Tina, however, quickly grew tired of being an army wife and as her frustration grew, so too did the strain on our marriage. Within two months of the first phase of my flight training, she'd left me, temporarily, taking my girls and moving upstate to her parent's house. We were not yet discussing divorce, but I had to ask myself if our trial separation would lead to that. I sincerely hoped not. I coped with my wife's absence by performing small needed repairs around the house. Our home - like most homes in the area - was older and after being rented by one military family after another, was showing its age. But I enjoyed the work and found it helped me pass the time while I thought about my future and relationship with my wife and daughters.
I never expected the task of cleaning the gutters to become such a significant event in my life. The house beside me had been empty when I moved in. Now, as I stood on the ladder, a small moving van appeared in the driveway. A distinguished looking, older woman emerged from the van, looked around, and noticed me at the top of my ladder. She lifted her hand in greeting but said nothing. She immediately set about the task of emptying the van and from my position atop the gutter, I was able to see she'd filled the van with nothing but boxes. No furniture occupied the space inside the small van, convincing me the house next door was furnished.
It was obvious the woman was older than me, possibly in her late forties, with salty-black hair arranged in a tight bun atop her head, a slim figure, and an ass that seemed perfectly formed. Two well-toned and well-tanned legs jutted downward from the green-shaded shorts she wore under a yellow halter top. As she turned to enter the rear of the house, I was impressed by the absence of tan lines across her back where a bathing suit might have left evidence of time on a beach. From my perch upon the ladder, I watched for the next ten minutes as my new neighbor shifted box after box from the van to the house. I realized that unless I offered my assistance, she would be at this task all day, so I climbed down from the ladder and offered my assistance. My new neighbor readily accepted. I learned her name was Franny and that for the last twenty years, she worked on the base as a financial analyst.
But something strange happened as we shook hands in introduction. I noticed a rather large, rather expensive wedding ring on her left ring finger. Franny saw me staring at the ring and said, "Oh, that. My husband's been deployed to Afghanistan. He's just completed his sixth month there." A sudden, sort of wistful expression came over Franny's face as she cast her eyes downward and, I'm certain, began to think of her absent husband. But just as suddenly as she entered the semi-funk, Franny lifted her chin, smiled, and reverted back to the happy person I'd met only a few moments ago. She readily agreed to my offer to assist her in transferring the boxes from the van to the house, and two hours later, we sat on the furnished sofa, sweaty and grimy, the task completed. Light chat filled the space between us as I described my family situation to Franny.
It was then, just as I finished describing the relationship between Tina and I that Franny suddenly sat up, and inquired about my skills as a handy man. When I stated that I possessed better than average skills with a hammer and screwdriver, Franny stood up, grasped me by the hand and led me on a tour of the home, pointing out one needed repair job after another. "My husband and I are actually buying this house, Steve," Franny informed me. "Alan is great with his hands and his tool, and we were able to get the home for hardly anything because it needs so many repairs." That made sense to me as Franny pointed out a series of nail holes, tears in the wallpaper, and other really minor jobs that even I knew would not take a great deal of time to take care of. But to be honest, I paid only half my attention to the repairs Franny pointed out. As I said, she'd grasped me by the hand and as she led me through each room in the house, I usually found myself behind her, my eyes glued to one of the best shaped asses I've ever had the opportunity to stare at. And her legs: Don't even get me started on those. Moments later, Franny and I found ourselves back in the living room, realizing that we'd taken no breaks during the box transferal process and were both starving. Franny offered to buy me dinner as payment for helping her, a deal I readily accepted. We agreed to meet in the driveway one hour later.
It was the soft click-click-click sound of Franny's high heels that caught my attention as I leaned against my car after showering and dressing. The dusk had just descended upon the area and although the light was dimming, it was easy to see Franny's figure as she approached me. To say she was stunning would be an understatement. As she had during the afternoon, her black-grey hair sat atop her head in a tightly arranged bun. Where the shorts she'd worn to empty the moving van revealed long sections of tanned and toned skin, the dress she now wore for dinner stopped me in my tracks. Like her halter top from earlier in the afternoon, the dress too was backless, colored blue, and was so form-fittingly tight that I was able to see without any trouble that Franny's figure was amazing for a woman her age. The front of the dress dipped so low that Franny's cleavage was in clear sight, and it was then that I realized just how large Franny's tits were. Because of the sharp cut down the front of her dress, I had a clear view of the inside of each titty, and again noticed there were no tan lines. Her globe-like tits were pressed together, and because the dress seemed to have a pushup bra built into it, both tits were pressed upward and together, presenting me with a view I would never be able to take my eyes off of throughout the evening. The hem of the dress barely reached the midpoint between her ass and knees, again providing me with a view of two very, very attractive legs. The three-inch stilettos supporting her weight clicked on the pavement as she approached me. To my surprise, Franny lifted herself on her toes and placed her ruby-red lips upon my left cheek before allowing me to escort her into the car.
