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Chaos reigned in every direction.

Elementary school children of all ages surged up and down the halls, shouting to one another and to their parents, “Hi Scotty!”

“C’mon Mom, hurry up!”

“Here’s my room, let’s go in!”

Harried parents, filled with a mixture of excitement and sensory overload, did their best to pretend they were in control of their kids. And I was right there with them, holding tight to the hand of my four-year-old as I watched my six-year-old’s head bob and weave through the crowd on his way to his classroom.

I hadn’t been to an event like this in the more than nine months since Sarah died. Sure, I’d been to the school for various conferences with my son’s teachers, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to attend any of the community events like this Fall Festival. Mostly I just couldn’t bear all the sympathetic smiles, the whispers, the well meaning expressions of sorrow:

“How are you holding up, Tom?”

“We all miss her.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

It was all just too hard to bear. Plus, it just pissed me off that their good intentions forced me to stifle my own feelings just so I could put up a brave front.

But this was a new school year and I’d sworn it would be a new start for me and my boys. So here I was, being a dad again, threading my way through the chaos. I had to admit it felt really good to be back doing something normal again.

In my son’s classroom, all the kids and their parents were gathered around, eagerly checking out cubbys, reading charts and math workbooks. As I looked around me, I saw lots of familiar faces—parents I knew from last year or from the neighborhood. Being surrounded by all this happiness was a good thing. Good for me, good for the boys.

During the next half our or so, several of the mothers and fathers stopped by to shake my hand, hug me and the boys, or just pat me on the back to let me know there were glad to see me again. Most of the ones I knew were still just “Bobby’s mom” or “Alison’s dad,” but a few of them I knew better and was glad to see. Then it was time to join in the madness out in the halls—games, treats, inflatable bouncing rooms, face painting, even a cake walk.

We dodged our way from one room to another, sampling all the fun. I was so focused on the boys and how much they were enjoying themselves, I only thought about Sarah a couple of times and the pangs were not nearly as bad as I had expected them to be. Finally, we ended up in the big room with the cake walk. A mixed crowd of kids and a few adults were pacing methodically around the room, stepping on numbers and waiting for the music to stop. Arranged around the outside walls were knots of parents, chit-chatting and halfway watching what was going on in the middle of the room.

As I scanned the room I saw that directly across from me was Marissa, Justin’s mom. During the terrible first weeks after Sarah’s death she’d been a huge help to me. More than once she’d taken the boys for a play date. Sometimes she would stop by in the late afternoon with a casserole or a pan of lasagna, and at my oldest’s birthday party, she took charge when I started to lose it in the face of twelve happily screaming six year olds.

I’d thanked her profusely, of course, and at the end of the school year I sent her a big bouquet of flowers with a heartfelt thank you letter. You learn a lot about people from the way they cope with death—most try to avoid you because it reminds them of their own mortality, but a few, like Marissa, move closer and share themselves during your time of greatest need. When the summer began I kind of lost track of her—each family went its own way for vacations, summer camps and the like—so it was nice to see her again.

As usual, she was looking incredibly good. I had her pegged for about 10 years younger than me, meaning 33 or 34, although she had the body of someone much younger. She was tall—almost six feet in the boots she was wearing tonight—and slender, hair dirty blonde (although these days clearly dyed that way), and she still had the remnant of a tan from summer.

In addition to the boots, she was wearing black slacks that clung to her ass in a very nice way and an ice-blue satin blouse that was unbuttoned one more button than would have been modest. In her case, though, her breasts were very small—surprisingly so for a woman as tall as she was—and so there wasn’t any cleavage bursting out to shock the other moms and excite the dads. Still, the dark area where the folds of her blouse overlapped held my gaze.

Suddenly I realized I was staring and pulled my eyes up to her face. Shit! She was looking right at me. Immediately I felt myself beginning to redden and I smiled weakly. Instead of scowling, she broke into a wide smile, waved across the cake walkers and mouthed—”Stay a minute,” holding up one finger. I nodded, acutely aware that I’d been busted and that I had been staring at a woman with interest for the first Gaziantep Elden Para Alan Escort time in, well, months and months. In fact, it was one of the first times I could remember doing that since everything fell apart so suddenly back in February.

