INDIAN WINTER (Part 5)


By KATZMAREK ©


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Author's note,


This work is my property and cannot be used for gain without my express permission in writing.


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It was several days later and Sharmila had not called Jake. He was determined he wasn't going to call first. It would be an act of submission, he believed. Where he found the strength, he didn't know, because he felt absolutely terrible.


Eventually, he had to call Mary and unburden. She was only too happy to give him an appointment after work.


She was alone, as usual, and dressed in her normal way, snappy, well-pressed business suit.


"I take it you had a fight?" she asked, straight away.


"How do you know? Sharmila called you?" he asked.


"Left a message on my answerphone."


"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."


"Why are you sorry for speaking your mind? She needed someone to stand up to her. You didn't slap her?"


"No, of course not. Did she say I had?"


"She implied you were violent, without being specific. I'm sure if you'd hit her she would have laid a complaint. The fact she hasn't suggests there was nothing in it."


"There wasn't. I just pointed her to the door."


"I thought as much. So how does it feel?"


"Terrible. I've gone over it again and again wondering how I could have done something different... I guess she must have tore into you..."


"Nothing I can't handle. Don't reproach yourself."


"But I've destroyed her relationship with you?"


"My role is not to protect her from the truth, or play her games. I'll support, but I'm not buying into her shit. She know's my number... or maybe she'll call someone else... doesn't matter, her choice."


"That sounds a little callous?"


"Not really. It's about keeping my distance. If I was to buy into everyone's shit I'd never be able to do my job. So what do you want to do now? You have taken back some of your power, how are you going to use it?"


"I... I don't know. It's hard... I wish I could just pick up the phone and call her..."


"Why can't you?"


"It'd be like submitting."


"You don't have to submit. Do you think she's likely to call you?"


"I had hoped... ah... no."


"I agree. Your choice is about changing the script or walking out of the relationship. What do you want to do? You still love her?"


"Yes."


"Well you need to re-negotiate the relationship. If she is unwilling to change then you must think about ending it."


"How do I do that?"


"What do you need from her? Is she likely to meet those needs? These are questions only you can answer. Love is not just about what you can do for her..."


"I know."


"You've shown strength of character. Use that to support her. Most of all you need to protect yourself."


"Sure, sure. So you suggest I call her?"


"If that's what you want to do, why not?"


"Mary, I was wondering. Have you heard from her husband after he flew the coop?"


"Just a postcard from India. He said he was sorry for all the trouble he caused."


"Are they likely to extradite him?"


"No chance. He's from an upper caste with family spread all over State and Indian Federal Governments. There's not snowball's the police here are likely to fetch him back. The Indians will tangle everything in red tape. Our police know this and wouldn't even bother."


"I see."


"Which is why he fled there, no doubt. He knew he'd be protected."


"How do you feel about that?" Jake asked.


"How should I feel? It doesn't please me that a man gets away with what he did. But I'm more interested in seeing that Sharmila doesn't create another offender."


"You think she will?"


"I think she's quite capable. She's lucky she met you. If she'd met a guy who wasn't quite as patient, who knows? It's not that it's all right to attack her. Her husband had the choice of walking away... or showing her the door, such as you did. But Sharmila has to accept some of the responsibility  for creating the scene, of pushing him until he cracked. She knew how much to push, I'm sure of it."


"Yes, I'm pretty sure she does."


"So you really want to put your neck in the noose? Is she worth it?" she asked, smiling.


"I'll give it another try," he shrugged. "If not, well, there's always that invitation for a drink?"


"Ha, ha, yes, I guess there will. But you'd have to get yourself another counsellor?"


"Hopefully, I won't need one."


"Y'sure? You've no idea what you'd be getting into!" she laughed.


As Jake walked back down the narrow staircase, he thought to himself, 'was Mary flirting? Damned, if she was!' That revelation sent a smile to his face.


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He called Sharmila as soon as he got home. In any case, they had unfinished business around the sale of his property. He didn't think she'd pass up on the 150 grand over mere personal problems.


"Jake?" she answered. She appeared surprised from the tone in her voice. "What do you want?" The question was more suspicious.


"Just called to see how you were? And, of course, we have a meeting this afternoon."


"Oh, about that. Perhaps you'd like to get someone else as your agent? I can make some recommendations?"


"I don't want anyone else, I trust you." There was a deafening silence. At the end, Jake called her name believing she'd walked away from the phone. 


"I'm here, Jake," she answered, "why are you calling me... after the things I said to you?"


