Ed drove Kat crazy.

He complimented her loudly at parties, his wife rolling her eyes in exasperation, whistled at her on the street, would join her at lunch if she waved at him from inside the diner, even stroked her legs and grabbed her ass in a crowd once or twice when he thought nobody was looking. But when she managed to corner him in darkened rooms with no crowd, no wife, and no reason to hurry home, he would accept a brief kiss, a little tongue, a squeeze, murmur something incomprehensible about getting old, being missed, loving his wife, too many commitments.

Fuck that. She was getting old too, was nearly 50 for God's sake, liked his wife, wasn't trying to steal him. She just felt a connection. They were both aging iconoclasts, both obviously sexual, both social animals, lives of the party, vaguely artistic, not making much money, with plenty of time on their hands. She wanted him inside her, driving her, taking her, pushing her over the edge and then pulling her back. She wanted to press her long lean pale body against his girth, to feel his warmth, to bring him pleasure, to really kiss him long and leisurely, to let him know she appreciated the parts of him that his wife seemed most exasperated with.

So she teased him back. Flashed him leg, flashed him breast, flashed him smiles, winked and grabbed. He would respond to a point, and then again back off. Until one day he disappeared. Several parties passed dismally without him. She did not see him on the street or relaxing on a park bench. Finally she worked up the nerve to call his house. His wife answered. Which could have been awkward, but his wife had always been the politest person she knew. They talked. His wife's anguish poured out. Her poor husband was flat on his back, doctor's orders, at his wit's end, throwing temper tantrums. She was having to leave him every day to work, there was nobody to care for him, no nurse could take the little she could afford to pay, and his already limited income was limited now to the consulting work he could do by phone and modem from bed.

Perhaps there was a solution, Kat suggested reassuringly. She wasn't a nurse, but she could use the money, could make Ed lunch, run him errands, keep him company for a couple of hours a day, let him blow off steam at her so he wouldn't be in as foul a mood when his wife got home. His wife contemplated. There was silence on the line, and then another outburst, this time of incredible gratitude, tempered with caution. Ed was difficult. The money wasn't much. Kat could eat their food for lunch. Was she sure? Kat had possibly never been surer of anything in her long life. Reassurances and arrangements were made. Half an hour later Kat hung up with an enormous smile on her face, made a quick trip to Ed's house to pick up the key from his wife dressed as unthreateningly as possible, then returned home triumphantly and treated herself to a long hot bath with lingering hands and several orgasms, before dragging herself drowsily into bed naked and falling into a not-quite-fitful sleep.

The first day she was all business, or as business as Kat could be in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. She'd even found a bra in the back of a drawer somewhere. He'd been frustrating her at parties for years. She wasn't going to do this fast. But the jeans were tight, she'd allowed herself that much, admiring her denim-clad legs and ass in the mirror before leaving the house. Not bad for an old woman, and she was still ten years younger than Ed. She felt a rush of power at the loud click of the key in the lock of his front door, the key his wife had given her. She let the rush pass before proceeding to the kitchen, fixing a lunch for two and carrying it to the bedroom. Remembered a quick grope in the same room at his last birthday party before opening the door. He was napping, the notebook computer beside him on the bed humming quietly to itself. "Hey," she called quietly. He awoke with a start, disoriented, then smiled at her. They enjoyed a quiet lunch, Kat seated on the couch at the other side of the bedroom. She was pleased to see his eyes following her ass, trying to look down her shirt, his obvious disappointment in the bra as she bent over collecting the trays. After lunch they talked, caught up, almost flirted a little. She smiled and waved when she left, locking the door carefully behind her, squeezing the key joyfully, almost skipped home, bounding lankily.

The second day she dressed almost identically but gladly lost the bra again. He was awake when she got there. Looked almost eager. Smiled when he got a peek at her erect nipples down the front of the sweatshirt. They chatted brightly over lunch, speculating briefly about other people's sex lives. She sat down next to him on the bed before she left, let him stroke her leg as she bent over to kiss him on the forehead, giving him a good long look at the vine tattoo that wound up out of her pants leg across her gaunt hips and tight stomach to just under her breast. He tried to put his hand behind her head, and as much as she loved the feel of his fingers in her short-cropped gold and silver hair she removed his hand gently but forcefully, and left.

