Fair Play, A Second Time

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Bette and I had different travel schedules, so I couldn’t see her again for a couple of months. We both had booths at that last big fair of the season, though, and planned to get together then. “And this time,” she told me, “I’ll get us a real room.” My camper-van is fine for just me but not the best for entertaining a lady, even if it had given us a magical first time together.

Later during that call, she asked, “Do you dance?”

No. Never. Not in a million years. “Well, I could give it a shot.” Bette had that kind of effect on me.

I could tell that made her happy. “It will be fun! I’m looking forward to it.” She made a kissing noise into the phone. “Bye.”

I’d make it fun if it killed me. “Bye.”

—-

We didn’t see much of each other during the fair, since our booths weren’t together. It had just been a fluke that they were next to each other that first time. In fact, I didn’t see her at all until the fair closed and I had put my cases away. She told me where her booth was, and we had arranged to meet there.

Bette’s silvery hair practically glowed under the artificial lights, against the dark sky. She was looking away as I approached, going over some papers. She looked great in that outfit, a linen jacket and matching slacks. Nothing fussy, but neat, businesslike, and easy to move in.

“Hey pretty lady,” I called out. She turned then, with a huge smile. She has one of those faces that smiles all over, with lots of laugh lines. I could see the low scoop neck of her dark blouse, and decolletage that bobbed as she ran over to me.

She leaned into a big hug, and I felt her deep, soft breasts against me for a moment. “Give me one more minute, I’m almost done here.” She turned back to her paperwork. I sat on one of the empty display tables and enjoyed the view from behind. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I could see a dark panty line under the light slacks. It might have been my imagination, though, or wishful thinking.

Finally, she zipped her notebook shut. She came over, took my arm, and said, “I’m exhausted.” It was almost ten o’clock, and neither of us had had dinner. “Let’s get to the hotel.” Still holding my arm, we went to my van and drove off.

She told me she had already checked in, so we went to the 24-hour Denny’s next door to the hotel. As we looked over the menu, looking for something not too greasy, she said, “Think of it as field rations. We can get real food tomorrow.”

We had only known each other since we met at the last fair. If not for that screw-up at her hotel, we might just have said goodbye and left it at that. Instead, we fell for each other like – well, like I never thought I would. That meant plenty of getting-to-know-you chat over dinner (such as it was), and we talked easily. It surprised me, since I’m not normally much of a talker, but I felt comfortable with her, and somehow open. She had me talking about things that I never discussed. Like Allison.

“How long were you married?”

“Almost thirty years.” I got a little choked up. “A lot of good years.”

She heard the catch in my voice. “I’m sorry, if you don’t want to talk about it …”

“No, it’s OK.” Well, not really, but I felt like I had to tell her. “There were a lot of good years.” Then, some kind of nerve degeneration set in, and weakened the strong, active woman I had loved, still loved. Once the disease had taken almost all of her body, it took her mind, too, by inches. Bette stopped eating while I talked and just looked at me, a hand on my arm. I didn’t go into details, not wanting to bring my own memories of her last months back to life. I stopped after a while, and just looked down into my plate.

A few moments passed, and Bette rubbed my arm. “Dan …” There really wasn’t anything to say.

I shook myself, took her hand in mine, and said, “It’s OK.” No. No it wasn’t. No one should go that way. “We had a lot of good years.” Even her last years couldn’t take those away.

I had to do something to break the somber mood, so I asked “Are you done?” She nodded, I paid the bill (less than I thought), and we left. It was a short walk to the hotel, and I liked the warmth of her up against me.

There was an uneasy moment when we got to the room. Bette ended it by giving me a warm hug, pressing those soft breasts against me again. She sniffed, and said, “You need a shower, and I hate going to bed dirty.” She looked at me with a playful smile (that all-over smile again) and asked, “Wash my back?”

I turned it into a bear hug and asked, “Just your back?” She shook loose and started undressing. I did the same. Next time I looked over, she was down to a bra and panties, a matching set in dark blue. The bra had wide straps and side panels, not a young woman’s little stringy thing, but had lacy trim that matched the panties.