"I guess I thought we could fix things... between us, that is."


"I don't know, Jake, is this Mary's idea?"


"No, it's mine. Mary just advised me that it'd be all right."


"Oh, did she? You needed her permission?"


"Advice, Sharmila. Look, I didn't call you to pick a fight."


"Oh yes, 'to fix things.' What do you want to fix, Jake, me?"


"No... I... I want to talk about our relationship."


"So! Talk?"


"It'd be better if I could see you face to face."


"Would it? For who?"


"Me."


"Okay, then," she replied, after a long pause, "where do you want to meet?"


Jake suggested a small café not far from where he worked. She agreed, providing he shout her lunch.


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Sharmila seemed distant and reticent. Again she insisted he find someone else to be his agent and told him she'd send a bill for the time she'd already spent. There was no fun, no sparkle. She appeared to be locked into one of her moods where she wanted little to do with the outside world. She made an excuse and cut short the meeting. Jake never had the chance to discuss what he really wanted. Any attempt was shut down immediately.


He wondered whether it was worth it and better to try to get on with life without her. It was appearing to him a lost cause, another disappointment, there'd been so many.


On impulse he called Mary and told her what he'd decided to do. She seemed relieved. Perhaps she knew all along what the result would be and hoped Jake could extract himself without further trouble?


"I think you've made the right decision," she told him.


"What about Sharmila?" he asked.


"As I explained, you need to protect yourself, first. She knows what steps she needs to take. She's not your responsibility."


"Ok. So, we can have that drink, then?" He thought he was joking, not expecting Mary to take him up on it.


"Are you looking to rebound, Jake?" she laughed.


"Yes, of course!" he laughed back.


"Well, I don't want to be hauled before the Professional Ethics Board. You'll need to discharge yourself as my client, then wait two years."


"I do?"


"Usually, but we're just doing a little socialising, aren't we? You wouldn't be suggesting a sexual relationship?"


"Of course not! Wouldn't dream of it!"


"Liar! In any case, I'm not in the hunt at the moment, certainly not for someone's cast off wanting to prove his manliness."


"That's harsh!"


"Calm down, I'm just pulling your chain. Meet for lunch tomorrow? I'll tidy up your paperwork and get you to sign yourself off."


"Sure!"


They agreed on a downtown café and rung off.


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That afternoon, Jake did some serious mental stocktaking. He decided he'd been drifting too long, had allowed others to dominate his life. First there'd been his mother, then he'd sought other women to come in and take over. He thought it a fatal weakness, a pattern he had to change if he was to move forward.


Did he really want to be a millionaire and abandon his limited, but cosy lifestyle? What would he do with all that money? It was easy to dream about holidays in the South of France and flash cars. But was that really what he wanted?


He thought about those dreams he'd had once: of touring ancient Roman and Neolithic ruins in Europe. He'd quite like that, he decided, even though they'd been colonised by tourists long ago. Then there was adventure tourism. That appealed, also, even if things were made so safe it was practically pointless. 


None of these ideas sparked his enthusiasm, he realised, because he had no-one to share the experience with. Apprez ski lost its appeal when all he could do was get drunk while watching others pair off to bed after a day on the Piste.


He just wasn't that good at picking up women, he thought. He wanted to cut the bullshit and get straight to the point. At least Mary was a straight talker. 'A little socialising?' Yes, he could live with that for the time being.


Was she hot for him, though? Did he care? Would he even recognise the signs unless she draped her legs over him and fiddled with his dick? In the past he'd often misinterpreted signals and that had led to embarrassment and a prospect fleeing from the restaurant.


The sultry, dark and infinitely sexy Sharmila kept intruding into his dreams. Try as he might, she just wouldn't go away. Everything about her was compelling, alluring. Even when she was in a dark mood, she spoke of promise, of balmy nights, of nakedness or bodies draped in silk. She was exotic and mysterious and didn't so much as seduce him, but kick his whole foundation out from under him. Sharmila was a drug that left the user craving more.


Mary was straight up and down with no frills. She drew the lines in the sand and made it plain what she expected. Where Sharmila always tempted him to believe there was something more around the corner, Mary left him in no doubt what she wanted.


Mary couldn't compete with Sharmila on looks. She was tall and straight where Sharmila was curved. Her hair was cut short and dyed bright red in some statement of radicalist ideology. She'd been a militant feminist in her youth, he decided, claiming all men rape and extolling the virtues of sisterhood. No-doubt she'd regained some sense of proportion as she got older and re-engaged with the male gender. 