Marissa wrapped up whatever it was she was saying to the two moms she was standing with, then bent over a desk to write something on a piece of paper. As she did, I couldn’t help notice how nicely her slacks stretched across her butt cheeks. Clearly she was going to the gym, running, or something. Whatever it was, I approved.

Neither her two kids nor mine were having any luck in the cake walk. As they paced solemnly around the room, Marissa slipped through the crowd toward me. When she reached me she smiled again—God she had beautiful teeth—and gave me a big hug, pressing her chest against mine. The feel of her small and firm breasts against my chest caused a brief stirring in my pants. Fortunately, she broke the embrace quickly, or I’d have had to adjust myself.

“Tom. It is so good to see you again. The boys have grown about a foot since I saw them in June!” Her voice had a kind of a purr to it that always made it seem like she had spent the night before shouting or singing really loud, leaving her vocal chords just a bit ragged out.

“Yours do too,” I retorted. “The summer was clearly good for us all. You look wonderful too.”

“Thanks Tom. I noticed you noticing.” At this I could feel the color rising in my neck again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be stare.”

“Hey, no problem. I take it as a compliment,” she said. “When a girl reaches a certain age, it’s nice to know the guys are still staring once in a while.” And then she laughed, breaking what might have become sexual tension. We were, after all, in a room full of second and third graders, not to mention their moms and dads. I had to laugh too, in part with relief that she wasn’t pissed.

Then she said something that completely shocked me. “Tom, how’d you like to come to dinner at my place this weekend?” I was sure then entire room full of people had stopped what they were doing just to hear my answer. I looked around to see if they were staring at me. Instead, they were staring at the cake walkers, who were lifting their feet to see if they were on the winning number. A little girl in a purple dress jumped up and started shouting “Me! Me! Me!” We all applauded. I motioned to my boys to keep going, don’t give up.

“Well? Can you Tom?”

I turned back to Marissa and without thinking it through carefully said, “Uh, sure, I guess. I’ll have to see if my folks can take the kids or maybe I can get a babysitter.”

“Great. My ex is taking the kids for the weekend, so the house is all mine for a couple of days. Here are the directions and my home phone. Why don’t you plan to come by on Friday around 7:00?”

“O.K. Sure. Great. Thanks.” Now I was starting to sound like a dolt, so I stopped talking. She reached over, took my right hand and gave it a squeeze, and then twirled away, moving in the direction of another mom who had just come in with her daughter.

I folded up the paper she’d handed me, shoved it in my pocket, and concentrated on willing one of my kids to win a cake.

Later that night, after I’d gotten the boys to bed, I poured myself a beer and sat down in the living room to sort out what had happened. I’d been asked out on a date. And not just out, but to the home of a very beautiful woman at least ten years my junior. I hadn’t been on a date in more than 20 years. Sarah and I had been married almost 19 years when she died and had dated for a while before that. I took a big gulp of my beer to fortify myself, then dug out the piece of paper with Marissa’s address on it. On one side were the directions to her house. On the other, there was something else written. When I turned the paper over, I read “I want to suck your cock all the way down my throat.”

Holy shit!

I re-read the words written there at least four times just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Yep. That’s what it said alright. And my cock was still clearly in working order, because by about the third re-reading, it was straining against my jeans, letting me know it at least thought this was a very good idea.

The next four days were a blur. I convinced my folks to take the boys for a sleepover so I wouldn’t have to come home that night. I know I managed to teach my classes and I think I did some other work, but I couldn’t be sure of that. Mostly I was day-dreaming about Marissa, her tight ass in those slacks and the way the blue satin blouse rested on her chest. And, of course, her very sexy mouth.

When I pulled up to her front door at 7:10 on Friday, I was shaking from a mixture of intense sexual energy and powerful guilt. Since Sarah died I had not had sex with anyone but myself. There was no doubt what was going to happen when I walked into Marissa’s house and half of me (okay, more than half) couldn’t wait, but another big part of me felt that I was somehow betraying Sarah.

After all, she and Marissa had been exercise buddies, had shopped together, and Sarah had helped Marissa a lot during the first months after Marissa’s divorce. They were friends and now I was going to sleep with my dead wife’s friend. Hands sweaty, I sat in the driveway and stared at the front door, willing myself to get out of the car and willing myself to drive away quickly, before it was too late.