“Wow, you sure dress nicely when you undress.”

“Thanks,” she nodded. “It’s something I got from Mark.” He had been her husband, the one I first poker oyna learned about from her tattoo. “He told me for years that I was beautiful, and I somehow never believed him. After a while, though, it sunk in. I really did learn to like what I saw in the mirror, as if I were looking through his eyes instead of my own. Nice underwear made me feel pretty so I indulged myself. I still do, and it still makes me feel good.” Maybe that was part of the confidence she projected, one of the things I loved about this lovely lady.

She reached behind to unhook the bra, still facing me. I tried not to stare. I was down to my boxers, and stepped over to her. “May I?”

“Go ahead.”

I took a loose strap in each hand, and eased it down her shoulder. The swell of her breast started high on her chest. I kissed one side, then the other, and kept kissing as I worked my way down. Bette held my head gently and traced my ear. Finally, dark areolas came into sight, then nipples. I tugged the bra out from under her breasts, dropped it on the floor, and took a soft nipple in my mouth. Bette’s fingernail clicked on one of my earrings, and I made a little noise. She tugged it a little, and my lips clamped onto the nipple with a moan.

“Ahh,” she said, “you like that.”

“I like it way too much, and we have a big day tomorrow. Let’s get to bed.” We both finished undressing. She went ahead of me into the bathroom, letting me see that lovely body from behind. That lovely round bottom, those sleek legs would have looked good on a forty year old. Really, it was just her face that showed her age, and not all of her age at that. She leaned over the tub to turn on the shower. I took her hips in my hands and bumped up against her.

“Oh, you,” an unconvincing attempt to scold. She adjusted the temperature, still leaning over, and wiggled her bottom against my erection. When the tub was steaming nicely, she turned the shower on, stood up, and stepped in. “You get in here.”

Bette looked just as good from the front. Heavy, soft breasts lay low on her chest, and a dark pubic patch stood in contrast to her pale hair. She luxuriated under the stream for a moment and turned the temperature up a notch, which I liked. If she had been a cold-shower type, this would never have worked for us. I picked up the soap, unwrapped it, and discarded the wet covering. Then I turned her around and started soaping her shoulders. I leaned into her with slick hands, and she put her arms up against the tiles to support her weight. Quiet happy noises followed my way down her back, and turned to purring when I kneaded her bottom. I lingered there, feeling her muscles flex under my hands. After that, I worked my way down her legs thoroughly, but a lot more quickly than I really wanted to.

Once I got down to floor level, I said “OK, front now.” When she turned, her bush was just at nose level. Round breasts stared down at me, as did her eyes above. I resisted the temptation and worked my way back up to the tops of her thighs. I stood, soaped my hands again, and reached between. Bette shifted her feet to the sides, opening to me, and put her hands on my shoulders. I soaped her mons and outer labia thoroughly, exploring the crease between each thick fold and her thigh. We looked into each other’s eyes and I traced the crevices between her legs, feeling the hair untangle in front of my touch. Bette’s eyes fluttered, and she relaxed toward me. Then she looked up and said, “Mmm that’s nice, but not now, OK?”

“OK.” I leaned over for a quick kiss, soaped my hands again, and moved up to her breasts. I lifted each one and soaped it two-handed, top and bottom, enjoying that butterfly softness that comes with real maturity. I played for just a moment, then rinsed. I used the sprayer, and had fun directing the warm water up between her legs and up under each breast. The she took the soap and started on me.

She worked more briskly than I had done, but still stopped to tease me with slippery hands once in a while. When I turned to face her, my erection led the way. Bette took it in both hands, cooed, then looked up at me again. “We’ll have to take care of this, now won’t we?” More soap, so she was slick as an eel, then strong hands held my penis and started working back and forth.

