I couldn’t decide if Mark was unfriendly or merely shy, but after he hired me, we barely spoke, only enough for him to teach me what I needed to do and assign tasks. I’d felt like I made him nervous, despite him being much older than me, and it always seemed like he was walking on eggshells when I was nearby.

Being something of an extrovert myself – and growing up around four brothers and their friends – I had a fairly quick and filthy sense of humor. I unintentionally let it slip a few times with him, turning something he’d said into a sexual double-entendre, or telling a risqué joke that I recalled. He always blushed but laughed, and I eventually figured out that he was indeed terrified of me, but only in the sense that I might be a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen; I wasn’t, of course, and certainly not for something silly like a compliment on my appearance, an innocent spicy joke, or off-color comment. He eventually figured that out too, and lowered his guard.

We became good friends in the two-plus years that I worked for him, full-time in the summers and part-time while I was in college, and it got to where we would kid around and even flirt quite openly, sexual innuendo flying, teasing each other about almost anything, the teasing often turning sexual. He was married – and as I said, older than me, fifty-one when he’d hired me at age twenty, and married – but I’d always felt an attraction to him and I think he felt the same. He was tall and handsome and confident, with a 'command presence', things I found very attractive; still, we kept things light and never went beyond flirting, or occasionally going to lunch together. We’d shared a very spontaneous but memorable kiss once after we’d each had a couple of drinks over lunch, but that was all, and it had made for an awkward couple of days until we talked about it and cleared the air.

We’d gone separate ways when I graduated, but stayed in occasional touch with each other, enough for him to know I’d gotten married and to eventually meet Richard, and for me to know he’d gotten divorced and eventually moved to Denver. I’d gotten in the habit, when I visited my brother in Denver, of calling Mark and trying to meet for lunch while I was there, usually somewhere near his downtown workplace. So it was that I found myself calling him as I came down I-70 into West Denver and Wheatridge. It rang twice before he answered, caller ID telling him it was me.

“Hey Rayney, how’s things?”

“Good, Mark, you?”

“Good, good… Visiting your brother?”

“Heading that way, yes. You free for lunch tomorrow?”

He laughed. “Guess I forgot to tell you; I retired, so I’m free anytime.”

“You retired? When?”

“A couple of months ago. I turned sixty-six in February, you know.”

“Wow. I guess that makes sense; I’m thirty-five now, so if I’d done the math…”

“Yes, you’d have realized I’m fucking old. Don’t rub it in.” I laughed, and he went on, “How about dinner tomorrow instead of lunch, celebrate my retirement?”

“As long as you’re buying we can celebrate whatever you want.”

He laughed. “Some things never change. Wear something nice and I’ll take you to a good place, okay?”

“Hmm… I’ll need to shop, but sure!”

He lived downtown, the restaurant he had in mind nearby, so we made arrangements for me to meet him in the lobby of his building at seven the next evening. My sister-in-law, Sherry, went shopping with me and helped me pick out a sexy new dress, tight and short and made of a soft and flowing blue metallic knit. When I modeled it for her, her eyebrows rose.

“That’s got a lot more ‘please fuck me’ going on with you wearing it than it did on the hanger. Are you trying to get laid?”

“Is it that bad?”

“No, sweetie, it’s that good. Unless he’s a eunuch, that’s going to spark some interest.”

I laughed. “Well, good! Pretty sure he's not a eunuch. I mean, he’s always been a hottie, so I have to try to match up, right?”

“Didn’t you say he’s pretty old?”

“I used to think so. It doesn’t seem like so much now. He’s sixty-six.”

“Thirty years older than you? Seems like a lot to me.”

“Thirty-one. But you haven’t seen him.”

She smiled. “Yes, there’s that. How does Richie feel about you meeting him?”

I shrugged. “You know Richard; he trusts my judgment. He’ll just be jealous that he wasn’t a part of it.”

“Silly, silly boy.” Sherry, Richard’s favorite sister-in-law, is one of the few people who know about our lifestyle, that we engage in sexual threesomes with others occasionally, and that Richard is bisexual. Sherry is open-minded and has been trying to figure out a way to get my brother Tom interested in some experimentation – she’d love to get laid by some new stud - and wouldn’t object to finding another couple (not us!) to swap with. I’ve always felt like he’d probably be fine with the concept – he was always a horndog - but she’s hesitant to broach the subject, worried he’ll be jealous or feel insecure. We haven’t figured out a way for the two of us to talk to him without the awkwardness of him being my brother intruding.