Marissa saved me from having to decide, because she opened the door and waved. No bolting now. I grabbed the bottle of wine I’d agonized over—Champagne? White? Red? Expensive? Cheap?—and waved what I hoped was a jaunty wave. God what a dork!

She looked just a luscious as ever. Casual tonight, in a black designer t-shirt and jeans, barefoot. Smiling broadly, she waved me in with a sweep of her arm and there I was.

Committed.

“Vino. Thanks. Is it any good?” Then she laughed that laugh again. Throaty, full of mirth.

“I hope so. If it’s not, I’ll have to go back and punch out the guy who convinced me it was just right for such an occasion.”

“Occasion? And what, pray tell, did you tell him the occasion was,” she asked.

“My first date in 20 years,” I said. This time I was the one who laughed, because I was happy to be here, happy to be having fun, happy knowing I wasn’t going home at the end of the evening.

“Well, if that doesn’t put pressure on a girl, nothing will. Come on. The appetizers are ready.” Pointing toward the living room, she said, “This isn’t as cold as it should be, so I’ll go stick it in the fridge. In the meantime, what would you like? Beer, wine, martini?”

“I’ll have a beer, thanks.”

“Be right back. Eat something while you’re waiting.” And with that she was gone. I could hear her clinking around in the kitchen, so I busied myself checking out her living room. In a lot of ways, it was just like mine. A mixture of photos of the kids interspersed with seemingly random works of art, furniture that was vaguely Mission, and a box of toys shoved behind an arm chair. Candles were lit on the mantle and on the coffee table, and a nice variety of appetizers awaited me. Realizing I’d better get some food in my stomach, I set to it with gusto, sampling each while I waited for my beer.

Hearing her feet in the hall, I looked up to see her glide in with two cold Heinekens. “I didn’t bring glasses, Tom. Do you want one?”

“No. Straight up is great for me. Cheers.” I reached my bottle toward hers and we clinked them together, eyes locked.

“It’s great to have you here Tom. Thanks for coming.”

“Are you kidding? It’s great for me to be here Marissa. Plus, how could I refuse an invitation like that?”

“Well, I knew you’d be feeling guilty about doing this,” she smiled again. “So I wanted to give you a little extra incentive.” I could feel my cock stirring already. “At first I was worried you’d think I was a total slut or worse, but when you called to say you’d gotten a sitter, I knew it would be okay. Who is your sitter these days anyway?”

This time it was my turn to smile. “The boys are having a sleepover at their grandparents’ tonight.”

“Ahhhh,” she said. “Well, in that case, there’s no hurry then, now is there?”

“No, no hurry.” Although my cock was saying exactly the opposite. It was in a big, big hurry.

Marissa took a big slug off her beer and turned back toward the kitchen and as she tilted the bottle back, I stared hungrily at her breasts, no longer worried who might see. My careful inspection seemed to indicate no bra…yet another reason to be happy to be here. “I’ve got just a couple of things left to do in the kitchen. Why don’t you put on some music and I’ll call you in a few minutes.” As she moved away from me I stared at her ass again—without caring whether she caught me or not. What a view, what a view.

Her musical tastes ran more in the direction of Nashville than mine, but I found some Lyle Lovett and put that on. As his crooner’s voice filled the room, I heard her calling me from the dining room. “Ready when you are, Tom.” I was ready all right. Ready to burst out of my pants.

The dinner was seafood, so my white wine went well with what she’d made. I think it was good, but I can’t remember much more than that it was seafood. Mostly I remember her face, her smile, her laugh, and my growing desire to jump across the table, rip her clothes off and devour her. I knew she knew what was on my mind and was just drawing it out, making me wait. And I knew that the waiting was just making it better. Just don’t ask me what we talked about. I have no earthly idea.

When the last of the dinner had vanished, Marissa stood and said, “So, would you like the whole house tour?”

“Absolutely” was the best I could come up with. Dork, dork, dork!