Now, anyone who's been in the military will tell you that young Lieutenant's wives will get stared at by older officers because the women are usually young and fit. But I can tell you that as soon as Franny and I entered the dining room at the Officer's club, all eyes turned to us. And no one was looking at me: Their eyes were glued to Franny and remained there throughout the evening. Soon after desert, but more importantly after three bottles of very good wine, I suggested to Franny that we go dancing, but she declined, stating that the moving had tired her out. I understood and drove us home. And that's where matters became interesting. Interesting, indeed.
Always the gentleman, I opened Franny's car door and escorted her to her home when we arrived in the driveway. As she had all evening, she laced her arm in mine and we walked silently across the combined driveway to her darkened house. "Let's go in through the back door," Franny asked, pressing her body against mine to direct me in that direction. We entered the dark, shadowy back yard and made our way along a narrow walkway to the backdoor. I waited patiently while Franny fumbled in her purse for her keys, which she seemed having trouble locating. "May I help?" I asked as I gently tugged the leather bag from Franny's hands and began to search the purse for the missing keys. Finally, the touch of metal made contact with my fingers and I removed the keys from the depths of Franny's purse. "Here we are," I said, dangling the keys at eye level so that Franny could see them easily in the dim moonlight.
I don't know: maybe it was the wine, maybe it was because we were both lonely but had never stated so, or maybe it was something else. But whatever it was, Franny accepted the keys from my hand, then stepped forward on her high heels and wrapped her arms tightly around my shoulders. The warmth of her lips surprised me more than the pressure of her body against mine. Voices screamed in my head to resist Franny's kiss: After all, we were both married, just not to each other. But I'm a man with needs that need to be met as much as anyone else's and so, I returned the kiss as forcefully and as passionately as Franny's. My hands wove a path down her naked, exposed back, over the hump of her ass, and came to rest on each ass cheek, my palms squeezing the bulbous flesh under her very short dress. Franny began to moan as her hands pressed against my chest, moved in opposite directions, opening the top three buttons. When her right hand slid under the material and found my left nipple, I inhaled deeply, the erotic stimulation caused by her fingers warming my skin, and sending sharp but enjoyable shivers of sensual joy across my chest. To my surprise, Franny broke the kiss, and as suddenly as it had begun, it came to an end.
But not a complete end. Instead of stepping back and away from me, Franny extended her neck forward and downward as her right hand pulled the shirt material away from my hair-covered chest. If I'd inhaled deeply when she touched my nipple only with her hand, the breath I drew inside now was deeper, more pronounced, and certainly more passion filled. Franny's red-coated lips encircled the left nipple and sucked gently on the meaty, thimble-shaped projection as her tongue swirled the button, as sexual tremors cruised throughout my entire body.
"Oh, Franny, baby," I moaned now as my fingers wove their way through her hair, finding the leather clasp keeping her tightly arranged bun atop her head. In an instant, the bun was loosened, the clasp falling to our feet, Franny's hair cascading down over her shoulders to cover my forearms. Franny now shifted her attention to the right nipple, and repeated the same sucking and oral movements as she had with the left. By now, I'd woven my fingers tightly into my neighbor's hair, and because of the sudden but deep passion existing between Franny and I, began to tug at the strands of hair woven between my fingers. As Franny increased the vacuum power of her lips and tongue, I increased the power in my hand and soon, it became a test of who could do more: Franny sucking with wild abandon on my nipple, or me pulling almost mercilessly on her black-grey strands of hair. Even Franny had started to moan by this time, the sounds coming from her clenched lips telling me I was doing something right.
And then, Franny's head came back and away from my chest. Despite the absence of her lips, ripples of sexual pleasure continued to spread across my exposed chest. Franny's hair suddenly seemed longer than I'd anticipated, now frizzy and standing out sideways from her head. She and I stared at each other silently for several long seconds before she simply stepped back, inserted her keys in the door, and disappeared inside her home. I knew there had been no invitation to follow, and to be honest, I'm not sure what I would have done had Franny left the door open for me to follow behind her. Moments later, I was in my own bed, remembering the kiss, remembering the interaction, my cock hard from the stimulation. When I came after stroking my meat, I asked myself if Franny had diddled her clit as well.
The next week passed with only minimal contact between Franny and I. She was busy with her job and I was busy conducting night and day flight training. I looked for her, and even wanted to go to her house and chat with her, but felt that the odd interaction between us at her back door on the past Saturday might have caused her to feel embarrassed. From time to time, I'd find myself looking out my window, hoping to find her working in her yard, but I never did. What I did discover, however, after only two days, was that Franny seemed to have a steady stream of visitors, their cars always parked in her driveway.
