It was a usual morning for an ordinary day. I woke up to the pretty light coming into my bedroom windows. They overlooked a little park with big old trees. In the mornings people walked their dogs and children played in the park. Then the retired people and their small dogs and canes came in the early afternoon, or just with canes if they didn't have a dog. In the late afternoons, teenagers hung out in the park. The late evenings, dusk, were the best, when people snuck into the park, sometimes together and sometimes alone, to make out or have sex, things regular people couldn't see among the big old trees.

But this day is not about the park. I get up, have some tea and toast, get washed and dressed, and go to the little coffee shop not too far from my apartment.

I found this place when I first moved here during the days when all I did was wander the streets and explore the town I now live in. I'd been here five weeks and was finally settling in and settling down, ready to do some of the fun free-lance work I promised myself I would do.

Three years ago my treasure of a dog died, then my father died and two months later my husband died. It took two and a half years to settle all the business of death and grieve for all the losses that happened all at once. And when all the business was done, and the worst was over, I was itchy. My new little house was nice, paid for and I still had enough money to be as freelance as I had always wanted to be, not having to take every illustration job for every person in the world, no matter how terrible. I could retire now if I lived carefully. I was careful, but at the moment also carefree.

After talking it over with my daughters who were both grown and doing well, I decided to move to the UK for six months, which is as long as I am allowed to stay without a work visa. But that is good enough for now. My youngest daughter lives in my little house as a caretaker while I am gone. I found an estate agent in the UK and together we found a nice place for me to live for six months in this city. It wasn't a palace, small, but the light was nice, all the fixtures worked, the bathtub is deep, and it has big windows. I fixed it up as I like and I am happy. I have a really good bed.

I feel freer than I have in a long time and feel like I am returning to myself after a long time of being about 40 feet underground, even before the rash of deaths

I was also experiencing something fun that had been forty feet under as well - I thought a man was attractive and I looked forward to seeing him. I first saw him at the little cafe I had found during my wandering around the town. He often wore shorts on nice days and had really nice legs. Everything above the legs was very nice too. He was about my age, six feet tall, pretty fit and fair. He seemed to be friendly to everyone he came in contact with. When he was at the cafe and got a phone call, he would turn away from the other people, so we all didn't have to hear his conversation. Politeness counts. He read a lot and did a lot of writing, and I liked watching him covertly.

On Wednesdays and Thursdays, I have a little flutter in my stomach because those are the days that I see him most often and I have started looking forward to it. I make sure on Wednesdays and Thursdays that I look good. Tasty for 55, fair to silver, mediumly in shape, mediumly shapely, middling tall, a still pretty face. I had forgotten how fun it was to get a little dolled up, even for just an hour of possible flutters.

At the cafe, I'm sad that he's not here, but it's still a nice day. I go to sit at one of the six small outside tables with my coffee and chocolate croissant and read the children's book I was illustrating again. It is a lovely story about a family of bunnies, and I was working on sketches of the youngest bunny with pencil. If I find a face for the littlest bunny, I will outline it in pen and can share it will the author and editor for approval. The other bunnies were already done, but the expressions for the youngest were more difficult.

I get the size of the eyes and the expression of the little bunny's mouth right finally after a lot of erasures. I can repeat the face from different angles too. I feel the thrill I get when that happens, when it's just right and can be repeated. I reach into my bag for my pen to begin the lining on the sketches when I look up and see that the man I had been admiring was across from me at the next table. Our eyes touch momentarily, lasting only a nanosecond as my fingers touch my pen and close around it. It feels like an electric shock. I look away first, pen in hand.

Back to the bunnies, that are swimming in front of my eyes. I know that it is really not a good idea to outline now so I doodle on a new page, circles and waves and lines. One of the patterns I doodle looks a bit penis-y and I smile.

I have the tickle of being watched but don't want to look up. I feel the heat in my cheeks, rising up my neck. I have a habit of turning my pen in my fingers, done it since I was small, twirling it like a tiny baton. Ten twirls, twenty twirls, and then the pen slips out of my fingers and spins in a high arc through the air, landing right next to his coffee in the middle of his table with a hard ' thunk'.