“You’ve seen the downstairs already and the basement is just full of the kids’ toys, so I’ll show you the upstairs. Come on.” Reaching out, she took my hand and pulled me gently but insistently toward the stairs. As I followed her up, my face was about six inches from her ass and it was all I could do to not bury my face between her cheeks.

“These are the kids’ rooms. The extra bathroom, the attic stairs, and this is my room…” She flung open the door and there was a king-sized bed with the sheets pulled back, a large candle burning on either side. “Tom, I’ve…”

I didn’t let her say whatever it was she wanted to say just then. Instead, I gathered her into my arms and pressed my lips hungrily onto hers. Immediately our tongues were dancing around each other, lashing back and forth. A moan came from somewhere down between us. I couldn’t tell if it was me or her. Her hands were in my hair, pulling my face down hard so she could kiss me and my hands were sliding down her back toward her ass. As they reached her cheeks, I pressed her into me so she could feel just how hard I was, how ready. She responded by rotating herself against me, grinding, letting me know she was just as ready for me.

We kissed like that for probably five minutes, me feeling drunk with the taste of her, the smell of her, my desire for her. Then she broke the clench and said “Wait.”

Breathing hard, I took a half step back. Her nipples were straining against the fabric of her t-shirt. “Come with me, Tom.” Again she took me by the hand and I stumbled along behind her.

“In my note I told you what I wanted and since you came here tonight that means you are willing to let me have it. You are, aren’t you?” Her already throaty voice had dropped almost a full register and I noticed her lipstick was smeared off her lips in places.

“Yes” was the best I could do between pants.

“Okay then, let me undress you.” At this she started to unbutton my shirt, running her deep red nails along my skin as she undid each button. Tugging the shirt loose from my jeans she pulled it back and down, baring my chest. For just a second I wondered how she felt about all the gray in my chest hair. But then I was too aware of what was happening to my pants to worry about that. First my belt went flying to the floor and then Marissa pulled both pants and boxers down in one motion, making my cock flap upward as the waistband of my shorts snapped over it. She pushed me down onto my back on the bed and slipped off one shoe, then the other, then quickly tugged my pants off and tossed them somewhere.

Naked now, I lifted my head to see what she was going to do next and was just in time to see her t-shirt come whipping over her shoulders, her breasts bouncing just a bit as they came free. I was mesmerized by how small they were. I couldn’t remember ever being with a woman who had such small breasts. Marissa wasn’t flat-chested by any means—it was just that on such a tall woman, her small breasts seemed even smaller than they really were. The nipples were long in comparison to the breasts themselves and the areoles were puckered up around them.

“You like?” she asked.

“God yes, they’re incredible,” I managed to moan.

“I love them,” she said and began twisting the nipples, stretching them away from her body in a way that made me want to do the same. I started to reach up for them but she shook her head. “No Tom. It’s my turn first. You can have your turn later.”

Keeping one hand on her nipple, she dropped the other to her jeans and began to undo them. Once the zipper was down, she turned her back on me, and as she pulled her jeans down she bent over so that I was gazing at the white moon of her ass as they dropped to the floor. No undies either. This was almost more than I could bear. The head of my cock felt like a doorknob it was so hard and I knew that if she didn’t start working on it soon, I would have to.

Jeans off, she leaned over me, planting one hand on either side of me, and then my cock disappeared behind her hair as her head lowered toward me. The next thing I felt was her hot breath on my shaft. She was blowing on me. Her hair was tickling my belly something awful. And then her mouth engulfed the head of my cock. God! Her mouth felt like it was about 120 degrees and her tongue was swirling around and around in that way that I loved. I arched my hips to meet her and more of me went into her mouth.

Slowly at first, she began to stroke up and down on my cock, never breaking the light suction she had begun with, moaning as she went. It was all I could do to not grab her head and start fucking her mouth. Instead, I put my hands behind my head and tried to focus on not coming instantly.

All at once she let go and it was like a blast of cold air hit my cock. Without her mouth there, the temperature differential was extreme. “Tom, your cock is beautiful. So hard. So big. I could suck it all night.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I’ll just bet you are, babe,” she said. “Now, I’m going to get onto the bed so I can get a better angle on this thing. You can stroke my ass if you want, but I want you to leave my pussy alone for now. I need to concentrate.”