a woman presenting herself to me in the fading years of my life. Surely Gods ways are not our ways. This was where I was supposed to pinch myself and wake up from the dream. The lighting made it all such a phantasy. I watched as the shadowy figure wiggled that “It spoke to me” corset a little further down before turning down one cup, then the other. Even larger than imagined, Phyllis’s breasts surpassed everything I had ever imagined to the daze of boyhood to the days of glossy photos in men’s magazines. She leaned forward as she crawled up on the bed. Oh what poetry in motion.

We were both in a state of unknowing. Should she just dangle her beauties over me, letting me suckle one before exchanging it for the other? Or should she curl up beside me, laying on her side as I slid down to suckle, each in a rested position. I guess I had never given it much thought. How does a mature man comfortably suckle? Does the woman cradle you as if you were a young child? Perhaps pillows are necessary where a man can rest his head, suckling while the woman watches tv or knits a Christmas sweater? That sort of thing might happen years down the road, but not this night for as soon as I latched on her right dangling breast, drawing in her dark rose nipple deep with my mouth with ever BAR my mouth could produce. The woman let out a deep sigh and a “Oh God! That feels so good!

I had read once that the world of vacuum measurements wasn’t exactly straightforward having various systems and units to qualify the results. However, like blowing up multiple balloons, I knew there was no way I could sustain the level of suction that I had garnered initially. But I don’t think she cared because I began the game of suckling and then releasing, causing her hanging breast to “jello” before mouthing her again, only this time capturing her nipple, holding it with lips and then gnawing lightly on it with my teeth. She shivered then lifted herself up slightly before offering me to do the same to her other breasts.

Though I’m no world class connoisseur, I had long held the impression that equal sized breasts on the same woman were only a product of artificial manipulation. Phyllis’s were definitely asymmetric with the left breast appreciably larger than the right. A thought ran through my head as to the statistics of which breast was normally the larger of the two in women around the world. Suckled with eyes closed and my mind racing, trying desperately to record and capture forever the sensation of all that I had hoped for so many long and frustrating years of going without.

“Here,” she said to me, drawing herself up and back off the bed, unfastening the thousand hooks before letting the garment fall to the floor. It had served its purpose. On elbow I watched as she crawled back on to the bed, her magnificent female fun bags set into full motion as she pulled off a pillow and sat back against the bed’s headboard. “Come here, sweet friend,” she ordered me, laying the pillow across her lap for me to rest my head upon as she lifted her breast and held it out until I was situation. Then she leaned slightly forward, offering it to my awaiting mouth. Donovan began playing “Berts Blues” in my head.

I was fighting every emotion within me, every notion to rise up and capture this woman, ripping her panties from her and just brutally fucking her until we had both melted into one nirvanic existence. Instead, I reached out and began to gently thumb the hardening nipple on her opposite breast as I continued to luxuriate in her soft, pliant female flesh. This too was nirvanic. She cooed before ordering me to pull it, “Harder. Harder!” If the baton between my legs hadn’t been rigid before, now it was granite. “Bite it,” she directed me, leaning into me, offering her delectable nodule as I lay there like a slug. “Ooooh, yes. Use your teeth.”

All that I had imagined of Phyllis Parks was evaporating with any hope of repair. Pulling herself backup as my teeth remained clenched to that mother’s nipple, I allowed it to spring free as I watched her mildly sagging breast contort by the motion. Smiling back at me, never indicating that my teeth had just about severed the nipple from her breast, Phyllis slowly offered me the second breast. Dark umber sand dollars pasted on the end of it with an equally large yet not quite as taut nipple sitting dead center. “Are you a breast man, Ron?” Like she had to ask.

“Ha! You have to ask?” I replied. “You have no idea. Nor do you have any idea how long I have had to wait for you to come back into my life. “Baby come, come into my arms, let me know the wonder of all of you. Baby I want you now, now I want you tonight. Now I hold on to you tight. Could this be the magic at last?”

Phyllis sat back up straight as I watched attentively the freed breasts swaying first one way then the other.
A wrinkled brow told me something was wrong.

“You ok?” I asked.

It was a slow, half hearted smile the crept across her face before answering, “Yes… and no. It’s just that you’re the first since… since David.” There was a long silence which I thought best not to interrupt. Grasping her panties at the corner of her womanly hips, Phyllis removed the lacy article and crawled up on the bed to lay next to me . Suddenly the woman had become a girl. I sat up and took my place beside her and held her close.