Now, having visitors is no big deal, and certainly nothing out of the ordinary. But the stream of visitors arriving at Franny's house all fit one basic description. Each one of them was a younger man like myself, never older than twenty-five years old by my estimate. Some appeared to be newly commissioned army officers, others simply appeared to be young professionals. They'd arrive at all hours of the day, beginning soon after Franny arrived home from work, stay two hours at most, then depart. And as if on cue, once one of the young men drove away from Franny's house, another car would slide into her driveway less than an hour later. And then the arriving and departing process would begin again, and always with a different guy. As the days of the week passed and I realized I hadn't seen Franny since that Saturday we had dinner, I began to ask myself what it was Franny was doing. But in the end, I also knew it was none of my business. I spent the weekend reading and doing what I could to complete my list of needed repairs inside and outside the house. Although I had Franny's phone number, and while I was tempted to call her, I refrained. Instead, I spent a quiet weekend at home, periodically looking out my window, hoping I'd see Franny. But, unfortunately, I wasn't so lucky.
Monday was a day of pleasant surprises, however. First, I received an early morning call from my girls, their tiny-girl voices delighting me and making me laugh with pure, heartfelt love for them. Tina was cold and distant, and the conversation between she and I was as dark as the outside sky which seemed ready at any minute to dump an ocean of rain upon us. Thankfully, our conversation was short. But just after showering, I received another call, one I had not expected. "Sir, this is Sergeant Tuck, the weather observer," the voice said. "The commanding officer has called off all training flights for today, and because there's a line of severe thunderstorms coming our way, has directed that all personnel remain at home for the remainder of the day. All flight training is canceled for today, sir." What news! This was wonderful, I decided, and realized I could use the time to catch up on some paperwork, plus possibly complete a few more repairs around the house. But an inspection of the interior of my home revealed that I really had done all I could do. And because of the weather, there was no way I wanted to be outside standing on a metal ladder. It was then an idea came to me. And the timing of my idea could not have been better because it as just then that I looked out my window and saw Franny making her way to her car.
As I've said, it's imperative that a pilot always pay attention to even the smallest of details in as short a time as possible. I guess that's why within seconds of my arrival in the combined driveways I was able to quickly assess Franny's choice of clothing for the day. Like the dress she wore for dinner at the Officer's Club, she'd chosen a black, one-piece dress, tight fitting, but unlike her dress over the weekend, not as cleavage revealing. The hem of the skirt did extend farther down her leg than the Saturday dress, but not by much. Black pantyhose and three-inch pumps covered her legs and feet. Overall, the ensemble she now appeared before me in still made Franny appear as a voluptuous and sensual woman.
"Steve!" Franny exclaimed when she saw me rushing toward her dressed in a pair of khaki work shorts and a t-shirt. To my surprise, she pulled me against her body in a tight embrace, her tits pressed against my chest. "Where were you this weekend?" she asked. "I kept looking for you but when I didn't see you, I thought you might have traveled to see your girls." When I informed Franny that no, I'd been in the house all weekend, she seemed sad, as if the idea of us not spending time with each other had been a tragic mistake. It was then I explained why I'd rushed from my house to catch her before she drove to work. "Why, Steve, that would be wonderful if you could work on some of the repairs the house needs," she said, again wrapping me in a tight hug as the scent of her perfume filled my nostrils. "Here are my keys," she said, her hand warm in mine as she smiled at me. I held the car door for Franny as she entered the car, doing my best not to let her catch me staring at the way the hem of her skirt rode up her legs as she slid her ass onto the driver's seat. "I'll be home around five o'clock," she said, looking up at me through the driver's window. "I'd like to discuss something with you. Perhaps we could do so over dinner?" I agreed, looking forward to spending the time with my new friend. Franny backed the car down the driveway and disappeared in the distance.
Half an hour later, I found myself back in Franny's house. After making a quick list of the items that needed repairing, I set out to complete as many repairs as possible. I moved from room to room, repairing one item after another, and making great progress. After an hour, I needed a drink of water and made my way to the kitchen. I had no idea that in just the next fifteen minutes, I'd make two discoveries that would change my entire attitude about Franny.
The first discovery came when I noticed she'd left her wallet on the kitchen counter. The small, brown leather pouch sat half-opened near the stove. Okay, so I shouldn't have done it, but I couldn't resist: I opened the wallet to reveal Franny's driver's license. There was her photo, about as good as a driver's license photo could be, and her private information. Address, blood type, whether or not she wore glasses, the usual stuff. But it was when my eyes passed over her birthdate that my eyes widened like saucers. I'd guessed that Franny was in her late forties. Man, was I wrong. According to my quick calculations, Franny just passed her fifty-eighth birthday. That meant that she was thirty-six years older than me although she appeared to be much less than that. My thoughts and memories immediately returned to the Saturday evening kiss, and how I'd not hesitated to press my lips to hers. I recalled how Franny sucked my nipples, how she'd driven me to the brink of sexual activity. I certainly recalled how she'd caused my cock to grow stiff, how I'd fantasized about her so many times since we met. Reinserting her license back into the wallet, I returned to the last room I'd been working in, the master bedroom.
