The Apology

My apology was long overdue. As I sat with Mrs. Filmore at the coffee shop, my nerves rattled as I began to offer my apology.

I had known her for almost twenty years, beginning when we served together on a civic committee. I was immediately attracted to her. We struck up a friendship, and even though she was my senior by two decades the age difference was an appealing part of the way we related to one another.

In the beginning, I was a young college graduate, and she was the mature wife of a prominent businessman. Tall, dark, and handsome, she was. Her jet-black hair was always perfectly arranged. Her figure was a rare perfection, shapely and leggy, with just the right blend of curves on her lean fit body.

Her looks and appealing body hadn't spoiled her. She was modest, honest, kind, always seeking the positive. She never used her beauty to her advantage. I fell for her right away, but I don't think she suspected anything but friendship and admiration from me.

Ha! She was frequently the subject of my fantasies and dreams. Although I had my own lively personal life and plenty of avenues for sex with women of my own generation, I held Mrs. Filmore in special regard and liked to imagine what it would be like to romance her, to gain her confidence, and to screw the daylights out of her.

Many times I imagined watching Mrs. Filmore undress as I nursed a raging hardon.

At times, I did assert myself. But I only did it in ways that she would tolerate and not object or feel threatened. I offered her a hug and kiss on the cheek at every possible opportunity. Occasionally, as we met or parted, I would put my arms around her in an embrace, sometimes holding her tight and allowing a hand to slide down her back and rest on the curve of her buttocks. I would kiss her on both cheeks, then look into her eyes in hopes that she might offer her lips. She never did, but each time I felt my cock get longer and soon felt moisture on my leg as my dick began to do the thinking for me.

Sometimes while we talked I would touch her shoulder or lay a hand on her leg, just briefly, to emphasize a point. And, of course, I would always compliment her attire and her hair as I gazed at her lovely face.

In some ways, it was fulfilling just to have this friendship and not risk trouble by pushing matters too much. One of the advantages of nurturing a long friendship with someone you want to fuck is that she opened up to me on occasion about her marriage and family issues. For instance, I knew that she knew her husband was not compatible and romantic in certain ways. But what marriage is perfect?

At times, when we met for coffee, I would draw her out about her past. Her years as a young woman, her college years, her early jobs -- she seemed pleased that I was interested. Once I hinted about having affairs, and she replied, "I've always been a good girl." Even that admission, innocent as it was, sent a jolt through my cock. I nodded to her as I felt a little squirt of cum moisten my trousers just to think that Mrs. Filmore had been a one-cock wife.

I almost crossed a line once when she arrived dressed in a holiday sweater that had an elaborate design. I complemented her and pointed to the design as it swooped across her chest, allowing my hand to feel press against the swell of her breast. She gasped slightly, and I quickly withdrew my hand, pretending that it was a mistake.

I used similar tactics to touch her in places that friends don't usually touch, pretending it was all in good innocent friendship. Often I laid my hand on her back or shoulder as we talked or rested a hand on her leg when we sat next to each other. She never seemed to mind.

But I wasn't born yesterday. I knew that she must have felt my intentions at some level. My actions didn't ruin the friendship, so she must have been comfortable with my flattery, but I wondered how far she'd allow me to go.

Many years have passed. Mrs. Filmore is now in her early sixties, and she is still beautiful and appealing. Maybe more than ever. Rather than continue to frustrate myself by never ending casual touches and pecks on the cheek, I planned an entirely different way to draw closer to Mrs. Filmore.

I would apologize.

Rather than continue to dream about her, I decided to make a move. But an unusual move that might open or close doors.

We met at our favorite coffee shop and sat next to each other at a small table. I liked to sit next to her rather than across from her so that we could talk quietly, and so that I could take liberties touching her.

"Good afternoon, Gail," I said as Mrs. Filmore came to the table. "Did you order coffee already?"

"Oh yes, my favorite latte," she answered as she took a seat. I moved a chair to her side, and we spoke about the weather and local news until her latte arrived.

"We've known one another for a long time, haven't we?" I asked.

"We certainly have," Gail responded.

"Why do you think we've had such a pleasant friendship for so long?" I asked her.

Mrs. Filmore thought a while. "Maybe our differences in age and sex make this an unusual friendship," she said.

"Humm, I think you're right," I said, "We're different enough so that we're curious how our generations and genders think differently about things."

"Yes, I think that's part of it," she agreed.

Then I entered into the apology, "But I must admit that the difference in our ages and genders is also something I've had to manage."

"Oh?" she asked, "What do you mean?"

The plan was underway. I replied, "As much as I enjoy our friendly visits, and I do, and I value every time we get together, I also need to tell you that I've crossed some lines."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," she said.

"Well," I explained, "to be direct, I have admired not just your mind and heart but also your looks and your body. You must be aware of my attentiveness."

Gail just listened.

"It's high time that I tell you honestly that you have been the object of my fantasies for years, and in the spirit of honesty I want you to know that I do work to manage myself and behave properly when I'm with you. But there have been lapses."

"Lapses?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "surely you've noticed how I like to hug you, touch you sometimes a bit too personally, and frankly I am restraining myself from being more forward."

Her expression didn't change. She only cocked her head a bit to the side as she listened.

"There," I told her, "I've said it." At that point, having spoken openly to her about her bodily appeal, my dick was inching down my pant leg, creeping forward and getting longer and thicker. Just talking to her like this was a turn-on. Sure enough, I felt the familiar wetness as my cock expanded and came close to a full erection.