Mary didn't dress to impress the men, nor go out of her way to use her sexual power. But she could be fun, he decided, and was intrigued to meet her outside of a professional setting. Could they be friends, he wondered? Or lovers? How much of what Sharmila told him about her sexual preferences was true? Was she just putting him on? One of the games she was playing?


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The next day Jake arrived promptly at the café. Mary was late, bustling in like she was on a time clock and had forty things to do. She sat down and called over a waitress without preliminaries. Only when she'd ordered, did she seem to notice him.


"I haven't got that much time," she told him, breathless, "I was held up by a difficult client and I have a 1 o'clock."


"If you'd prefer," Jake said, "perhaps we can make it another day?"


"It's all right," she told him, "I'm hungry. Do you fancy a glass of chardonais? Or maybe beer? I'll shout you a drink."


"Wine would be fine," he replied, "and you don't have to..."


"Bullshit! Here, I have something for you to sign." Mary took out a sheet of paper from her bag and spread it on the table. "I should go over this carefully with you, but it's pretty straight forward. It just says that you have discharged yourself as my client... that you take full responsibility, etc. And if you go nuts and smash up a police car I don't want to know."


"Ok," he laughed, and signed below her finger.


"Right! You want a copy of your records? I have to keep them for seven years by law..."


"No, no. Do what you like with them."


"Ok. So... what's been happening?"


"I met with Sharmila and..."


"And?"


"Nothing!"


"I'm not surprised. Now, I'm not comfortable discussing her. Would you change the subject?"


The meals and drinks came and they tried to make small talk. It was difficult not coming back to Sharmila. It was, after all, what they most had in common.


As 1 o'clock came around, Mary hastened to go. It had been an unsatisfactory meeting. Mary was preoccupied and it was difficult finding a subject that didn't mention Sharmila. Jake, however, had to have one last chance at striking up some friendship.


"What are you doing after work?" he blurted out.


Mary looked surprised and amused. She took a while to answer, as if running her appointments diary through her mind. "I'm busy at the refuge for the next two days. Maybe, um, Friday? What are you after, Jake?"


"I like you. I was hoping we could be friends."


She seemed to take a while to consider that. "Jake," she seemed to be struggling to say what she wanted. "Jake? I want you to be careful. I'm not sure I'm the best option you have. You're a nice guy and, in other circumstances, I'd be happy to date you. But I'm not going to be used to massage your bruised ego."


"It's not about that."


"Y'sure, Jake? Isn't it natural to want to get back in the saddle after being rejected? Isn't this all about proving something to yourself?"


"I guess, in part. But I've been thinking about what I want to do with my life."


"And, what have you decided?"


"I want to get out more, to socialise."


"You want a sexual partner?"


"Of course!" he grinned, sheepishly.


"Don't be shy about it, it's natural. You'll do fine, just be careful whose bed you decide to hop into."


"I will." And then she bustled out.


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Jake didn't hear from Sharmila except for her account, posted soon after their meeting, demanding $80,000 as a fee. A covering note in her beautiful, cultured handwriting, explained it was conditional on the conclusion of the deal. If he decided against selling the property, she explained, then he would need to get back to her. She left a post office box number as contact. She, apparently, had moved addresses without telling him, and owing two weeks rent.


But Sharmila knew how to milk the system and would make sure the State ended up settling her bills.


There was a finality about the letter that convinced Jake she wanted nothing more to do with him. At least, he thought, he now had the opportunity to close the door. But could he? It remained to be seen.


Meanwhile, he forced himself to focus on the next project in his life, Mary.  He decided he'd just let things take their course, not force the issue, and see where the journey takes him. To find a firm friend and confidante wasn't too bad an outcome, he thought, and if things moved on from there, well, he wasn't averse to that either.


Something told him that Sharmila's description of Mary's desires weren't all lies. Maybe she had teased some details out of Mary, using her very real persuasive powers?


Friday came and he sped downtown to the restaurant Mary had suggested. He waited in the lobby for half an hour. She was late, and didn't augur well for the evening. Eventually she arrived, appologetically, claiming she'd had another of 'those difficult days.'


She joined him at the bar and ordered a stiff drink. It was rum with a splash of coke, a drink Jake detested. Jake nursed a cold lager and by the time they were called to their table she was well ahead of him on the booze.