The dress purchased, she also helped me pick out shoes and stockings, thigh-highs. The shoes were open-toed and had four-inch heels, unlike anything I had. Richie would be astounded that I’d bought them, maybe also by the price, but I had a plan for that too – the first time my husband would see them on me they’d be all I wore, and they'd be up in the air!

I found and bought some new thong panties that I’d needed anyway, and Sherry loaned me some earrings and a necklace once I was dressed for my date – I hadn’t packed jewelry, not planning for anything fancy! A bra would be superfluous for me, and not easily concealable in the dress, so I skipped it. Sherry assured me that I looked "entirely edible", and I headed downtown.

I parked in the garage beneath his building; Mark was waiting in the lobby when I stepped out of the elevator. He whistled and made all the appropriate flattering comments about my new dress (and me), and he looked good, as he always does, in an expensive grey wool sportscoat and sexy black shirt and slacks over his tall, lean form, a definite “silver fox” kind of hunk. Some guys just age so well… Life is unfair that way!

When he pulled me close for a hug and I lifted my chin to clear his shoulder I felt his neatly-trimmed beard rough on my cheek and breathed his subtle but rich and expensive cologne. Both made me quiver with desire. I realized that in these heels I was almost six feet tall, only a few inches shorter than him!

He said, “It’s good for my ego to have you on my arm, makes me feel young again.”

I laughed. “Mark, stop! I mean thanks, but you look amazing. I was thinking about how great you look, handsome and successful, tall, sexy… people will probably think I’m a gold-digger.”

He chuckled. “And I’m your sugar daddy, huh? Or you’re my trophy wife since you’re wearing your wedding ring.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that; of course I was wearing it, and he knew I was married, but was that a problem? He saved me further embarrassment by suggesting we go since we had a reservation.

We walked the short distance to the restaurant (one more block and I’d have regretted the shoes…) which turned out to be Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse, a small but expensive chain known for excellent steaks, great service, and a well-stocked bar and wine cellar. The service was all it was cracked up to be, at times almost too solicitous, but we felt unhurried and had plenty of time to talk and catch up, which we did.

He reached across the table and took my hand, his finger touching my wedding ring, turning it.

“Does it bother you that I’m wearing my ring? I always wear it, except when I’m on the river. I could lose it there; the cold water makes my fingers shrink.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of that effect on things.” We both laughed, and he went on, “No, I wasn’t complaining, just noticing. It’s very beautiful; I’m glad you and Richard are still so close. It's reassuring to see a marriage that works.”

“Thank you, and yes, we are. How about you? You must get hit on by a lot of women."

“Some, yes; none as beautiful as you."

I felt myself blush. “Mark… Younger women?”

“Sometimes; some my age, or close. None as young and sexy as you, which is probably a good thing.”

I laughed. “And? No Mrs. Right yet?”

”As you might understand, I’m in no hurry after the way my marriage ended.” He laughed. “But I do OK. Still, with you, I have a comfort level. With our friendship, as long as we’ve known each other, it all just feels so natural.”

“We have known each other a long time, spent a lot of hours together when I worked for you.” I knew his marriage had ended on a rocky note, so I was glad he could laugh about it now.

“Worked with me.” He’d always insisted on that; nobody worked “for him”, we all worked “with him”, even though he owned the company and was our boss. “I suppose that’s a big part of it. How about you, Rayne? You must get hit on a lot, looking like you do.”

“Mark, I work with a bunch of guys who are pretty much all under twenty-five; they’re all testicularly intellectual at that age.”

He smiled. “Testicularly intellectual?”

“Yeah – they think with their balls. They’ll hit on anything female, pretty much.”

He roared with laughter. “I love that, I’ll have to remember it – and by the way, that character flaw is not restricted to only younger guys. I know a lot of guys my age or older that are just as bad, our brains just dangle a little lower.”

I smiled. “I suppose that’s true. That’s not all bad, however. Do you suffer from that?”

“The scrotal thinking, or the low-hanging?”

I giggled. “I meant the thinking, but let’s go with either.”