One of the items needing repair in the master bedroom was the light in the master bedroom walk-in closet. The task was easily fixed although I needed a ladder to elevate my body to reach the burnt out bulb. It was as I was leaving the closet with the ladder over my shoulder that I accidently bumped into the wall, causing a cardboard box to fall from a shelf onto the floor. "Great," I said aloud, glad no one had seen me cause the box to fall. Bending, I saw the box had contained photographs. As I bent to return the photos to the box, something in my brain sensed something seemed strange about them. Grasping several of the photos in my hand, I sat on the floor amongst the strewn photos, amazed at the scenes each depicted.
You see, in each of the photos, Franny's body was bent in a variety of sexual positions. There she was getting fucked from behind by a rather large-dicked black man. The smile on her face indicated the deep level of pleasure she was experiencing at the time. The next photo showed her sucking the dick of an unknown man, his long shaft buried to the hilt between her ruby-red lips. Yet another photo, Franny on her back on a table that also contained foods of all varieties. Each photo I looked at showed Franny being fucked in one position or the other, and always with a large smile on her face. But it was after viewing several of the photos that I realized each had two similar themes: In every photo, Franny wore black stockings and high heels. Regardless of whether she was getting fucked in a car, or an elevator - I would have loved to have been there for that - or in a horse stable by a man wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and no shirt, she wore the stockings and heels in each photo. Although I couldn't prove it otherwise, I had a suspicion that it had been Franny's husband who'd taken the photos.
But wearing the stockings and heels was only one similarity I discovered in the photos. At first, the second similarity didn't appear as prominently. But when I went through the photos a second time, I realized that each of the men slamming their cocks deep into Franny's cunt or her ass were no older than me. Every one of the men supplying Franny with what seemed to be an endless supply of long hard cock that she was certainly enjoying. I found myself drawn to Franny's ass, although her tits were massive and I could see now what I'd been missing by the dresses she wore. Looking deeper into the box, I determined there were at least five hundred photos showing Franny in so many different sexual poses and locations. Geez, there was a shot of Franny sucking cock while standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris! She wore a long trench coat, opened, of course, and underneath, nothing more than a black garter belt, black stockings, and four inch high heels. The cock was firmly buried between her lips, and, amazingly, there was a French family standing behind Franny admiring the Parisian horizon, completely unaware that an older woman with an obviously strong desire for young cock swallowed a young man's meat less than ten feet away. I estimated the young man to be no more than twenty-five years old, and he matched every other young man in the multitude of photos: his eyes were closed and he appeared to either be having an orgasm or mere seconds away from exploding in Franny's hot mouth.
By now, my cock was rock hard and I considered running home and jacking off. There was no mistaking the rigid shaft growing under my loose-fitting gym shorts. Or, I reasoned, I could lie on Franny's bed and jack off there. That's what I decided to do, but first decided I needed one additional item to help me reach orgasm. Searching through her drawers and unopened boxes, I quickly found a pair of Franny's black lace panties, and with them and a series of photos, moved to her rumpled bed. I arranged the photos around me, slid my shorts down past my knees, and wrapped the panties around my hard, hard cock. And then I got to work.
Slowly, I moved the panties up and down the length of my cock, reveling in the sensuous quality of the material as it stimulated my cock. With each up and down movement, I swiveled my head, first taking in a view of Franny taking a long cock inti her cunt, then turning my head again to see another photo of this special older woman sucking a black dick deep into her mouth. Up and down the panties continued, while my eyes continued to take in the unexpected sight of Franny, my fifty-eight year old neighbor, taking cock in any variety of ways. Up and down I stroked while my head rotated left and right, my eyes wide and receptive.
But I couldn't come. I don't know, maybe it was because I was in Franny's bedroom and while stroking my cock on her bed was exciting, no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get my cock to explode. Neither the photos nor the panties - nor the combination of both - worked to bring me to orgasm. Frustrated, I stood, my cock still hard and my shorts covering my shoes. I knew it was useless to try any longer. Yanking my shorts up, I made sure to collect the photos and to return them to the box. That is, all but two photos. No, those I kept because the young man in them resembled me, tall, dark-haired, and muscular. Those photos went into the back right pocket of my shorts while I stuffed the panties into the back left pocket. "I'm sure I'll make use of them later," I said out loud, my voice echoing from the walls. I was convinced that with the sheer number of photos Franny had in the box, she would never miss two of them. I believed the same about the panties. With my cock dying down, I resumed the task of going from room to room and repairing whatever I could.