“You probably think I’m a nut!” she blurted out.

“Why would I think that?” I answered her, combing a bit of her hair out of my face.

“This is all happening too fast. You know….I’m not as desperate as I appear to be.”

“Women rarely are. It’s always us men who have the fox in the chicken coop mentality. But the sand is running out of the hour glass. I’ve gotten to the point where I take my happiness as it comes. No expectations. No regrets. I can’t help repeating myself that I’ve been waiting for you nearly all my life, Phyllis. If it’s even possible, now that you’re here next to me, you’re more desirable to me now after all the years. You’re no longer that shy young lady fresh out of college that I met that summer my parents were separated. Now you are a woman, mature and refined.”

She laughed, adding “And twenty pounds heavier and this” flinging her fingers through her loose hanging graying hair.

Something must have clicked. For Phyllis turned toward me and fingered my lips before slowly giving me a soft and purposeful kiss. It was breathy and passion filled. It was a woman’s kiss. Not rushed. Not juvenile. And so freely given.

“Funny how you never know where the river of life is going to lead you,” she said, sliding back down into the bed, pulling me down next to her, staring at the candle light shadows dancing on the ceiling. “I’ve come here to visit the daughter many times. Don’t ever remember meeting anyone from those few years of teaching here. No one ever contacted me to grace a class reunion. And then you seeing and remembering me while picking up Ricky. Do you ever wonder whether or not our lives are all planned out for us? Or is it all just mere chance?”

I let her ramble on. My head was spinning between it being way past my bedtime, having her here, laying next to me, all the while revisiting the same questions she was mouthing. Once again I was in the place where I was suppose to pinch myself. This is where I am suppose to wakeup and realize it was all but a dream. This was where a commercial break would intrude and bring me back down to reality. I always hoped for finding a woman who filled all the necessary particulars. These sort of things happened to others; not to me. So many years of empty existence. Was there a good God? And was He finally relenting to allow me to have what I always pined for? To love and desire and so utterly enslave myself to someone who also wanted to have me in their life? ‘One day at a time.’ ‘One day at a time’ I kept reminding myself.

She had stopped talking. I could hear her breathing. I could smell her hair. I could sense a change in the mattress.

Phyllis then rolled over, grasping my weakened cock in her hand as she closed her eyes and kissed me again. She kissed me slowly on the lips as I remained unmoving. Then she kissed the side of my face before briefly sucking on my earlobe. Strength was flowing back into my manhood as she slithered down to place me in her mouth. I guess one good turn deserved another. And just as she had long had the suckling of breasts withheld from her, in some of the same way, I had wanted to be suckled myself. But this was different. It wasn’t an obligation. It wasn’t even expected.. She in her own way, was making love. She was off in a world of her own making. She was a child enjoying a long promised ice cream cone.

Eventually the little engine that could brought me to the mountain top.

“Whoa there woman!” I warned her, gently nudging her shoulder. I wanted to change tracks and plow a while between her legs.

“Uh-uh,” came the refusal. “This is my night. Just lay back and let me dangle my breasts over you one more time.” Who was I to argue?
_____________

Gotta get up! sang Harry Nilsson.
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Come morning we showered together, laughing, talking, enjoying the wonderment of a suddenly realized companionship that would this time truly last ‘till death do us part.’ It wasn’t a movie and it wasn’t a one-time occurrence. Phyllis’ nature was as imaginative as it was impetuous. Instead of flying back home, I offered to drive her back down to Florida. Oh what a sweet, youthful spirit rode along with us as sometimes in her new found freedom, she would tease me as she sat next to me with nothing on but a smile. No one else in the world mattered to her and truth be told, no one else mattered to me either. A new world had opened up for each of us as we drank in what had been longed for only at this late stage of the game to finally be granted. God’s ways were, indeed, not our ways and His timing, though impeccably perfect, not what we would have chosen. But I realized that if this had occurred any earlier in life, neither of us would have appreciated the new world we were now finding our selves in.

Phyllis still loves it when I covertly caress her breasts in public places. She like it almost as much as she loves being out in the boat in the gulf without a stitch of cloth on her lactating breasts while the rest of the world flew past us. It had all come full circle -Phyllis Kucera was once again the love of my life.