We sat silently for a moment. Mrs. Filmore was more than gracious. We were sitting beside one another, and she said, "Dear boy, of course I've been aware of a certain zing between us for all these years. And frankly it's one of the delights about meeting you. Yes, I do notice that your embraces are a bit too friendly, and yes I do know that you occasionally touch me in ways that friends don't."

"You do?" I asked.

"Yes you silly boy," she said as she smiled.

At that moment, to break the tension, she reached over under the table to reassure me with a pat of her hand on my leg. Wonder of wonders, her hand landed full on my stiff cock. She didn't realize it at first as she gently squeezed my leg. She just smiled and said, "It's okay."

I was relieved by her calm reaction to my admission, then I lightening shot through me when she mistakenly squeezed my dick. With her hand still resting atop my cock, I looked her in the eye and say, "That's not my leg."

Mrs. Filmore's hand squeezed again, sending another shock wave through my body, then she felt around a bit and realized that she had been handling my cock. Her eyes opened wide, and she said, "Oh, excuse me!" But she did not remove her hand.

The tables were turning.

Mrs. Filmore smiled, "Good heavens, you are quite a big boy," she said.

I looked around the coffee shop to see if we were being watched, but Mrs. Filmore didn't seem to care. She ran her hand farther down my leg, over the moist head of my cock, and then back over its entire length.

"All these years," she said, "I was enjoying our visits, and part of my joy was watching you undress me with your eyes and carefully try to touch me without alarming me. That was part of the fun." Her hand gripped my cock at its base.

"If I'd known about this," she said as her hand pulsed my dick, gripping tightly and releasing it over and over as her hand traveled down its entire length, "If I'd known about this, perhaps I would have encouraged you more."

I was struggling to keep from gasping. I looked at Mrs. Filmore's lovely face she explored my cock, and I was worrying that she would ejaculate me in public. It took me some moments to say anything.

When I gained a bit of composure and felt my cock calming down just a bit, the fear of an early release diminished. I was able to say, "You've certainly taken my apology well."

Mrs. Filmore laughed out loud and said, "You're welcome, is there anything else you want to apologize for?"
With her hand still dancing around my pants, I told her, "Many's the time I've dreamed about you."

"Tell me about your dreams, young man," she said.

I was almost shaking with joy, delight, and pleasure. "Well, in my dreams and when we are together, I want to kiss your lips and feel that sensation of trust from you. I've wanted to unbutton your blouse and undress you. I've wanted to see your breasts and I've especially tried to imagine what your nipples look like."

"Is that all?" she asked.

I took a deep breath before saying, "I imagine your lingerie, what you might look like dressed only in your finest lacy things."

I paused a moment, and she spoke, "And when you think about these things, do you touch yourself like this?" as she moved her hand up and down my length.

I made direct eye contact with her and said, "Yes, and I have done this many times. If time permits, I will enjoy my dreams of you as long as possible before, well, you know."

"Before what?" she asked, knowing full well what I meant.

Her hand was moving very slowly up and down my cock when I answered, "Before I cum."

"That's what I wanted to hear you say," she said.

"And that's not the end," I told her. "That's just thinking of you in lingerie. Then I imagine you revealing your breasts. And I do this in many different ways. Sometimes you take off your bra and show me. Sometimes I take it off. Sometimes Mr. Filmore is there, and he takes off your bra while I watch."

"Mr. Filmore!" she said. "My you are imaginative."

"By then, my cock is ready for more, and the imaginary scene continues. You are reluctant to go further. I tease you and try to make you feel comfortable about taking off your panties, but you are too embarrassed."

She said, "I am shy, that's true."

"But I think of inventive ways to talk you out of them. Sometimes you take them off in a teasing way. Sometimes I take them from you. And sometimes your husband removed them so that I can see your pussy."

Mrs. Filmore was becoming visibly aroused. We had been sitting for hardly fifteen minutes, but it seemed like much longer.

"Speaking of Mr. Filmore," I said to her, "Do you think he fantasizes about you like I do?"

She didn't answer for a moment, then said, "What do you think?"

"I think he takes you for granted," I told her. "But I have nothing but dreams about how you look naked and how you would react to my touches."

"I'll bet you do," she said.

My cock was very satisfied. Plump and stiff, enjoying the sensation of Mrs. Filmore's touch even through my trousers. "And," I continued, "Since we're talking about Mr. Filmore, why don't you use your hand to indicate the size of your husband's cock."

She smiled and seemed to shake her head, but then she slid her hand from top to bottom of my dick, then moved her hand half way up my eight and a half inches. "About there," she said.

By now, I was well aware that my dreams were coming true and that Mrs. Filmore wanted to be fucked. I took a chance by even mentioning her husband, but my hunch was right that I had much more to offer her in the cock department.

I took her free hand in mine and looked her in the eyes, "Well, what on earth will we do with the rest of that cock you're holding?"

This sixty-something beauty was driving me crazy, and I think I was returning the favor.

I asked, "When was the last time you let someone other than your husband see your nipples? When was the last time anyone other than him saw your pussy?"

When she didn't answer me right away, I said, "Never? Or maybe when you were a college student? Or maybe you and Mr. Filmore have wild parties every week."

She laughed and only said, "You might be surprised."