The meal was accompanied by a bottle of wine, which was downed by the time dessert arrived. Mary ordered another bottle to replace it, leaving Jake a little in awe of her alcohol consumption. If this was the way it was going to go, he thought, she'd be well plastered by the time they moved on.


But she slowed down after dessert. The meal was delicious, the chat minimal, and at the end of it they slumped contentedly in their seats.


"You a collector, Jake? What do you collect?" she asked.


"Not really. I buy and sell. Sometimes I come across some quality antique..."


"What do you like?"


"Clocks, firearms, mostly, and some nice china if I can find it."


"Firearms? I'm surprised."


"18th century horse pistols, flintlocks, cap and ball rifles, that sort of thing."


"Don't you need a license for that?"


"Yeah, I have."


"You shoot?"


"Nah. Costs a fortune for the black powder and I'm not that great a shot. I'd rather just keep them in a vault and take them out to clean now and again. That's what I really like about them, cleaning, taking care of them, feeling the wood, admiring the workmanship."


"Is that your attitude to women?" she asked, grinning.


"I guess," he laughed, "never thought of it like that"


"You should think about it. I can think of a few women who wouldn't mind a man admiring their workmanship and being taken care of."


"Feeling the wood?" he smiled.


"Oh, that too!" she grinned back.


"You want to get out of here?" he suggested. 


"Mmm, home, I think. I'm beat. Any longer and I'll be asleep."


"Give you a lift?"


"You fit to drive?"


"Yeah, I've been drinking water for the past hour."


"Ok, then. But don't get your hopes up, honey. I'm not sleeping with you."


"Never entered my mind."


"Bullshit! Take my arm, let's go."


They walked slowly to Jake's car. She told him she didn't own one herself as she preferred the bus or walking on a fine day.


Mary lived a little way out of town in and old cottage on a half an acre of land. The garden was overgrown and suffering from neglect. Mary told him she never had the time to fix it up properly.


The cottage was filled with old things. The walls had some old protest posters pinned up: Woman's rights, apartheid, nuclear testing, abortion: campaigns of the seventies hung up like some old soldier's memories. It reminded Jake of his father's Korean War memorabilia, and he wondered whether she had her old bibbed jeans stowed in her closet, as his father had his old army uniform. 


Mary suggested some coffee and went into the small kitchen to brew a pot. Jake sat on an old sofa. He couldn't see any TV and asked her about it.


"Bedroom," she explained from the kitchen, "I find it a distraction in the lounge. I prefer watching TV in bed, in any case."


She returned with the coffees and sat on the sofa beside him. She asked him what music he preferred, suggested some titles, but nothing interested him. In the end she put on some Billie Holiday. 


"Can I ask you a couple of questions out of curiosity?" she said after a lengthy pause, "you don't have to answer."


"Shoot!"


"Sharmila said some things," she began, "about you and what you, ah, like to do sexually. I know what she's like. How she exaggerates and stuff..."


"So? What did she say about me?"


Oh, about liking sex in the shower, having blow jobs and going down on women. That true?"


"Sure. Pretty normal, I would've thought. Why do you want to know?"


"Y'know? I really don't know why. I guess, it made me feel kind of jealous of her."


"But she wouldn't do any of that."


"Yes, I know. Sounds stupid, doesn't it?"


"Maybe, but why jealous?"


"Do you see a man living here?" she asked, "Sharmila touched on a few feelings. Maybe realised what I'd been missing out on? I started to think of a few old lovers back in my university days. I was less inhibited, more careless, willing to experiment with different guys. I kind of miss those days. I wouldn't get away with that now. Too scared of aids, STDs or getting knocked up. I don't need the dramas, either," she laughed, "and there were a few of those back then."


"Goes with the territory, I guess."


"Yes," she agreed, "waking up in the morning and wondering who the fuck belonged to that face in the bed beside you. A fucking girl across your knees zonked out from too much hash. Stumbling out for a pee to find the front room cluttered with writhing bodies..."


"Wow, it sounds like you had some orgies?"


"Yes. You forget, though, the downside. Cleaning up after everyone. Yes, the girls were expected to do the housework back then. Fucking, useless, chauvinistic, men... listening to their bullshit... making pancakes at midnight for all the dopers. But there were some good times, though. Fast times where you could fuck all day and some guy would bring you a plate of cheese and pickle sandwichs. I used to like cheese and pickle." 


Mary fell silent for a moment, looking straight ahead, lost in thought. Eventually, she slowly turned towards Jake and said, "I think you should go now before I jump your bones."


"Why would that be so bad?" Jake asked, staring back into her eyes.


"Because it wouldn't be the right thing to do. I haven't the energy for a relationship, but I feel like a good fuck. If I did this would I be able to get rid of you?"


"Try it?" Jake said, leaning towards her.


"Whoah, steady, big boy," she told him, pressing him back with her hands. "Do you do massages? I haven't had one in years. Y'want to do each other? I have some oil in my room?"


Jake nodded and Mary took him by the hand and led him into her bedroom. It was large, hung with some old artwork from her university days, and featured a futon draped with a hand-stitched quilt. Her whole cottage, Jake thought, was some sort of shrine to her younger days as a student radical.


Mary fetched a couple of towels and spread them carefully over the bed. She then began to pull at the buttons of her blouse. Jake took the cue and began to undress himself. Soon she was down to bra and panties. Her skin was pale and freckled, although only a little flabbiness around her tummy marked her age. She stood for a while, as if wracked with indecision. "This is harder than I thought," she muttered, more to herself.


Jake took the lead, suddenly, fearing she was going to change her mind. He opened the oil and rubbed a little between his hands to warm up. Sighing, Mary came and lay face down on the towels, still in her underwear. Jake then slowly massaged the oil into her lower back.


In conformity, Jake still had his underwear on. Her nervousness was putting a dampener on his sex drive. He sat beside her, massaging, and wondering whether she was falling asleep on him. 


Mary had been making contented sighs, then she stopped. Jake paused and called her softly. Eventually she snapped to and appoligised. She said she'd been drifting off and told him he'd better get his in before she fell asleep. Accordingly, she sat up and Jake lay face down in her place.


"God, you've got a great body!" she remarked, as she smoothed the oil over his back. "You work out?"


"Not really," he explained, "just keep active."


"Sharmila should've had more sense," she said, "how many chances does she think she's going to get? Y'know?" she added, "I don't have her looks and body."


"Nor her hangups."


"My tits are smaller."


"And you're honest."


"I'm boney!"


"And you're not afraid to touch."


"But I'm a great fuck, or so I was told years ago."


"I'll live with that," Jake said, turning over. The feel of her hands on his bare back and the subtle contact between his front and the towels, had its effect on him.


"Oh, Baby!" she said, smiling, "and in full working order!" With that, she moved on top of him and began kissing his chest. Her breasts pressed against his erection, her thighs straddling his left leg. Gradually she shimmied lower until her chin came up against the hard lump in his underpants. Deftly, she scooped the elastic down until it sprung free. She then wrapped one oily hand around it and lightly squeezed. "She wasn't kidding?" she looked up at him, smiling, "you do have a nice one! Would you like me to suck it?"


"Oh, yes!" Jake panted.


"Thought so," she winked. With that, she stuck out her tongue and began to lick all around the head. "I used to be good at this," she told him, "lets see if I remember?" 


Easing her mouth gently over him, Jake was the first to agree she appeared to have lost little of her skill. She rose and fell slowly, at the same time  pumping with her hand. It wasn't long before he was ready to cum. Sensing this, she squeezed hard, making him wince at the sensation. It worked, though, and the crisis passed.


She moved up beside him and into his arms. They kissed each other fiercly, tongues enterwined, and lips mashing. At the same time their hands were busy, exploring and probing. Mary's bra came off in the wrestling, and Jake feasted on her hardening nipples. She gasped and shook and ground herself against his hip. "God, I'm horny!" she exclaimed, "what the fuck have you done to me?"


"Me?" he laughed, "nothing. But if you want to get on your back... like so... take these off," he told her, indicating her panties. After she obliged, he said, "ok, spread your legs... bend your knees."


"Jake what are you doing? Oh, yes, I remember!"


Jake positioned himself between her legs and took in her pussy, covered in a thatch of ginger hair. He put out his tongue and advanced, slipping his hands under her arse.


Mary was clearly aroused, he could see it, smell it... and taste it as he touched her clitoris. She jerked at the burst of feeling and gasped. "Careful!" she hissed, "be gentle!"


Jake had never actually done this before, but he'd watched it performed in porno movies. What the flicks couldn't describe was the taste and smell. The girls always loved it, the guys always hit the right spot and seemed to have the stamina of a long distant athlete.


In reality, it was murder on his jaw and tongue. He soon got used to the taste and smell, but it took a great deal of flicking around before Mary began to grind her pelvis in arousal. She didn't seemed to mind his experiments, however, and cooed softly as he sought out her special places.