But I was convinced of something else as well. As I worked on one repair job after another, it occurred to me that Franny being much older than I anticipated really didn't bother me. I mean, so what if she was more than twice my age? So what if she'd been a grown woman when I was born? The kiss she'd planted on me and the way she pressed her well-trained body against me drove me crazy with sexual desire, and evidently, my cock liked what she did as well. So Franny being older did not matter to me at all.
By late afternoon, I had made enough progress that I was now working on a leaky faucet in Franny's master bathroom. I had missed Franny's arrival, and so, was a bit startled when she stuck her head through the bathroom door and greeted me with a warm hello. "Oh, my, look at all you've done!" Franny exclaimed, bringing me yet again into another tight embrace against her amazing body. With the recent memory of the stolen photos and the lace panties hidden in my back pockets, it took all the self-control I could muster not to carry Franny to her bed and to fuck her. Franny broke the embrace and stepped back, surprising me by taking a seat on the closed toilet. Because the space between the toilet and the bathroom counter where I was working was so tight, it was almost impossible for Franny's black pantyhose clad legs not to make occasional contact with the bare skin of my legs below the hem of my shorts. By now I'd turned back toward the sink, my back to Franny, but able to see her by the reflection in the long, wall-to-wall mirror lining the wall above the sink. "I'm glad you're fixing that pesky thing, Steve," she said. "It's been keeping me awake at night." As I worked, I spoke to Franny's reflection, listing all the repairs I'd made during the day. "Wow," she said. "You've been busy!"
But it was when I informed Franny that I'd also replaced the lightbulb in the master bedroom closet that she suddenly stood and left the bathroom without saying a word. Immediately, my heart began to beat rapidly as I feared that Franny would discover that I'd seen the contents of the photo box. I was certain she would admonish me for invading her privacy. When she returned less than a moment later, she retook her place on the toilet, her stocking covered legs placed just behind me, her body facing my backside. As I neared the end of this task - my last for the day, I'd decided - Franny asked a series of questions, most focused on how long I'd needed to repair certain items, but more than a few on the bulb in the master bedroom closet. I responded as best I could, hoping Franny wouldn't pick up on the sudden tension or guilt causing my voice to change tone. I leaned forward now, needing the shift in body position to better grasp the faucet head that was giving me problems. As I leaned forward, the hem of my t-shirt rose several inches above my waist, exposing the tops of the two rear pockets. And that was when I felt Franny's hand on my backside.
Well, I felt her hand on my ass to be more precise. Frozen with fear, I decided my best move was to continue working as if I hadn't felt anything. Focusing on the still broken faucet, I felt Franny's hand slowly removing the photos and the panties from my rear pockets. I was busted and I knew it: I just didn't know how Franny would react, although I suspected her to burst out in anger any second now. It would be clear to her that not only had I invaded her privacy, but that I'd stolen from her as well. She had a right to be angry: She'd trusted me in her home while she was away and I'd violated that trust. There was no reason for Franny not to kick me out of her home. I prepared myself for being asked to leave Franny's house. Behind me, only the sound of a ticking clock in the hallway entered the room. She started for the bathroom door, then stopped and turned to face me, the photos and the panties in her hands. After a long second, Franny said, "I'll be in my room resting, Steve. When you've completed the faucet, please let yourself out."
The next ten days were hell for me. Franny avoided me each time I encountered her in the driveway, and refused to answer my knock at her door. Her phone went unanswered, and regardless of how well I planned my timing, I simply could not make contact with her. There's no one but yourself to blame, Steve, I admonished myself. But yet, I was hopeful, believing that if I could just speak to Franny for five minutes, I could make everything alright. Each day, I stared through my window at Franny's house, but not once did I see her or speak to her.
It was Saturday morning when I saw the sedan park in Franny's driveway. The drab color and door markings informed me immediately that the auto belonged to the Army. Two officers sat inside the car talking, going over what appeared to be a set of notes. I knew in an instant who the two men were: They were officers sent by the post commander. "One will be a chaplain," I said aloud to my empty house. "The other will be the commander's representative." Unable to move, I watched as the two men, each wearing their dress uniforms, knocked on Franny's door, and entered her home after introducing themselves. There was no doubt in my mind that Franny's husband had either been badly wounded, listed as missing in action, or, worst of all, killed in combat. There no other alternatives. Twenty minutes after their arrival, the two officers reappeared, entered the sedan, and drove away. Franny did not appear at her door to wish them a fond farewell. Still unable to move, and with the worst sense of dread I've ever felt in my life, I stood cemented by the window, asking myself what it was I should do for Franny, what it was I could do. I'd never felt so helpless in my entire life. Finally turning away from the window, I dialed Franny's phone number, but, as I expected, the call, and many like it, went unanswered. Knocks at her door resulted in no response. The day turned to night, the night to day, and still nothing from Franny to inform me as to what news she'd received. With each day that passed, I grew increasingly frustrated and helpless. To divert my thoughts from the visit Franny had received, I performed mundane household chores. Three days later, as I was doing my laundry, I discovered the keys to Franny's house. Evidently, I'd neglected to return them and she'd forgotten to ask me to return them.