I'm frozen like one of the bunnies I'm drawing. He takes the short steps over to my table and hands me my pen.

"I'm sorry about that," I say as I take my pen. Our fingers touch and it's another jolt. Up my arm and down my back.

"No need to apologize," he says.

"I'm Annie," I tell him and hold out my hand.

"Ian Hunt," he says and shakes my hand. His hand is warm and strong, not that he's crushing me, but I can feel the muscle there.

"Are you American?" he asks.

"Why, yes. What gave it away? My shoes? I bet it was my shoes."

"Yes, it was your shoes, certainly not your accent." He smiles at me and I like his smile, I like him looking at me. And then I do something I don't expect me to do - I ask him out.

I'm smiling, and ask, "Would you like to get a drink with me sometime?"

"Yes," he says matter of factly. "When?"

"Uh, tomorrow?" I ask. I feel myself blushing more, I could power a small city with my flaming cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I can't tomorrow. Are you free tonight?"

I don't bother checking my calendar. I'm free. "That would be lovely. Eight o'clock okay with you?" Eight o'clock is fine with him and we figure out where to meet that's not too far from me. Although he offers to pick me up, I decline. We share a coffee shop, he doesn't need to know exactly where I live. Yet. We exchange numbers in case something comes up, and as he has an appointment to attend, tells me he's looking forward to seeing me later and gives me a very brief one-arm side hug.

I watch him walk away, a nice view- a nice back, nice hips, and of course nice legs, with my mouth figuratively hanging open, gaping at myself. What have I just done? The terrified voice in my head starts yelling, "OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD WHATHAVEYOUDONEOHMYGOD!"

"Oh, shut up!" I accidentally say aloud. No one appears to have heard me and I’m glad.

What I have done is ask an attractive man out for a drink with me. Not terrible. I'm allowed. It's nice because I'm still alive. The worst thing that will happen is we won't have anything to talk about, we might be bored, and I might have to find a new coffee shop if it's truly awful. That will be that or maybe I'll have a friend, someone I can share a table with at coffee sometimes. That would be nice too.

He said yes. He's cute. And I'm still tingling, my hand, my whole arm, from shaking his hand, my shoulder from when his arm was around me for that brief side hug, and I look at my pen, unbelieving that I flipped it. I don't remember the last time I even dropped a pen. I really don't want to think about the other tingles going on. Tingles, though, are good, just another sign I'm alive.

The evening is clear, but a little chilly. I'm wearing a mid-thigh black pleated skirt and a pink short-sleeved sweater. I have my favorite cute heels on, and to make myself feel special I'm wearing a silky black bra and matching silky black panties. When I look in the mirror, I think I look pretty hot. I also have nice legs, all the way up.

When I was getting ready, I told myself I was just taking care of some neglected items, even though I knew these were neglected items I attend to if I think there is even a possibility, however remote, that I might be naked in front of someone. I certainly was not going to be naked I tell myself, I wanted to shave my legs and check the thousand might-be-naked places and things just because. I even repaint my toenails. Dark red. For confidence, of course, not possible future nakedness.

It's only a few minutes walk to the pub and I am just a few minutes late as I had not been able to decide which jacket to wear. He is leaning against the wall in jeans and our leather jackets almost match. We smile at each other, and I hope it will be a nice night. He leans down and kisses my cheek, telling me it's nice to see me. He smells like soap and toothpaste. We find a quiet table in a corner. We chat easily. He asks why I'm here, in this city and I explain about being a freelance illustrator so I can work anywhere, and a widow. He tells me he is sorry for my loss.

"My husband was always a very aggressive driver," I tell him.

"Oh, car crash then?" He asks, looking serious.

"No, heart attack." He laughs, and the "widow" discomfort is gone.

We laugh a lot this evening. He has no children and is not married. He works for himself too and tells me he would like to see my drawings sometime. I offer to get the next round of drinks when we have finished the first, but he won't hear of it. While he is at the bar, I draw a quick sketch of him on a paper coaster, just as he looks waiting for the drinks, elbow on the bar, half smile for the barmaid. I give it to him when he gets back. I can tell he likes it and is a little impressed. He looks for a long time and puts it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

I get up to go to the bathroom and he stands up. "Oh, do you have to leave?" I ask, disappointed as I don’t want the evening to end just yet.

"No, I'm just being polite."

My inner princess is swooning quietly. "No need," I tell him.

"I can't help it, it's an ingrained reflex. If I didn't do it, I would feel my mum whack me with a spoon.”

"By all means, stand then. No phantom spooning or whacking," I say, realizing that may have come out wrong.

He stands when I get back and adjusts my chair for me. My inner princess has to lie down now, I think.

I'm having such fun, haven't had such fun in so long, talking and laughing and flirting with a clever man. I haven't flirted with any man actually, but a clever one is certainly best. At one point he puts his hand on mine and is looking me in the eye at the same time, telling me a story about a friend. His eyes are green. This time the tingle goes up my arm, across my nipples making them hard in my sweater, down my spine, and directly into my pussy. Warmth spreads. I'm not sure how I don't physically flinch, and I have completely lost track of what he is saying.

We finish our last drinks, and he helps me with my jacket, and steers me to the door, waving goodnight to a few people he knows.

It's dark and the night air is cool. I like it as my face is too hot. I get out my phone to get a taxi, but Ian says he will walk me home if I like. I do like. I stumble a few steps from the door. Ian tucks my hand through his arm for balance. My inner princess's eyes roll back in her head and faints. I tell him I've had so much fun and thank him for a lovely evening when we are just a short way from my flat.

"The pleasure is mine," he says. His arms go around my waist, and he pulls me to him, and kisses my lips, the tip of his tongue just touching the space between them. I lean back against a garden wall and he kisses me again, separating my lips gently. I press against him like I'm drowning. I am drowning and kiss him back, arms around his neck. Our mouths meet perfectly, tongues sliding. This is one of the world's best-ever kisses and it goes on and on, I never want it to stop, but we do.

"I've wanted to do that for weeks," he says.

"I didn't think you ever noticed me," I say, still pressed between the wall and his body. Heat is radiating off of him. Off of both of us.

"Of course I did. I'm glad you threw your pen at me". He kisses me again, but gently and we start walking eventually. I deny throwing the pen, it took off on its own, I insist. My apartment is only a short block away. His arm is around my waist, my thumb through his belt loop. It's a slow walk up this short block because we keep stopping. making out like teenagers on the way. Every wall is an opportunity, every streetlight seems to light his eyes and make them greener.

I'm glad I tidied up the apartment and did the things that women do to prepare for getting naked. I'm really hoping to get naked. My panties are soaked, and my pussy is aching.

We stand on the front steps, kissing and touching each other for what feels like heaven. My hands are on his ass, I feel the heat of his cock against my stomach, his hands are under my sweater, on my skin, making it sing. Eventually, we separate. I get out my keys, but my hands are shaking, and I drop them. I lean down to pick them up, and his hand slides under my skirt, stroking the back of my thigh. I stand up again and hand him the big front door key. There is so much adrenaline flowing through me, I won't be able to put the key in the lock. He unlocks the heavy door, opens it for me, and steps back. My lips feel like teenagers, my eyes feel too big for my face and my mouth is suddenly dry. I realize that he is waiting either to say goodnight or an invitation. I don’t have to think about it.

"Would you like to come up?" I ask.

"I would like that very much, if I may," he says. Even in polite society, he is really fucking polite.

The hallway and stairs are fairly well-lit. He follows me up the elegant old staircase, a few steps below me. I know he's looking up my skirt and I love it.

My apartment is off the first landing. He still has the keys and unlocks my door with one hand, the other around my waist. I turn the knob and we almost fall into the little entry. I find the light switch that turns on the lamp in the front room. I lock the door behind us.

"Want to keep me?"

I don't answer, I'm taking off my coat and dropping it on the floor, trying to push his jacket off too. He stops me, picks up my coat and pocketbook, and hangs them up. He hangs his coat next to mine.

"The spoon won't let me leave things on the floor," he tells me. “The spoon looms ever large in my life.” We chuckle at the spoon.

"Would you like something to drink? Pellegrino, wine, juice?” I ask.

"Pellegrino would be nice." I go to the kitchen, and he watches me pour the drinks from the doorway. I carry them to the front room. He admires the view of the park through the long windows. There are some lights in the park among the big trees, but they only shine softly through the tall windows of the front room. I set the glasses down on the table in front of the sofa and excuse myself to the bathroom. My face is flushed in the mirror and so is my chest above the sweater. I pull it up to see how far down the flush goes. All the way to my navel. I sit on the toilet and have a pee. I check to make sure there is no toilet paper stuck to my pussy, being pretty sure I was going to be naked. Flush, wash my hands, look at my face. I decide I'm beautiful and giggle. My hair is messy, coming down from its clip. This is a good look for me.

Ian is sitting on my sofa, holding his glass and when I come back sets his glass down and stands up. The spoons did a number on this poor man, I think, and possibly his knees.

He excuses himself to the restroom as well. I drink half the water while he is gone. He comes back in a few minutes. I think he washed his face, and definitely his hands. He sits next to me, our thighs are touching, and still, that shock travels through me, a fault in my central nervous system or trick of chemistry. He puts his arms around me again, pulling me into him gently and he says in my ear after kissing me, "I want you, Annie; I want to fuck you." I moan into his shoulder. Are there better words?

"Yes, please." I stand up and take his hand, leading him to my bedroom. The light is dim and green in here from the park, but I turn on a lamp. I want to see everything. He stands with his arms at his sides, watching me move. I take the clip from my hair and let it fall down my back. I pull my sweater off. He takes my sweater and smells it, and places it on the armchair.

Then he is next to me, unzipping the back of my skirt and it falls to the floor. He holds my hand so I can step out of it and puts it on the chair next to my sweater. He begins to unbutton his shirt, but I do that for him. Shirt to the chair. He unbuckles his belt and pulls it through his belt loops. It joins the rest of the clothes. He pulls me to him, kissing my mouth, my cheeks, my temple, down my neck, my chest, the palm of my hand, his hands on my breasts, stroking me through the silky material. He unhooks my bra with irritating ease using one hand, and I focus on how many bras he has unhooked to be that completely proficient until his tongue flicks my nipple, first one then the other.

"Beautiful, so lovely," he says and sucks the other nipple gently into his mouth. My hands run over his skin, the soft fur of his chest, the muscles of his shoulders and arms. My pussy is dripping, soaking through my panties, wetting the tops of my thighs. He walks me backward, to the bed until I sit. I unbutton the top of his jeans and pull down the zipper, to reveal his boxers. Dark blue with big tropical pink flowers. Unusual. He does the rest, shoes, socks, and jeans, leaving his boxers tented in front of him. I find his cock through the material, hard and big and hot. I pull them down. He flips them onto the chair with his foot and I laugh. I take hold of his cock and stroke it, looking into his eyes as I do. My other hand cups his balls which are soft furry friends in my hand. I wrap my lips around the head, tasting his precum, circling, and tasting. I take a slow wet slide down until his cock hits the back of my throat, and back, slow wet mouth, soft wet lips. It's been years since I sucked cock and it is wonderful in my mouth. Nothing is so silky and hard, hot and smooth, all at the same time. His hand is in my hair, stroking it and pushing it off my face. "Stop, please stop," he says, and I do.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Ladies first," he says, and I laugh, thinking of his mum with her spoon when he is with his first girl. I tell him and he laughs too.

