Every Monday After School

"I had an interview with Harrison and Lowell," Mrs. Taylor was saying, jarring me from my reverie. "It's one of the top law firms in town and they already made me an offer! I'm going back to work as a paralegal, Jonah. Isn't that exciting?"

"It does sound exciting."

I wasn't just saying that. The Good Wife is one of my favorite television shows. I have a thing for the leading actress. She plays an attorney, a partner in her firm, Alicia something or other, she's the wife of the governor and she's almost as hot as Mrs. Taylor, with the same curvy build, the same skin tone and even a similar hair color. Anyway, I could definitely envision Mrs. Taylor working in a law firm, all dressed up in her tight outfits.

"They want me to start next week. It's a big change. On my own for the first time in twenty years. Half my life!"

"Really?"

"That's right. I'm forty years old. Can you believe it? Jonah, I'm more than twice your age. God, time goes by."

"You look great, Mrs. Taylor, but you said on your own? Why would you be on your own?"

"I'm getting a divorce."

Brain cells began bursting in my head.

"Why?" I managed to ask.

"My husband's been having an affair for the past year. His secretary. Not much older than you, Jonah. I've been planning this for months. Now we can celebrate. Are you ready? I've been looking forward to this all week."

She finished the last of her second glass of wine. She looked at the bottle on the coffee table. I think she was deciding whether to pour the rest. There was maybe half a glass remaining. She went ahead and poured, emptying the bottle.

"Okay, I understand now," I said. She was using me to get back at her husband. I think his name was Gary. I hardly even knew him. He was always away on some kind of business trip.

"No, no you don't understand, if you think this is about revenge. You're sexy all on your own. I would want you anyway, Jonah. I've always had my eye on you."

"Where will you live?"

I was still confused. There was a lot of new information to consider.

"Right here, sweetie. Gary moved out last Wednesday. Jason didn't tell you?"

"He didn't tell me. I wish he had."

"Seriously, it doesn't matter. We're wasting time." She set her empty glass on the coffee table. "I want you in all kinds of ways. I'm going to fuck you silly, baby."

I was wearing my favorite khaki cargo shorts. I like them because they're loose fitting and comfortable and have lots of pockets. Mrs. Taylor had her hand on my knee at the hem and was slowly inching her way underneath, moving her fingers up my thigh, her hand closing in on my cock still safety tucked away, but now bulging out against my boxer briefs.

"Are you getting a boner, Jonah? That looks like it might hurt, dear. All trapped in there like that. We better let it out. Don't you think?"

I wasn't sure what to say. Her demeanor had changed. Her voice was throaty and aggressive. I'd never heard any kind of woman talk to me like that, so direct and matter of fact about what she wanted, about exactly what she wanted me to do. This was not how I had imagined things would go. I guess I thought I would be the one in control.

"Stand up and take you clothes off. I want to see you, Jonah."

"Right here?"

"Yes. Right now. Strip for me. I want to get my hands on you. Do it, Jonah."

I stood up and lifted my t-shirt, in one motion, up and over my head. I stepped out of my reef sandals and unzipped right in front of her. I pushed my shorts and my briefs down around my ankles and stepped out of them as well. I stood naked in front of Mrs. Taylor and we both watched my cock grow, in a few fluid seconds, from half mast to fully erect and pointing at the ceiling. I was engorged and pulsating with blood, the pink skin of my shaft stretched drum tight, rigid and veiny and vascular, the purple head swollen and throbbing and ready to burst.

"Oh my, how I love that big hard cock," she said. "Step closer, Jonah."

I took a half-step forward. My erection was now inches from her face. I thrust my hips out and pumped my cock against the air, grazing, teasing the tip against her lips. I wanted her to take me right then. I wanted her mouth and her hands all over me.

Instead, she looked up at me.

"Not here," she said. "We can't risk being seen out here. Pick up your clothes and go to the bedroom. I'll follow you."

I gathered my clothes and looked around.

"It's down the hall to the right," she said. "Sit on the edge of the bed and wait for me."

The bed was huge and much higher than any bed I'd seen before. It had to be three feet off the floor. The thick mattress sat on a platform of horizontal wood sheathing and I had to hop up on it to sit there like Mrs. Taylor wanted. The comforter was already turned down. The sheets and pillows were a brilliant white cotton with lime green and navy blue abstract flowers in a sparsely sprinkled pattern. The effect of all that whiteness with little splashes of color was clean and luminescent. I don't know much about design, but the whole room had a Scandinavian feel: bright, simple, crisp and modern. Two large windows filled the room with light. A white ceiling fan gave off a gentle breeze.

