The Right String of Pearls Can Win More than a Girl’s Heart

Language lessons
She is not tall, but beautifully sculpted – not voluptuous, but appears to have wonderfully sized and shaped breasts. She has been my tutor for about 6 weeks, we meet each Tuesday evenings at the local library, where she teaches me Italian. I would guess her age to be about 30, beautiful white skin, very clear (she is paranoid about the sun on her skin). One thing I really appreciate about a naturally beautiful woman is one who does not overdo the makeup – pet peeve of mine. My tutor does a great job of light, imperceptible use of makeup, lovely white plastic nails glued to fingers and toes (always wears open sandals), but it is how she dresses to accentuate her body that I really enjoy.

Her husband travels most of the time, being in town less that half the days of the month, and she often says she misses him. It isn’t anything she does or really says, but it is how she dresses that turns me on, plus her up-beat personality and what a smile! She seems to virtually glow.

It is a definite, but mild accent when she speaks English – completely intelligible, with a musical lilt that adds charm to every word she utters.

I am content to simply lust for that great body, and beautiful mouth. At age 60 I have no illusions that I could attract such a beauty and content myself to live with her in my imagination. (Difficult to understand a husband that would take a job that keeps him away from her that much.)

You can imagine my motivation to not miss a single session! My Italian is painfully slow, but surprisingly, lusting after her is not really the reason, it actually motivates me even more to concentrate on every word and thought. Surprising.

Anyway, last week after an hour of lesson, I was very tired, and we were casually speaking in English about a few things, when she became a little serious and the conversation drifted to some personal problems that I don’t feel comfortable telling here – confidentiality is an important ethical issue for me. Suffice it to say, it felt rather intimate, emphasis on the word “felt”. It was nothing said, just the way we talked so openly about some things.

In the days afterwards, while I empathized with her, it thrilled me in some way that we had shared those moments of closeness, and I was titillated by it.

So, today is a week later and we are back in class, me feeling like a little child stumbling through the few thoughts I can manage to utter. I am already conversant in the Chinese language, and learning a third language is usually easier than learning a second, but also there is interference. Often when I cannot think of the Italian I need, the Chinese word sneaks into my head and blocks the Italian. That struggle is compounded by the fact that she has dressed casually as usual, but there is something different. I soon realize what is distracting me most is the loosely draped blouse, scooped low and drooping a little open to reveal excellent cleavage hinting at breasts that most women would pay money to have.

She says she doesn’t exercise, but her skin appears to have a natural tightness suggesting tactile pleasure. So today, I feel an alertness throughout my body and I really want her. As always , we sit at the corner of a table, her at the end, and me next to her, sort of at right-angles. And that puts her very close together. Her short height, and my 6’1” means that even sitting down I have to look slightly down at her and she is looking up into my face as we study. Her glossy lips in a perpetual smile, and so close it is driving me crazy.

It is a major struggle to stay focused on her eyes – I have to struggle to not glance down at her breasts and get caught! That would really embarrass me. None of this struggle is helped by the fact that as she moves, her blouse slips lower, and she continually reaches for the strap and tugs it back up. I want to say to her, “Relax, let it drop down and let’s get this over with!” But of course that can’t happen.

Normally, I am aware that other men in the library (and some women) glance our way and are envious that at my age I have this beauty to myself. Today, though I am oblivious to my surroundings and totally focused on trying to get through this lesson!

When the hour mercifully ends, we go outside and sit together on a bench in front of the library under one of the thick live oaks that the Panhandle of Florida is famous for. It is cooler and more comfortable than usual, and sitting beside her where I don’t have to look directly at her helps me relax a little – emphasis on “a little”.

I’m not fully concentrating on our conversation, she is talking some about her early years, when something brings me to full alert. I’m not sure all of what she just said, but her voice riveted me to attention. Her head is down and a single tear has dropped onto her hand in her lap. She turns her face to me and said, “I really enjoy our time together.” I stammered something that was to mean “me too”, feeling stupid and unsure of myself, and excited at the same time. My 60 years melted away and I was 13 again wanting to hold a girls hand and scared to death. An awkward “Chou” and we left.

At home, when I opened my eMail, there was already a note from her – she needed to talk to me and wanted to meet at the library in the morning. I called her cell phone and suggested 10:00am out front.

I had some great dreams that night, and awoke feeling foolish that an old man could be so silly. Yet, isn’t hope wondereful!

We greet with the usual cheek to cheek air-kiss that she has taught me is part of the culture – tempting me to just grab her and pull her close. She looks great, but I sense a little wariness.

We sit and she is quiet before she turns to look up at me and says that she wants to tell me something, but is embarrassed. I assure her that she has my complete understanding whatever it is. And then she says it, “I think I am falling in love with you.” I have no idea what went through my mind at that moment, nor all that I said. Fortunately it was nothing as stupid as “I love you too”. It was more along the lines that we needed to talk more. This is too public. So, we walked down the street to a coffee shop that had booths with relative seclusion, and began a talk that changed everything.

She was obviously more than just a little nervous – I took the lead and tried as best I could to understand how I really felt about her. Feeling more confident now, she interrupted me and said simply, “I want to have sex with you.” It was more question than statement. I smiled and stared at her a few moments, nodded my head slowly, and said “Let’s do it, but I don’t want to cause you or me any trouble with our families.” She said her husband was in Paris for ten days, and we could go to her house. I suggested we be more intentional than to just hop in bed, and that I needed to think how I wanted the first time to be.