“Then yes, both, sometimes.” We laughed. I always enjoyed Mark and his self-deprecating sense of humor – he was right, we were good together, relaxed and easy. He went on, “You’re lucky you have your smile, that quick wit, and your outrageous attitude, you can put them off without breaking their hearts.”

“Or their spirit. Sometimes they’re like children.”

“We get that way around beautiful, sexy women."

“Even you?”

“Even me.”

We enjoyed our meals, perfectly done steaks, and drinks - a cocktail before, a bottle of a great Cabernet during, and Irish coffee after. We were comfortably numb - or at least I was – by the time we stepped back out onto the sidewalk.

He asked, “Are you going to be OK to drive?”

“Probably not right away, no.”

“You want to watch a movie or something while you unbuzz?”

“Kind of late to go to the theater, isn’t it?”

“I meant at my place. I could put something in the VCR.”

“VCR? What, no old eight-mm porn flicks? Are you sure you have enough coal on hand to keep your VCR running? I mean, it is steam-powered, right?”

He laughed. “I meant DVD player, OK? Blu-ray, I just said the wrong thing, smart ass.”

“Well, that’s better. I was going to question if you were lying about your age… VCR, wow! No streaming service?”

“Of course, but I have dozens on disc, all my favorites.”

“That sounds good, sure. It’s what we do too; our internet out where we live is too crappy for streaming, it always stalls.”

“Great, I’ll even let you pick. VCR… My god, where did that come from?” We walked back to his building, his arm around my shoulders and mine around his waist. It’s fun being seen with a tall, sexy, handsome older man with salt-n-pepper hair, blue eyes, and a great smile, the confidence that radiates from him and the looks we got from people we passed. I wondered what they thought or imagined about us, if anything, despite the fact that we were merely very dear friends.

In the elevator, he kissed me, our second kiss ever, and while it surprised me it also went straight to my core. Without thinking about it, I pushed my tongue into his mouth and he reciprocated, sucking at it before giving me his. A thrill of arousal ran through me and my body flushed with heat, my nipples hardening until they showed through my soft, sexy dress. We were crushed to each other, the kiss flaming out of control and his fingers in my hair, my arousal spiking.

Mark pulled away suddenly, but not before I felt the heat of him hardening against me. He looked stunned. “I’m sorry; I don’t know why I did that!”

I felt like he looked, blushing, my heart pounding at how rapidly an innocent kiss had escalated. “Me too.” I laughed. “I was the one that tried to shove my tongue down your throat though, so I should apologize to you.”

“Jesus. No, I…” We were saved from any further awkwardness by the ding of the bell announcing that we’d arrived at his floor. We walked to his apartment door, Mark guiding me with a hand on my back but being careful to keep it high, between my shoulder blades. Still, that put it on bare skin, and his touch only added to the sensation of arousal, each touch and the thoughts in my head sending sparks to my sex. I knew that I was lubricating madly and that if I didn’t get myself under control I was going to have a very wet little thong!

He let us in and I oohed and aahed over his views of the city, the stadiums, and the river as he went to pour us each a glass of wine, explaining that he remembered I loved a good Chardonnay and had picked up a couple of bottles.

I walked into his gourmet kitchen just as he placed the bottle back in the refrigerator. I picked up one of the large wine glasses, which contained a generous pour of the golden Chardonnay. “Is this some sort of magic wine that’s going to help me sober up?”

“I’m sorry. If you’d rather not…”

I sipped it; he was right, it was very good. “No, it’s OK, although we may have to call me a cab or an Uber or something. I can have my brother or his wife bring me back for my car in the morning.” I took another sip. “You know that you were the one that first introduced me to the wonders of good wine, right?”

He smiled. “Well, if I accomplish nothing else in life…”

I laughed. “We both know better than that. Seriously though, I was so young, but you never made an issue of it or acted condescending. I appreciated that.” He’d been quite successful and seemed to be comfortably retired, somehow remaining that same very nice guy through it all. “Are you enjoying your retirement?”

He shrugged. “I suppose. To be honest, I miss working; I need to find something to do to make myself feel useful.”

I laughed. “Yeah, that sounds about right; you live to work. You always loved animals, so why not volunteer at one of the rescue places? Denver must have several.”

“I’ve been considering that very thing. I want to travel a little first, but once I settle in… So, anyhow, what kind of movie would you like to watch?”

