Widow's Fire
There's a fire burning in her and it's going to take more than coffee to quell the flames
She was young, in her mid-forties, fifty maybe, which is young to a man of my age. Nice legs, slim hips and her ample bust bounced as she walked. She passed my house almost every day and would look across at me and flash a smile. Sometimes a wave and a, “Hi.”
One day, as I was putting out the bins at the end of the path, she stopped.
“Hello,” she said.
We chatted about inconsequential things. Her face smiled from beneath dark curly hair but there was a sadness about her. “Would you like a tea… coffee?” I asked.
She looked into my eyes. “Yes,” she said, “I think I would,” and followed me into the house.
“You live alone?” she said as we stood in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to bubble into life. The table a safety barrier between us.
“Yes,” I said. “Divorced.”
“Me too.” She sipped her coffee. “My husband died nearly a year ago. I…” she put the cup down. “It was more than coffee I came in for.” She looked down at the floor.
A silence hung around us, then she looked up, smiling nervously. “I don’t know why I said that.” There was another long pause. “It’s just that since he died… well since well before he died.” She shuffled uncomfortably against the worktop. “I’ve had these urges. I’ve felt so…” She looked down again and then back up to me, her breasts rising and falling as she breathed. “Horny.”
I broke the silence. “It’s called widow’s fire.”
“How do you know about that?” Her eyes widened.
“I read a lot,” I smiled. “Nothing much else to do. The reaction to death or sometimes a loss stimulates an urge in both men and women to confirm that we are still alive. And sex or the gratification it brings is one of the primary ways of affirming that.”
Her shoulders relaxed as if a weight was being lifted from her. She looked back at me and there was a light gleaming in her eyes that seemed to shine from deep within her. “Are you looking at my tits? She asked with an impish grin.
“What man wouldn’t,” I said. “You are beautiful. You could have younger men falling over you.”
“I don’t want a younger man. I want a man who knows.”
“With three ex-wives I suppose I know,” I smiled, “or maybe I don’t. After all, they are exs.”
“Would you like to see them?” Her palms pressed against her breasts as if plumping two pillows.
I nodded and she began to unbutton her blouse. I moved behind her, my fingers sliding the material from her shoulders and unhooking her bra as I kissed the warm flesh of her neck. Her breasts felt like firm dough, pliant beneath my palms and my fingers and thumbs softly pinched hardening nipples.
She sighed and twisted half around to kiss my lips and then turned back to face the table. There was a pause, the air around us was static with anticipation as we connected. Slowly, deliberately, she bent forward, her palms flat on the tabletop.
The thunderstorm broke. She writhed on the table, skirt up, panties and tights around her knees, pressing herself against me and the hard surface. I was inside her. Her knuckles white as she gripped the far edge of the top. Moans and howls echoed off the kitchen walls, so loud that, for a moment, I worried that the neighbours would think I was murdering her.
She wriggled, twisted her body upwards, her hand releasing its grip on the table and snaking between her legs. I sensed her fingers pressing against our flesh as she bucked, slamming herself against me with such force that I struggled to stay standing.
Her primal screams became a stream of obscenities, inviting me to thrust deeper, harder. Then, a series of spasms shuddered through her like waves breaking on the shore, our bodies became one, as if fused together.
She relaxed. Energy flowed from her as if she was melting into the table. Then she stirred, stood up, pulled up her panties and tights, slipped on her bra and buttoned up her blouse. Her fingers brushed against the stubble on my chin.
“So, do I need to stock up?” I asked.
“Stock up on what?” She tipped her head to one side.
“Coffee and Viagra.”
She laughed. “I’d rather it was wine and Viagra but yes, stock up.” She walked towards the door and then stopped and looked at me over her shoulder. “I think I will be needing the regular services of a firefighter for the foreseeable future.”
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Finding Your Way Around
My collection of stories is growing. This post contains links to list of my stories by topic (and tells you which are free to read and which are for paid subscribers).
To copy a big online retailer, if you liked Widows Fire, you might like these:
