She is in incredible shape for fifty. I would have guessed forty tops if I'd known better, but she is ageless, and has not changed significantly from when I met her thirty years ago, the much younger girlfriend of a friend of my parents at one of my parent's parties.

Today she is sitting in my house at my party with her husband of several years staring at me as she has frequently stared at me all the time I have known her.

I cannot help but stare back. Her short dark hair, her lean muscular body, and her constant look of intensity fascinate me. I want to experience her naked, pressed against me, wrapped around me, staring into my eyes.

But there are too many people here to sneak off unnoticed and I want more, much more, right now than just a quick kiss.

Dare I chance it? Is it worth it?

I need a drink, and a chance to think. I excuse myself, and wander off to the kitchen.

Standing in front of the open refrigerator door, half contemplating what to drink, and how to take her, I feel her behind me, feel her hand on my back.

"Excuse me," she says, leaning in past me toward the refrigerator, her small firm breasts brushing against my bare arm through her black t-shirt.

"Of course," I answer, putting my hand on her inclined back, gesture for gesture.

Slowly she stands, my right hand still on her back, her left hand still on mine, stands and turns and growls. Yes growls. Not loudly, or threateningly, but invitingly, her eyes darting to the kitchen door behind me, rising on tiptoe, just enough for our lips to graze, tantalizingly, briefly, for her tongue to dart, her right hand dropping to my bulging cock, pressing as she raises herself further, whispers "not now," in my ear, and returns to the party.