I heard activity in the kitchen. A few minutes ticked by before Mrs. Taylor walked in. She was still fully dressed. I guess I had expected her to at least be partially undressed by now, maybe in some sexy lingerie, say a corset or a bustier. I was starting to feel self-conscious being naked for so long, like I was on display, exposed for her amusement. She had another bottle of wine and two empty glasses and set them on a raised bedside table made from the same natural light-colored wood as the bed frame.

"This is for later, if we feel like it," she said.

"I'm okay, you have some if you want."

I was sitting on the edge of the bed with my lower legs dangling over the edge, my toes flexed against the floor. She came over and put her hands on my knees, spread them apart and stepped between them, her pelvis pressing into the edge of the mattress, inches from my pulsing cock. She took her suit jacket off and let it casually drop to the floor.

"I didn't mean to be so bossy, Jonah." I saw that she was trembling. "I'm nervous. I thought the wine might help me relax, but I really am nervous. . . You look so beautiful, Jonah. So young and lean and hard. I love your curly blond hair. Are you nervous, too?"

"I think so. . . I mean, a little bit. . . I'm kind of nervous."

The thing is, I wasn't really nervous. More like apprehensive. There's a difference, but it wasn't a good time to quibble. I felt like there was already too much talking.

I put my hands on her hips and pinched the thin fabric of her skirt between my fingers, sliding and pushing into the warm suppleness of her skin. I loved the resilience of her skin against my probing fingers. I worked my way around to the cheeks of her ass and mauled her firm and ample bottom.

Mrs. Taylor wiggled free from my groping and stepped back. At first she fumbled with her zipper, the awkwardness of her efforts were endearing, but it soon came undone, the top of the skirt opening at her waist before she pushed it down, forcing it to the floor and stepping out. She was wearing white transparent bikini panties with two thin stretchy straps at each hip, little half-inch strands connecting front to back. She stepped into me and my hands went directly to her panty encased bottom, my fingers burrowing underneath the filmy fabric and into her moist skin, my hands kneading, ravaging her flesh.

"Oh my god. I can't believe this," she moaned. "I really can't believe it."

She leaned in and kissed me with an expertise and a passion that took me by surprise. Deep, hard, penetrating kisses, her tongue probing into me. The tentative and tender kisses I had practiced on girl's lips in dark furtive places, in cars and movie theaters, on doorsteps and parent's couches, all the clandestine encounters on girlish single beds, none of them came close to preparing me for the electricity her tongue put into me. The explosions in my mouth scrubbed me clean of my illusions, she worked me over and tore me into pieces, my childish notions of bluster and bravado floating away and popping over us like playtime soap bubbles. Is it possible to get vertigo sitting on a bed? My head was spinning and when I closed my eyes stars appeared like little fireworks inside my head and then quickly fizzled out. . .

"Jonah, sweetie, are you going to fuck me?" Mrs. Taylor was now whispering in my ear. "Turn me inside out with that big dick of yours?"

I heard the words but I couldn't tell for sure if she was speaking. The bed was swirling.

"I think we should lie down first," I managed to say. "I feel like I'm falling."

I leaned my head back and looked up at the ceiling fan, a moment ago it was slowly turning, now it seemed like it was frozen and the room itself was spinning.

Mrs. Taylor was sucking on my earlobe, and then flicking her tongue down my jawline to my throat. I leaned into her and offered my throat to her lustful provocations. She was a tiger and I wanted her to feed on me. I wanted her to rip me open and eat me alive.

"Good idea. . . You go ahead, sweetie," she was panting, out of breath. . . "Get on the bed," she told me. "I'll be right behind you."

I fell back and crashed into the soft mattress, rolling to the middle of the bed, the crisp cotton sheets smelled like summer and a fresh ocean breeze from the open windows filled my lungs and soothed my muddled head. Mrs. Taylor slipped off her high heel pumps and was right behind me, her hands clawing at my back, turning me over before I had the chance to settle in. She was straddling me, her wet panties grinding on my cock.

"Is this really happening? Mrs. Taylor, are we really here? Are you for real?"

"It's Jenna. For this one afternoon, it's Jenna. And this is real, Jonah. As real as two people can ever be together. Tomorrow, I'll be Mrs. Taylor again."

"Okay. As long it's real." I smiled at her. "For a minute I thought it wasn't. I thought this had to be a dream."

"Do you fuck me in your sleep, Jonah?"

"In my sleep and my daydreams too."

"Well, this time it's for real. No more daydreams in the basement."

She was unbuttoning her fitted oxford shirt, first the sleeves at her wrists, then the front buttons, from top to bottom she slowly opened herself up to me. She slipped the shirt off revealing a lacy transparent white bra that matched her panties. I could see the hardness of her nipples right there poking out, waiting for me.

"I'm not sure what to do," I said. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just go with it," Mrs. Taylor cooed. "Act it out. Anything you've ever thought about. I can handle it."

I cupped her breasts and rubbed both nipples through the fabric with my thumbs, thick rubbery nipples, engorged and full of life. I pushed them sideways and they sprung back at me like they had a will of their own, stubborn and resilient, ready to be suckled.

Mrs. Taylor pulled her panties to the side with one hand and grabbed the base of my hard cock with the other.

"I can't wait any longer," she said. "I think I've waited long enough. It's time to fuck, Jonah."

She eased herself onto me. The thick head of my cock, purple and hard and covered with goosebumps, disappeared into her slick pink pussy lips. Mrs. Taylor's pussy was dripping wet. She squealed, an impish soft little squeal, and then eased me out, watery pussy juice flowing over my shaft and down to her hand, still fastened tight around the base of my cock.

"It's so big and fat, Jonah. I have to take some time. Slowly fuck it into me."

She brushed the tip, just the very tip of my penis, back and forth against her clitoris. I caught glimpses of the stubby pearl, poking out at me like an eager fingertip.

"Oh, fuck it. I don't care," Mrs. Taylor stammered. "Watch me, baby. Watch me take it all."

I watched her force herself down onto me, inch by inch, until the entire shaft was buried deep inside of her. She was grinding, inches off and back again, the fabric of her panties teasing the shaft of my cock with every thrust. I started to thrust back at her, matching her exertions, my lifting us off the bed and her pushing us back down.

So it was happening. And it wasn't a dream. I was finally fucking Mrs. Taylor. Our bodies in synchronicity from the beginning, a sweet harmony of moaning and motion, building in chemistry and intensity, glistening with sweat, the slippery, slapping sounds of furious fucking ricocheting off the walls. With the hardwood floor rumbling beneath the bed it could have been an earthquake. A delicate clear glass vase half filled with clear marbles and two yellow tulips toppled over on the nightstand, rolled off, and crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces, the marbles scattering across the room.

"That's it, fuck me, baby. Give it to me hard and fast, Jonah."

I was tugging at the front of her bra. This one had to be fastened at the back, but I didn't have the patience to try to undo it there, I ripped at it and tore it loose from her chest, her full milky white breasts jiggled back at me, glorious and natural and bouncing with our every thrust. I went at her panties next, gripping two handfuls of fabric covering her ass. I tore at them. I wanted her pussy bare but there wasn't any time for stopping to pull her panties down.

"Oh baby, fuck it into me," Mrs. Taylor moaned loudly. "That's it, all the way into me."

She leaned down to me, her tongue thrusting into my mouth, matching the motion, her tongue and my cock each fucking in their own way. I scratched my fingernails over her stocking covered legs, the tightness of the nylon fabric stretched over the softness of her skin brought to life a thousand erotic dreams when I would flip though catalogues and fantasize about this moment, but my dreams were never this raucous, this rollicking and unruly. Mrs. Taylor was riding me with such wild abandon my inner ears went numb, a tingling, ringing sensation filled my head, my hearing was muffled and faint and I felt that popping sound like I sometimes get in an airplane or driving high on a mountain road.

Mrs. Taylor was convulsing on top of me. Visually she seemed loud, lusty, ardent, wailing in her orgasmic throes, but to my ears the sound was eerily calm and muted. Her pussy contracted on my cock, over and over, milking my hot sperm in spasms. I spurted into her in slow motion, in wave after wave of grateful release. There was a humid wetness everywhere, even the mattress was soaking wet and the once clean sheets were now a steamy, sticky and rumpled mess.

In the afterglow she collapsed on top of me. I felt drained, more from relief than euphoria. I had survived the onslaught and my sense of hearing slowly and mystically was returned by forces outside of my control.

"Hold onto me, Jonah. Stay inside me, baby," Mrs Taylor whispered. "I think I'm about to cum again."

I was starting to soften and needed some time, physically and emotionally, to recuperate. Mrs. Taylor was reading my mind.

"Stay still," she said. "I can do this on my own."

Her pussy clamped down tight on my cock in a vice-like grip.

"That's it, from the inside out," she cooed, her body glistening with salty sweat. She trembled and shivered over me. "Inside and out. Oh, fuck me from the inside out, that feels so good, so good, sweetie."

We were both still and quite for a moment. Then I had to ask.

"What does inside out mean, Jenna? I don't get what you were saying."

"It wasn't intense and centered like the first one. More radiating from inside to outside, and then my whole body tingling."

"You mean another orgasm? Without me even doing anything?"

"Yes, dear. I was having another orgasm. Just a different kind. Like an aftershock. And, believe me, it was all your doing."

She kissed me softly on my lips. I felt like she was melting into me.

"Wow, that's amazing," I said. "I had no idea it happens like that."

"Well, it hardly ever does. It was amazing. Look at me. I'm ravaged. My panties are in tatters and my bra is half ripped apart."

"Sorry," I blushed. "I was in a hurry. I was trying to get you naked."

"All you have to do is ask, Jonah."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Will you get naked for me, Mrs. Taylor?"

She sat up on the bed and removed her bra and wiggled her panties down, rolled onto her side, and slid them all the way off. She put one leg in the air and rolled her stocking up to her foot and off, then off came the stocking from her other leg. She was voluptuous and curvy in all the right places, her skin a milky white with translucent pink undertones. Her nipples were a rosy red, her pubic hair was downsized and neatly and sparsely trimmed into an intoxicating little triangle.

"Well, there you go," she said. "That's all of me, Jonah."

"You're gorgeous. Everything is so soft and squeezable."

"That's one way to put it," she laughed. "I'm not a tight little teenage girl anymore like you're used to, Jonah."

"I don't care. You're so beautiful and sexy, Mrs. Taylor. . . Is it okay to kiss you?"

I brushed two fingers lightly across her pussy mound. I wanted to let her know exactly where I intended to kiss her.

"You don't have to ask, Jonah. You do whatever you want. I'm all yours."

For the next hour Mrs. Taylor helped me explore uncharted territory, she was playful and patient with all my clumsy incursions, guiding me along with ease and grace, warmly laughing off my inexperience and cooing at my enthusiasm, and most surprising of all, returning my every whim and desire with more than equal ardor.

At the end of the afternoon we dressed easily in front of each other like real lovers do, the sunlight casting her skin in phosphorus shades of pink and white, Mrs. Taylor in a short silky teal green robe and me in my shorts and blue t-shirt.

"Do you want a cup of coffee?" she asked me. "I've got a pot all set to brew."

"Sure. I like coffee."

"How do you like it?"

"Just black. No cream."

She clasped her arm in mine and walked me to the kitchen.

"Want to try it with brown sugar? That's really good, Jonah."

"That sounds great, Mrs. Taylor."

"Already back to Mrs. Taylor?" she laughed. "Can't I be Jenna for just a few minutes more?"

"You can always be Jenna as far as I'm concerned."

"You're sweet, Jonah. Unrealistic, but sweet. Go ahead and sit down, dear, we should talk things through."

I knew the end was coming, that this afternoon could never be repeated and I was willing to accept that. But why does everything have to be talked out? This must be a thing with some women. The need to always want to talk things out.

We were sitting across from one another at the kitchen table, each with a brick red ceramic mug of hot coffee in our hands. I spooned two cubes of brown sugar from a small orange box on the table. La Perruche pure cane rough cut cubes. There was an exotic tropical scene on the box: palm trees and a parrot and blue mountains in the distance and a setting sun over the ocean. I plopped the cubes in my coffee and stirred them in, watching them swirl, slowly dissolve, and disappear.

"Have you ever been in love, Jonah?"

"I think so. I'm not totally sure. I have been thinking a lot about it lately, though. How do you know for sure?"

I looked into her eyes. There was a serenity in her eyes. And love. I thought I saw love in her eyes.

"Well, love, romantic love, starts with a feeling. A twinge in your heart. You know it when you feel it. And then it grows from there."

"How do you make it grow?"

"The same way you make anything grow, you care for it and nurture it. It's work, Jonah. I don't think anybody just falls in love like it's this big already developed thing that's out of our control. I think it's a decision. You choose a partner, you choose the person you want to be with and grow the love from there."