That two-handed grip put the whole length of each hand along the side of my penis – it felt wonderful. I moaned and leaned toward her as she stroked. Every now and then she’d look down, but mostly kept contact with me through her eyes as well as hands. I could feel waves of tension building, gradually becoming deeper and more regular, and she felt it too. Her two-handed touch got fast and strong as each wave built, then slowed as it receded. The space between waves grew shorter, and she moved her hands. Now, one wrapped around my penis and the other reached under. My balls hung low in the shower’s heat. Still looking into my eyes, she felt behind them and found that ridge of muscle. Massaging that as she stroked canlı poker oyna my shaft just drove me harder. I moaned as the pulses of tension radiated out from her hands. Then the waves crashed together. I no longer had that respite between them, the tension just went on and on. Thick, white semen spurted, then again. Bette’s smile must have been as big as mine just then. I stopped ejaculating after a moment, but aftershocks of orgasm kept pounding me. Her hands held my genitals tightly, as if pulling me through them. Finally, it ended. My erection shrank in her hands.

She pulled me close, kissed me and said, “You’re beautiful.” She leaned her cheek against my wet shoulder for a moment, then got back to business. We rinsed off, played with the towels for a few moments, then turned back the covers on the bed. When we were both in bed, she reached over and turned out the light. I cuddled behind her, and went to sleep a lot faster than I thought I would.

—-

The alarm clock sounded much too soon. I had slept like a log, and woke with my hand cupping Bette’s labia. I reached back to the noisy clock, and groped around until something shut it off. Then I rolled back to Bette. “G’morning.”

“`mornin,” a sleepy mumble came back at me. I reached over and started massaging the fronts of her shoulders. Her eyes were open, but not fully awake. “That feels good.” I could barely make out her sleepy slur.

I asked her to roll over, and she presented smooth shoulders to me. I worked on them, and her happy purring started again. It guided me to all the favorite spots around her shoulders, the ridges of muscle along her spine, and those deep spots where bones in her thigh joined her pelvis. That loving touch had me turned on in just a little while, and I started leaving slick trails along her thigh. Still lying on her front, she took my erection in one hand as I worked, and fondled it with a firm hand. Soon, she turned toward me and took it in both hands. “You’re incredible, you know that? And you’re not going to leave me alone until we take care of this.” I wasn’t quite sure about her tone.

“We don’t have to …”

She interrupted me, tenderly this time. “We don’t have to, but I want to and you want to.” She took one of my hands and put it on my erection. “Here, you do this part.”

“You’re sure …”

She pushed me flat on the bed. “Very sure. You take care of that. I have lots of other parts to work on.” She leaned down and nibbled my earrings, already knowing the effect that would have. One of her arms had to support her, but the other ranged up and down my body, touching my balls, my nipples, my face. A leg swung over mine, and I felt the scratchy warmth of pubic hair against my thigh. My free hand reached behind her, to the small of her back, and held her tightly against me.

To tell the truth, I was starting to feel kind of selfish, but she seemed happy just sustaining and being part of my excitement. I finished quickly, so I wouldn’t feel that I was imposing too much. After a little flurry of kisses, she lay her head on my chest. Her fingertip toyed with the white blobs across my stomach. Then she reached for some tissues and wiped up.

“You wait here.” I heard water run in the bathroom, then she came back with a wet washcloth and a towel. When she was done, she knelt next to me and toyed with me, back and forth the length of my body.

“I didn’t think old guys could do that,” she said happily, “at least, not that often.”

“When I’m around you, I don’t feel old,” I answered. “Old ladies need attention too …” I started.

“Shh.” A fingertip touch on my lips. “Old ladies do just fine, and will let you know what they want.” I started again. “Shh. Really. I’m fine.”

Argument wasn’t going to do anything good, so I just pulled her shoulders down for a long hug. I broke it this time. “What time is it? We have an early start today.”

She looked at the clock. “You’re right. We have time, but none to waste.” We started dressing again. Her lingerie ensemble was black today, the same as our first time but a slightly different style. I had never thought much about women’s underwear before, except as a matter of her comfort or sometimes as a kind of gift wrap. I suspected I was going to learn a new appreciation. I could feel it starting.