"Oh, that would have been fucking awful!" he says and we are convulsed for a while but laughing is just making me want him more. Face to face on my bed, and he is stroking my whole body, my back, my behind, hips, and sides, kissing my neck, mouth, shoulder, chest, and breasts, and rolls me onto my back to pull off my shoes which I had forgotten about and slide my soaked panties down and off.

"So wet, love," he says as he touches them, not judgment just happy commentary.

I watch his face when he sees my pussy. It is swollen and juicy, my big clit standing like a small pink flag, glistening with wetness. "Ohhhhh, gorgeous, oh," he breathes, his girth increasing, cheeks flushed, and then his face is between my thighs, kissing the soft skin, and his hand is on me cupping my vulva, and then he blows on my clit. I almost cum right then, and he does it again, and again. There is something like a scream and a moan which is me. And then his tongue is tasting me, through the wet folds, up and down, sliding through my lips and I can only stroke his hair, his ears, tops of his shoulders because I can't move, paralyzed by this incredible heat, joyful pleasure. His tongue plays slowly across my clit and back, and I'm moaning with each soft, insistent tongue caress.

"You taste so good, Annie," he tells me and returns to where he was, licking and sucking, and all hot, and all gentle, no teeth just lips and tongue, and I'm so close to something, my thighs are shaking. He slips a finger into my pussy and I explode against his mouth, I hold him there as I cum and cum, pressing against his sweet, hot mouth, his finger in and out and in and out, until I'm panting and done for that moment, he lets me rest and slowly takes his finger out. He replaces his finger with his tongue and I'm now in a new universe of pleasure. Waves crash over me and I see colored lights, and I'm cumming again, with this slow intense tongue fuck. I've only had that twice before and only for about ten seconds each time, but he keeps going and going and I'm afraid I might die from cumming so hard until he slows and stops. He rests a moment on my thigh, kisses my pussy, the whole thing, long slow kisses, but then up my stomach, hips, ribs, breasts, insides of my arms, both of them, my neck. His cock is pressed against my entrance. My thighs press his hips.

"Is this alright?" he asks. He is still stroking my body, touching me everywhere.

“Yes,” I tell him. “Fuck me. Please. Ian.” I will beg if I have to.

His cock presses against my entrance, but I'm too tight. Three years have returned me to a somewhat virginal state. He doesn't seem to mind, he patiently presses and releases and still caresses me, kissing my neck, my mouth, one hand on my breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. I know I'm wet enough, aroused enough, and I'm becoming sad, I want this so much.

"It's all right," he says against my cheek, "Don't worry. It's alright, another time, love, don't worry." Then the head of his lovely cock is in my dripping cunt, slowly slipping into me. I feel the stretch as he enters me slowly, I feel all of it, every lovely inch. I lock my ankles around his hips, pulling him into me, filling me up, all the empty places expanding, until my clit is kissing the base of his cock. He rolls his hips, and I groan against him. We are still for long moments, breathing. I squeeze his cock, and we move again, long slow strokes, all the way into my body, almost all the way out, steady and insistent. My teeth are against his neck, hips rising to meet him. Faster now, a little faster and I'm cumming around his cock, hands on his ass, pulling him in, it feels so good to be filled. He doesn't stop, kissing my mouth, whispering in my ear, against my neck.

"Harder, Ian, please, please!"

Our bodies are just one now, juices pouring from me, his cock stretching me, balls bouncing against my ass, and I'm cumming again, panting, moaning, and then he is cumming too, his groan is guttural, primal, and beautiful, as I feel his hot cum fill me, my pussy drinking him up.

We stay connected until his cock slides out of me, our mingled juices trickling from me. He rolls off of me but pulls me close to him, so my head is on his shoulder. He lays my arm across his chest, and my thigh over his.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" he asks.

"I thought you were busy."

"I have a thing, but you can come as my plus one."

"Be still my heart, I've always wanted to be a plus one."

"Cheeky."

"Yes, I would love to be your plus one." I kiss his cheek and he smiles.

He turns out the light when we get under the duvet. We sleep, hip to hip.