On the third day she wore a man's denim shirt, looking rather butch, enjoyed the stares of women on the way to his house. She let herself in, fixed lunch, then carefully unbuttoned the shirt and knotted the ends under her breasts, instantly looking anything but butch. He whistled when she entered the room. She smiled to herself and noticed that his zipper was down. While it was possible that in the complications of getting back from the bathroom with a cane he'd simply forgotten, she preferred to think that he'd been stroking himself in anticipation of her arrival. "You like?" she asked almost mockingly as she took her now usual seat on the bench. "Of course" he answered, almost defensively. During lunch she managed to pester him into explaining why, why he hit on her, why he backed off, his preference for long lean blonds, his general love of women, especially women who went for what they wanted, who flaunted convention, his wife's wonderful unconventional aggressive qualities in everything but sex, his relationship with his wife, and his affairs, mostly with women who were not long lean blonds. The conversation seemed to exhaust, relieve, and excite him. When she bent over to clear the tray he pulled tentatively on the knot of her shirt. She helped him. Kissed him. Let his hands wander inside the open shirt, teasing her nipples to hard points. In return she reached back, inside his open zipper, played with his erection for a moment. Pushed his hands back. Stood up. Buttoned the shirt. "Tomorrow" she whispered. A farewell. A promise.

On the fourth day Kat brought along a backpack, stopped for takeout food at the Indian restaurant, spending all she was going to be paid for the day. In the kitchen she carefully arranged the food on plates from the cupboard, removed her clothes, folding them neatly, took the hip length, short-sleeved gold silk robe from the bag, tied the sash, put her folded clothes in the backpack, carried the trays and the backpack to the bedroom door. Left the backpack in the hall, entered the bedroom. Ed was naked on the bed. Naked. Hard. Waiting. She thanked God under her breath, smiling and smiling and smiling. He thanked God too. Loudly. When he saw her, when she bent over to place the tray over his naked lap, momentarily transfixed by his erection. "Naughty boy!" she grinned. "We're here to eat!" as she slapped his hands away from the sash of the robe and sauntered to the couch, bending over, her back to him, revealing her naked ass, the gold and silver curls, the lips of her cunt. Teasing him, listening to him moan, returned to the bed with the tray, sat next to him, propped up, tray on her own lap (on his wife's side of the bed!) eating the delicious, spicy, sensuous food, feeding each other, gazing at each other, lost in the timelessness of each other.

Kat cleared the trays as far as the floor before Ed grabbed her, pulling her back. She straddled him, her long legs on either side of his hips, leaned forward, leaned into him, faces inches apart. Kissed him. Long and luxurious. So much better than the quick kisses she had stolen before. The kiss stretched on forever. She could feel his hands untying the sash, throwing it somewhere, holding her hips, pinching her nipples, running up and down her sides, tracing the line of the tattoo. His hands on her hips were pushing her back, his cock insistent against the lips of her wet cunt. Kat squirmed, feeling the tip against her, wanting in, wanting her. She broke off the kiss. Stared at him. Deliberately. Let him guide her. Inching back. Legs splayed. On her knees. Felt the pressure. Pushing. Entering. Slowly. Stretching. Filling. So long. So hard. So good. So long since she had been entered, filled, stretched. "Oh God. You huge bastard motherfucker. Fill me up. Fill me up!" she implored inching back, further and further, deeper and deeper. Trembling. Out of control. She stopped. Still tall, still long, still lanky, her face not too far from his. They held like that, her hands supporting her weight on either side of his head, staring at him, reveling at the sensation, extending it to his hands, feeling his hands on either side, his cock inside. Slowly she moved, pulling up, pulling toward him, kissing him, pushing back. Pulling up. They cursed at each other. Cursed mindlessly and lovingly and joyfully. Urged each other on in this incredible endless slow screwing fuck. Back and forth. Forth and back. She felt it building, trembling in her toes. Could see it building in Ed as he reddened, felt herself redden. Implored God. Implored each other for release, loving the sliding, the sensation of his cock moving the length of her cunt, squeezing, releasing, filling, pulling back. She was going to come. She knew she was going to come. She was coming. Collapsing. Her long lean pale body pressed against his girth as he spurted, cursing with pleasure. The sensation of his spurting pushing her over the edge again. He pulled her back, holding her face, kissing her.

In a haze they lay there, Kat sprawled across Ed, his cock still hard, his cock still deep inside her. It was everything she had imagined all those years he had teased her. Everything she had wanted. More. A helpless happiness welled up inside her. She drifted in and out of consciousness, in and out of reality, barely hearing, barely understanding, the loud click of a key in the lock of the front door.