It was as I fumbled the keys in my hands that I decided to act. ""She needs you, Steve," I said, my voice now toned with determination. "Go now." Less than two minutes later, I entered Franny's home through the back door, the interior of the home silent and still. As I passed through the living room, I saw a document I'd seen many times before since our nation went to war: An official notice of death in combat. That's it, I realized. Franny's husband has been killed. Reading the short but to-the-point message, I saw the same words Franny had seen: "We regret to inform you that your husband, Lieutenant Colonel Alan Parsons, was killed in combat on Friday, 10 March, 2016." The message went on to say that Franny would be contacted by Army representatives, and so on and so on. Words. Nothing more, nothing less, but still words that brought heartbreak and sorrow. I returned the notification to the table and set about finding Franny.
I found her lying on her bed. By now, her pillow was soaked with the endless river of tears she'd shed for her fallen husband. Sitting beside her on the bed, I placed my hand gently on her shoulder, massaging the soft skin, telling her I was there for her if she needed me. Franny turned onto her back, stared at me, and once again, began weeping softly, her eyes glued to mine. It was clear now that the incident between Franny and I was over, forgotten now in the shadow of the worst news Franny would ever receive in her entire life. I leaned forward, wrapped Franny in my arms, and held her as she burrowed her face into my shoulder, and wept an endless river of tears. "I'm here, Franny," I said as I massaged her back. "I'm here for whatever you need."
One thing I've learned is that we all express grief and sorrow in our own unique ways. Some cry endlessly, some sit so still and motionless that to even breathe seems to take more effort than we wish to display. I felt Franny pulling me forward, down upon the bed with her, my hands resting on either side of her head. My body hovered over her, this older woman who'd received such terrible news. Her eyes stared intently at me, deeply, a message sent wordlessly. Slowly, Franny's head came upward toward me, my eyes locked onto hers. When our lips met, the kiss was deep, probing, as Franny, who was now a widow, inserted her tongue between my lips and kissed me deeply, despite her intense sorrow. Despite our lips being pressed together, our eyes remained open, as if we both felt the need to remember this day in the years to come.
Although surprised, I returned the kiss as Franny pulled me downward, wrapping me tightly in her arms. I don't know why, but later when I recalled this incredible moment, I remember how the room - the entire house, actually - was so silent. No sounds came from either Franny or myself, no moans, no cries of passion, nothing. Even the bed remained silent as Franny and I increased the pressure of the kiss, as I fell into the grief-powered passion that had suddenly overtaken both my neighbor and myself. Yes, I'd been sexually attracted to Franny almost from the very moment she'd moved in, but now, I felt her grief, felt her sorrow, and I ached along with her for the loss she could never, ever, replace.
I felt Franny tugging on my shirt, the garment sliding up my back, over my head, to be discarded to the side. Without my assistance, Franny crossed her arms in front of her chest and removed her blouse, her eyes still locked onto mine, yet her mouth remaining silent. Slowly, her red-colored blouse slid up her chest, the tanned skin of her stomach in view now, followed by the undersides of her tits. When Franny's nipples came into view, there was no mistaking where this was all leading, no going back to the incident in the bathroom. Franny tugged her blouse over her head, her black-grey hair tussled from being pulled through the shirt. That garment too went to the wayside, discarded and forgotten. Without a word, and not needing instructions or requests from Franny now, I lowered my head and slipped Franny's right nipple between my lips.
I've sucked many nipples in my life, and it is an activity I enjoy performing. As I closed my lips around Franny's thimble-shaped, inch long nipple, she arched her back while running the fingers of her right hand through my short military haircut. Still no sound escaped her lips, although the bed did begin to issue low-sounding creaks as I slid my body downward to gain a better position over Franny's tits. For several seconds, I alternated my oral attention between the right and left nipple, sucking on one titty button while tweaking the other between my fingers. Did I know what I was doing? Yes. Did I realize that I had not come here to fuck Franny, but instead, to console her? Yes. And had my cock grown hard by this time? Again, yes.
