She came to me, as they usually do.  I don't understand why, always with sad, hard pasts that I offer safe 
harbor from, warm words and tenderness.  I had noticed her walking her dog months before, with that 
aura of sadness that I couldn't understand, this pretty woman obviously out of a divorce who seemed to 
have given up on . . . I don't know what.  I named her Ms. Lovelorn in my mind and toyed with the idea 
of meeting her but wasn't sure how, not without turning myself into a stalker.  She didn't seem to have 
the same compunctions.

There were little things, a flashlight moving by the fence at night and a woman's voice, the jingle of a 
dog collar.  And bigger things, the morning I found a flowered paper towel on my porch and, as I drove 
off, saw her holding a similar paper towel, standing over that dog of hers, poised to clean up after him.  I 
was a coward, or shy.  No, I was a coward.  How do you speak to the woman that you wake with in your 
mind, your hand on your dick, half awake and gasping, gripped by instinct?  How do you speak to that 
woman even when she smiles and greets you?

Then Christmas came.  It was a troubled time for me, immersed in work and lonely.  I had taken to 
walking at night myself, to burn off adrenaline more than for exercise.  There was a woman in my life 
that I had begun to lie to in a struggle to pretend everything was okay.  Women leave me in the end, out 
of exasperation when I can't hurt them anymore.  Lights were on, trees were up, and in the fervor of my 
loneliness, I was gazing into windows instead staring out.  And then I saw - her.  I hadn't even known 
her house but there she was, cloaked in white lingerie with a transparent dressing gown in her bay 
window, lips parted and eyes wide.  We locked eyes and she tapped it, the glass, with her finger.
In shock and shaken, I turned and walked up her sidewalk, mind spinning with eager gratitude.  The door 
opened a crack before I reached it and I let myself in.  As I closed it behind me, Ms. Lovelorn 
disappeared down the hallway.  I followed her to the darkened door of her bedroom, leaned against the 
doorframe, and gazed in at her on the bed.  I smiled in disbelief and with a touch of amusement, this 
pretty woman ten of fifteen years my senior who wanted nothing more than anonymous sex.  "Would . . 
.um, would you have a drink with me?" I asked.  "Or am I being too forward?"

She sighed with exasperation, and then let out a giggle that rose into a laugh.  "Should I dress?"
"No.  No, please don't."  I moved out of the way when she reached the door, allowing her to walk down 
the hallway ahead of me, which she did without reluctance.  "I dream about you sometimes," I told her.  
She only shook her head.  "You're beautiful.   But I don't think that's why.  I'm drawn to whatever you 
lost that I can't replace.  Your sorrow.  I'm sorry to be so blunt about it.  I've been told that suffering 
attracts only sadists and I hope I'm not that."  I waited in the den and she continued on into the kitchen.  

"There's something in your eyes."

"You have a sweet tongue," she answered.

"I've had a crush on you for a while.  I thought I should pull out all the stops."

"What's your name?"

"Michael," I answered, finally removing my coat.

She returned with two glasses and an open bottle of wine.  Silently, I watched her fill the glasses on the 
coffee table, admiring her in a warm haze with lust rising through it.  She carried a glass to me.  "Merry 
Christmas, Michael."

I took the glass and kissed her.  She responded eagerly and for long moments I stood with her, holding 
my glass out of the way, noises in my throat.  I pulled back from the embrace, overwhelmed and glanced 
towards the window.  Looking back to her, I raised my eyebrows.  She smiled and I understood she 
hoped the neighbors saw.  

We sat on the sofa, close, and her hand moving immediately to my leg, causing me to leak.  She smiled 
at me.  "What's on your mind that you wanted to talk about?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You can have me, Michael," she whispered.  "But here we are in engaged in this nice little seduction.  Is 
it to ease your nerves?"

I smiled at her with a trace of discomfort.  "Please tell me you know I've noticed you."
"I do," she said, eyes wide again.  She climbed into my lap, straddling my legs and kissed me again.  
Aggressively, we met each other, my hands moving to her ass, her hands on my chest.  After several 
minutes, she pulled back.  "You fucking tease," she said, but I was already working to unfasten her bra.
I leaned forward and ravenously sucked her breasts, her nipples, holding her close to me as she 
struggled to unbutton my shirt.  When the last button was unfastened, she stood and pulled off her 
panties and I quickly disrobed.  Mounting me again, she fit my cock at the entrance to her warm pussy 
and sunk down upon it.

"Don't cum, don't cum, don't cum," she gasped as she rode me.  I stared into her eyes, entranced.  Her 
eyes saw nothing.  When she began to shudder, I pulled her to me and kissed her hard.  "Michael," she 
whined.

"I have to," I said.  "I need to."

She smiled at me widely.  "How badly do you need it?" she asked, her muscles contracting around me.

"I'll beg, if that's what you want," I answered shamelessly.

"Spend the night, Michael," she said as she sunk to the floor between my legs.  Long minutes of heaven.  
My mouth jabbering those words that women seem to love interspersed with promises I knew I'd one 
day break, and finally, "I'm gonna cum.  I'm gonna cum for you."  She fisted my cock, watching my eyes 
hungrily.  And I came.