“I need to use your restroom first, but I’ll be thinking about it.”

He motioned down the hall. “On your right, second door.”

I found it and took care of business, noticing as I did that I was right; the gusset of my teal-blue thong was visibly wet with my arousal. I cleaned that up as best as I could while I was drying, but it was a somewhat futile effort. When I went back out a few moments later, after washing my hands and checking my hair and makeup, he’d changed into a pair of soft knit lounge pants, drawstring dangling, and a Broncos T-shirt. I don’t know if he was aware of how the soft knit of the pants displayed his impressive bulge, the head of his cock clearly outlined, but I was very aware of it. So much for keeping my undies dry!

He smiled when I looked at him. “I hate to say this because you look so fucking incredible in that dress, but if you’d like to get comfortable…”

I shrugged. “This is all I brought.”

“No, I know. I mean, I figured, but you can help yourself to something from my room, my closet or dresser. There are more pants like this, or sweats, T-shirts, whatever you want. Help yourself, make yourself at home.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely – although, like I said, if you want to stay in that dress I won’t be disappointed. I just thought we might get comfortable and curl up on the sofa to watch a movie, so…”

I smiled. “You’re right, this is not designed for curl-up-ability; modesty would fall by the wayside, I’m afraid.”

“Damn, I’d hate that!”

 I laughed. “I’ll bet! Maybe I will find something - if you’re sure it’s OK?”

“Knock yourself out. Seriously, whatever you want to wear.”

I foraged his bedroom for a few minutes, enjoying the scent of him and the insight into his life. I was mildly amazed that he had no issues with me going through his things unsupervised, but we’d been friends a long time, and he’d trusted me with his car many times, and tens of thousands of dollars in both cash and equipment when I’d been in my twenties, so I suppose I understood his comfort zone.

I considered a pair of knit pants like he wore, or a pair of athletic shorts of the same material, as well as several T-shirts - to be worn with the pants or alone if they were long enough. Sweats were another possibility, but I wasn’t prepared to go quite that downscale. I didn’t stumble onto any embarrassing personal belongings, except maybe what could only have been a cock ring and another two-ringed device that looked like it was intended to ring both his cock and his balls simultaneously. I smiled and put them back where I’d found them, although I had to admit that the diameter of the rings was intriguing!

I was tempted to check his medicine cabinet for ED meds, but it seemed a little nosy – plus, I wouldn’t have any way to know if he’d taken any, or what that might portend. I respected his privacy instead and eventually settled on a very casual shirt from his closet, a lightweight flannel in grey and purple shades. It was probably as downscale as the sweats, but with my bare legs below it and the top few buttons undone, it just seemed sexier.

Looking at myself in his full-length mirror, I wondered what I was doing. First, the shirt, worn like that, was barely more modest than my dress had been. Second, was I trying to entice him? Did I want to cross that boundary we’d always observed and make our relationship more than just a good friendship? I was aroused, which I knew was affecting my judgment, but he’d always remained carefully hands-off, and I had to acknowledge that sex would almost certainly complicate things, all the more so given that I was married. He looked so good in those thin pants, though…

Richie was cool with Mark, comfortable with our friendship and closeness; he’d always been that way, especially about guys I’d known before we met. He said once that he considered them “safe” because I’d had my chance and passed on them. He’d asked me once if Mark and I had ever been more than friends, or if I wanted it to be more. I had assured him we had not crossed that bridge but left open the question about the future.

I know my husband and knew he was asking out of prurient interest and a desire to be involved if it came to that.  He had likely assumed that if me and Mark did have sex, he would also be involved. If not, Richard would want to know every detail – and then want to do it again with him in the picture!

I mentally shrugged and returned to the living room, the decision made to remain dressed somewhat provocatively and see what happened. The first thing that happened was that Mark looked at me and whistled. “I’ll probably have to let you keep that shirt because now I’ll always know that it will never look as good on me as it does on you.”

I laughed. “Thanks. You’re always so smooth with the compliments; is that part of the older man thing?”

“Just being honest – and you don’t have to keep reminding me how much older I am! I remember when I hired you, you seemed like just a kid.”

“I was, I guess. I was twenty. I’m older and wiser now.”

“Unfortunately, I’m still way older than you.”