But if I was able to ask and answer each of these questions, so too did Franny. Placing both of her hands under my arms, my neighbor guided me to a position where I was again lying beside her on the bed. Silently, with the only sounds in the room that of the creaking bed, and, I realized, the sound of heavy, sex-induced breathing, Franny lifted herself to a sitting position and slowly opened my trousers. Inch by inch, the zipper opened until Franny was able to slide my trousers downward and off my body. Lying here naked now, yes, I realized I'd fulfilled that fantasy of mine where I was naked with this special older woman. But I'm not so inconsiderate that I also didn't understand that the direction Franny and I were headed was not what I'd expected when I entered her home no more than half an hour earlier. Looking down now, I saw I was completely nude, my hairy legs extending toward the foot of the bed, and Franny, topless, sitting beside me. Leaning back, Franny removed her jeans, her long, toned legs coming into view. I couldn't help myself: Despite knowing this moment had been built on a dreadful situation, my eyes lingered at Franny's cunt, noting the thick, dense bust covering her pussy. The view of Franny's cunt disappeared when she threw the jeans onto the floor and slid her body over mine.
As I had done earlier, Franny now hovered over me, staring down at me. I began to speak, to tell Franny we could stop now, that we did not have to go so far as to make love. But the older woman who had to have been completely torn apart inside simply laid two fingers across my lips, quieting me while gently shaking her head from side to side. Franny's meaning, while not spoken, came across loud and clear: No talking. Please don't speak.
Closing her eyes, Franny slid her body downward toward my feet. Because she was an experienced love maker, because she knew what she wanted to do- or what she needed to do - Franny did not have to watch as her body continued its downward journey. So when the hairy outline of her cunt made contact with the head of my very hard cock, Franny simply opened her eyes, and with a series of gentle thrusts, managed to guide the head of my cock and lower-located inches of hard meat between her cunt lips. She closed her eyes, but only temporarily. With one, final but determined push, Franny's pussy swallowed the entire length of my cock. Sitting up now, her hands placed upon each naked thigh, Franny began to ride my cock, lifting and dropping her body in a series of fucking motions. Lifting my head several inches, I not only felt the pleasure of my cock being ridden by an older woman, but I also watched as Franny began to increase the speed of her ass drops and lifts. Although soft in volume at first, squishing sounds began to escape Franny's cunt as her pussy lips opened to accept my cock, the sound increasing with each ass drop of lift. Soon, the sound of the creaking bed joined the pussy-created squishing sounds.
Directing my attention to Franny's face, I saw her staring at me, but in a way I'd never seen before. Her eyes seemed focused on some distant point, as if she were dreaming, as if she'd mentally but not physically dispatched her body elsewhere. To my surprise, Franny smiled, widely as I'd seen her do when she was happy, the creases in her face changing her expression. For the only time that we would make love, Franny said one word, one simple term that neither offended me nor caused me to want to leave the house. As she lifted her ass then dropped it to allow my cock to reenter her cunt, Franny leaned forward, her mountainous tits pressed tightly against my naked chest. As she pushed and slid her body up and down the length of my cock, the fifty-eight year old Franny stared at me, her eyes seeing something far off, her mind there as well. Lowering her mouth to brush my lips, just seconds before she again pressed her mouth to mine, Franny said, simply, "I love you, Alan. I always will."
After the kiss, Franny rose to a sitting position again, cupped each titty in her hands, and began to ride my cock as if it would be the last piece of dick meat she might ever have. Slapping sounds, created by the intense and powerful coming together of the backsides of her thighs against my upper legs, now mingled with the sounds of my cock sliding forcefully into Franny's pussy as well as the creaking bed. Still, no sounds escaped from either Franny's mouth or mine, but by this point, we both knew we didn't have to make sounds to convince the other we were enjoying the hot but somewhat odd sexual experience. Franny released her tits, arched her back to the pint that her head now floated just over my knees, and began to ride my cock in a way neither my wife nor any other women I've ever fucked had. With my head propped onto a pillow, I was able to see every inch of my cock slide into and out of Franny's cunt, the meaty, thick shaft piercing her aged forest of pussy hair. Franny's hands were placed just above my knees, her straight-locked arms supporting her backward positioned body and preventing her from falling onto my legs or the mattress. On and on and on, Franny rode my cock, still making no oral noises, still riding my cock closed eyed.
As for me, I was nearing an orgasm. The sudden shift from lying beside Franny no more than twenty minutes ago to now lying on her bed while she rode my cock like a pony had caused the sexual fires burning hotly inside of me to come close to a boiling point. When Franny straightened her body, leaned forward, and interwove her fingers into mine, I knew that unless something happened - and happened very soon - then I would fill Franny's hairy cunt with a load of pearl-colored crème that I'd been storing for some time.