He tried to push his finger in her at the same time, but she complained his nail was too sharp. By accident, however, he found that by rubbing his front teeth on her clitoris, while lapping at her lips, sent her hooting and hollering. "Oh baby!" she cried, "yes... oh fuck...yes." He increased in speed at her urging until she was writhing and growling out her orgasm. At least Jake thought he'd been successful at his first chance at cunnilingus. Mary seemed to appreciate his effort, anyhow, even though he was aching a little from the exertion. 


She was content to lie in his arms for the present, as she luxuriated in the afterglow of orgasm. She asked him where he'd learned to do that and he confessed it was his first time.


"I wondered," she said, "but I thought you were just taking your time to get to the point. I liked that, though," she added, "it tickled, but felt good at the same time. I was sure you'd get down to business sooner or later."


"I'm glad you stuck with it."


"So am I!" she laughed, "that was a really deep one. I haven't come so strong in a long time... maybe never? I'm not sure."


"That's nice of you to say that," Jake replied, "I thought I was fumbling around too much."


"Fumble all you like. I'm not complaining!" she laughed.


They decided to shower. They were sticky with oil, sweat and juices and it was a warm night. The shower rose hung over an old crow's foot tin bathtub, stained with age. A plastic curtain protected the hardwood floor from floods.


Mary's paleness seemed to exaggerrate her nudity. She was speckled in freckles and there was a small appendix scar on her lower torso. Her bottom was still red and blotchy from sexual exertion, but her face was soft, her eyes glassy with fatigue and hormones.


Whereas Sharmila was sultry and stalked him like a cat in heat, Mary just wanted to be banged like a barn door: honestly, with no bullshit. She was assertive, sure, but didn't command him like a servant. To her, it seemed, sex was a natural urge, not a method of control.


They lathered up each other well in the shower, poking fingers into crevices, and checking out each others special places. Every now and then they would share a long, languid kiss, while pressing their soapy bodies together. Eventually, Mary wrapped her gentle hand around his dick and began  to slide it up and down.


The porno movies didn't explain what happens when soap gets in the eye of a penis, however. He had to tell her to stop, explaining that the stinging sensation was oft putting. She suggested another blow job and he eagerly consented. Mary got on her knees and brought him up to speed quickly. Again, she squeezed him just in time, explaining they had one more fantasy to go.


After drying each other thoroughly, Mary took him by the hand and led him back to the bedroom. Up to now, the night had been just about perfect for Jake. Now, however, was the final chapter and he looked forward to it.


After another bout of kissing and feeling, at which Jake found Mary liked having her nipples bitten gently, she licked his dick again, but only enough to ensure he was sufficiently hard. Smiling, cheekily, she then slid down until her ginger pussy was poised over his hard dick. Rising up, she rubbed him all around her entrance before gradually lowering herself down.


"Ooo!" she gasped, "ahh! Feels good!"


"Yeah, baby!" Jake agreed.


"Jake? Thanks for tonight," she said. "I really needed this, y'know?"


"Me too!"


"Uh... I'd forgotten how good... uh... this feels... to have a man inside. God, I missed this... oh... so good... uh... you gonna cum?"


"No, ah... not yet!"


"Good... very good... uh... hold on, baby..."


"You want... uh... me to pull out before?"


"No... fuck, don't... oh... tubes tied... go harder! Got the clap?"


"No... uh... nothing!"


"Good, then roll me over and fuck the shit out of me!"


Jake did as he was told. She fell onto him and they rolled together keeping him inside her. He then rose up on his hands and slammed her as hard as he could. Mary wailed and thrust back to meet him. As she screamed out a powerful orgasm, she held his head to her breast. Jake kissed her furiously as he pounded out his hot jism.


"Fuck it!" he mumbled, as his breathing slowed down. He lay on his front beside her. Mary stared at the ceiling, regularising her own breathing. "Fuck it, I'm beat! You're fucking exhausting!"


"Haha, honeybum, can't keep up with the old bitches, can you?"


"Whatya mean, 'old?' You're not that much older than me?"


"Look again with your glasses on, toyboy? I'm 55!"


"Jesus H Christ!" Jake exclaimed, "you're in bloody good nick!"


"What did you expect? I'm 55 not 95. I hope I'm not over the hill yet?"


"Oh, no, Mary, that I can vouch for!" he laughed, "you're definitely not over the hill."


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KATZMAREK ©