“It’s still just thirty-one years. Funny how it doesn’t seem like such a big gap now.”

“It is, though.”

I smiled. “Mark, think of it this way. When we met, you were more than two and a half times my age; now, you’re not even twice my age.”

He chuckled. “That does sound better. Yeah, I like that. You know I was very attracted to you even then. You were a fantasy, a dream, I just couldn’t let myself act on it.”

“Of course; you were married then and had two kids at home.”

“That was a big part of it, the kids especially. My wife and I… well, let’s just say we were moving apart.”

“I’m sorry. I felt it too, you know, that attraction.”

He seemed surprised. “You did, huh? Even though I’m thirty years older than you.”

I laughed. “It’s thirty-one, but who’s counting? And yes, I did. You defined sexy for me in those days, and I had some great fantasies about you. You featured in some very hot…” I felt myself blush. I’d masturbated with him in my mind many times, picturing him naked, face between my legs or his cock deep inside of me or in my mouth. “Well. Let’s just say you were on my mind a lot.”

He smiled. “It’s probably a damn good thing I didn’t know that at the time.”

“I sort of wish you had. I almost told you.”

I shouldn’t have said that, even though it was true. For the first time all evening, the silence between us felt awkward.

He finally broke it, clearing his throat and asking, “So, what would you like to watch?”

“Do you have something with good music in it?”

“Let’s see… ‘Jesus Christ, Superstar’, ‘Grease’, ‘Tommy’, ‘Flashdance’, umm… ‘Dirty Dancing’…”

I laughed. “A lot of those are chick flicks, Mark. Maybe something with less estrogen, and maybe less rockish?”               

“Do you like big band stuff, more jazz-type?”

“I do. I especially like…”

“I have ‘The Glenn Miller Story’.”

I laughed. “That’s who I was going to say! There are probably only three or four of the old swing kinds of groups I could name, but he’s my favorite. I think the love of the big band sound has been passed down in my family for several generations now, and my parents made sure I was exposed too. You do have a wide range of choices.”

“I’m a collector, I have probably two thousand discs, counting movies and CDs - and I hadn’t even started on the Motown stuff yet. I could just put some music on.”

“No, do the movie, the Glenn Miller one. I haven’t seen it in forever.”

He did, and as it began to run credits he dimmed the lights and freshened our wine glasses. He was most definitely not helping me sober up enough to drive, but I was aware of it and enjoying my comfortable buzz. Mark had never been one of those kind of creepy guys that you automatically keep your guard up around, so it was easy to relax and watch the movie. We’d sat at opposite ends of his big, plush sofa so that we’d each have a place to set our drinks as we enjoyed the early part of the movie, but after a while, without really thinking about it, I swung my legs up and stretched out as I might have done at home.

He glanced at me, his expression bemused. I asked, “Is that OK?”

“It’s fine, of course! Make yourself comfortable. You seem very at ease here.”

“I am, Mark. You’re very easy to be with.”

“I guess that’s a compliment.”

“It is.”

He grabbed my feet and pulled them into his lap. “I also offer a hell of a foot massage as part of the wine and movie package; you interested?”

“Oh yes… but I’ll warn you, I’m very ticklish.”

 “I won’t tickle you.”

“That would be in your best interests; I tend to kick involuntarily when tickled.”

He laughed. “Thanks for the warning.”

He didn’t tickle, or not much. Not enough to get kicked, anyway, and the massage began to feel very good. Perhaps too good, because, coupled with the fact that I was mildly drunk and more than mildly aroused already in the presence of my sexy, handsome older friend, someone I already had a great deal of affection for and attraction to, I could feel my whole body beginning to respond to his touch.

The tingles in my tummy and lower, the heat radiating out from my sex, my nipples hard and in need of someone’s touch, my heart racing and my breathing becoming shallow and fast were all signs I knew only too well. As he continued, I also knew I was lubricating madly in response to his touch; I knew that about myself, and I could feel my body’s response to my arousal.

Although it didn’t reduce my burgeoning arousal at all, it did help my self-consciousness about it when, after a few minutes, I felt him hard and hot against my ankle, his cock swollen and throbbing. I may have moaned slightly, my awareness of his condition feeding my own, and I began to subtly rub my foot against his erection, trapping it between my arch and his tummy.