But one secret I've learned about older women is their ability to sense when their lover is close to coming. Franny had three choices as she felt my cock beginning to swell in anticipation of erupting between her cunt lips. Choice one was that she could continue to ride my dick and let me come inside her cunt. Choice two was that she could lift her body up and away from my driving shaft and prolong the explosion that I was so very close to. Or, she had choice three: here, she could simply change her body position and we would resume fucking from whatever sexual pose she took. By now it was evident Franny was in charge and because I felt so much for her, because I felt myself falling in love with her, I knew not to disrupt whatever plans Franny had planned.
Franny chose option three. Suddenly opening her eyes very wide, she dropped her chin even while continuing to ride my cock, stared at my cock, then lifted her naked ass from the cock-to-cunt connection. She rolled to her side, her message to me clear but silent. Rolling to my right, I placed myself between Franny's legs, once more pressed the head of my cock against Franny's pussy lips, and thrust my hips forward. Because of the excessive level of lubrication Franny's cunt produced, the entire length of my cock reentered Franny's pussy with ease. My older woman neighbor lifted both legs wide, her feet and ankles well off to the side. Understanding her intent, I began to drive my cock deep into Franny's cunt, finding new areas with the spear-like head of my cock I'd not explored before. Down, down, down, I thrust my cock so hard into Franny's cunt that the mattress began to protest as much as the bedsprings. Each powerful, violent thrust drove Franny into the soft mattress, but the internal springs responded by pushing Franny's body upward, the unexpected but welcome move acting as my assistant while I drove my cock like a train piston into Franny's cunt.
Franny's orgasm was not only unexpected, but also the most powerful I'd ever experienced with any woman, including my wife. Without warning, she wrapped her legs tightly around my waist, locked her ankles, and held me in place as wave after wave of wonderful, cunt-cleaning orgasm flowed over her. Even now, though, Franny did not call out, did not express the extreme level of pleasure an orgasm produced, made no sounds that she was coming. But I knew' I knew because as Franny's cunt clamped down on my cock shaft and squeezed the thick pole tightly, she threw her head back into the pillow, closed her eyes again, and did something I had never witnessed before. As her face contorted with the incredible satisfaction of an orgasm, tears began to flow from her eyes, the salty streams flowing down each cheek to her shoulders, then onward to the pillow under her body. Franny was simultaneously having a sexual orgasm while mourning the loss of her dear husband.
I continued to drive forward as my own orgasm began, as load after load of hot come spewed from my dick and coated the inner walls of Franny's cunt. From my waist down, every muscle in my body shook and vibrated as the orgasm took control of me, as the joy of coming in a woman's cunt overtook me and influenced my actions until finally, the last sexual pulsations ended, and I collapsed across Franny's naked chest, her nipples again pressing against mine, her legs still wrapped and locked tightly around my waist. Franny cupped my face in her hands, and kissed me again. But I knew it wasn't me she was kissing: It was Alan as Franny said goodbye to her husband in a very, very special way. With her eyes opened wide, Franny looked deeply into my eyes as tears continued to flow down each cheek, and in a voice that wouldn't qualify as being as loud as a whisper, said, "Goodbye, Alan. Goodbye."
Franny and I lay silently for a long period, neither speaking nor communicating in any way. Finally, with the day ending and the last traces of sunlight coming through the window, Franny rose from the bed, naked, and assisted me into my clothes. I knew she wanted to be alone, to gather her thoughts, and every attempt by me to speak to offer my assistance was met with a pressing of her fingers against my mouth. Naked, she led me to the door, closing it softly behind me. The night air was cool now, the stars beginning to show. Although it was but a matter of a few short steps, the journey from Franny's house to mine seemed as if it were miles. That night, I called Franny's phone, but received no response. I decided to let Franny deal with her grief, confident, however, that she knew that if she needed me, I would always be here for her.
Monday arrived and training resumed for me. For the next three days, the pilot candidates in my flight class practiced off-runway landings, covert infiltrations, and tactical insertions. The training required that we spend each night in the field, practicing the same skills we'd learned to do during the day at night as well. I returned to my home on Thursday afternoon, tired but glad the flight training was almost at an end. Glancing out my window, I noticed there was no movement next door. I so very much wanted to call Franny, but decided against doing so. It was when I retrieved the daily paper from the front porch that I noticed the small, purple-colored envelope wedged into the front door screen. The neat handwriting told me what I feared, but had come to expect. "I will never forget the special afternoon I spent with you. No one has been as kind to me as you, Steve. But I must honor my deceased husband's contribution to our nation. I'm leaving, as you probably already noticed. Please do not try to find or to contact me. I love you, and I am sure I always will. All my love, Franny."
Another letter awaited me in the mailbox. "I'm coming home," Tina's neat handwriting informed me. "The girls miss you, I miss you, and I want us to be a family again." She asked that I drive up Saturday to bring her and my daughters home. Along the way, as the hum of the road filled the car, one word, spoken over and over by some quiet but distant voice filled my thoughts:
Franny, Franny, Franny.
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