She wore the same pants and jacket as yesterday, but with a burgundy blouse. I wore my usual, jeans and a clean shirt that could probably have used ironing. The hotel restaurant was open for breakfast, so we didn’t have to subject ourselves to Denny’s again. I didn’t have time for a second cup of coffee, and really didn’t want one since bathroom breaks were few and far between.

Back at the fair grounds we parted with a quick hug and a kiss – the social kind, suitable for company, not the passionate embrace so fresh in my mind. Bette and I parted ways, and agreed to meet at the end of the day.

—-

The fair closed earlier on the second day, internet casino the last day, so it was still light out when we had put everything away. I helped her fold her tent and tuck it in the back of her pickup, under the hard shell in back. Then we both drove back to the hotel. “Do you want a shower before we go out?” I remembered the promise to go dancing. “I want to get the dust off.”

I agreed. A moment later, she, I, and my erection stood under the steaming stream. We each washed quickly. When she was done, before getting out of the shower, she took my half-hard penis in one hand and wagged a finger at it with the other. “You’ll just have to wait.” I laughed at the school-marm tone of voice, and she laughed too.

I watched her dress, curious to see what she’d start with this time. The panties were a little higher cut, and the bra seemed to push up a little more – not that she needed help in that department. Bette saw me staring, stopped, and posed in front of me. “You approve?”

I leaned down and kissed the top of each breast, and said “Very much.” Instead of the linen slacks, she wore dark pants with a sharp crease and a silvery, silky long-sleeved blouse. This time, her shoes had a little heel. She brushed her hair and examined the mirror for a moment, then was ready to go. I was definitely outclassed in the clothing department, but wore my best jeans and a sport coat – maybe that would fool people into thinking I was respectable.

We lingered over a slow dinner. Bette had told me a fair bit about herself when we first got together, so I did a lot of the talking over dinner. I described my years in high tech, in the CEO/CTO/IPO circuit. What I made during that time would keep me going for the rest of my life. I really didn’t need the income from selling jewelry.

“I had wondered about that,” Bette offered. “Other vendors seemed to charge more for work that doesn’t look nearly as good.”

“I’m not trying to undercut anyone. Most of them make their living at it. I just want to cover costs, get out, and see people. I didn’t get out much in the years when Allison was sick. After she died, I turned into a hermit for a while. After couple of months, I realized the effect it was having on me. It wasn’t fair to her memory that I should let her death do that to me. Everyone dies. Everyone else goes on. This gets me out, going places, and seeing people. Seeing you.”

It turned out that Bette sold her paintings for much the same reason. Her own career and her late husband’s had left her comfortably well off. She turned to painting when she retired and loved doing it. After a while, though, every wall in the house was covered, and most of the walls in most of her friends’ houses. Starting at a local flea market, she discovered that other people liked her paintings, too. She got involved in the local arts groups, did well in juried shows, and realized just how high the prices could go and still sell. It let her travel, and she liked the ego kick from seeing people value her work enough to give her money for it.

I asked her about that. Her abstractions really moved me, with their intense compositions and driving energy. If I had seen them, not knowing Bette already, I would never have guessed that they came from a hand with age spots. It seemed hard to believe that the landscapes and pretty-girl pictures came from the same brush as the abstracts, too. “The abstractions are for me. Once in a while someone buys one. The others are for someone’s living room. They pay the bills. And, they make people happy.”

I was content to linger over coffee and dessert. Bette checked her watch a few times, though, and eventually announced that the music was starting in the lounge. We charged the meal to our room but left a cash tip, and started out.

Bette and I found a small table and ordered drinks. The DJ was playing something lively that I didn’t recognize, and a few younger couples were already dancing. To tell the truth, I was a little on edge. I never liked dancing and had never learned to dance – maybe the two went together. When Bette suggested it, I agreed anyway. For her, of course, but maybe I could learn to like it. My first thought, as with anything new, had been to take some lessons, but there hadn’t been enough time for me to find instruction. I was going to make a fool of myself, I supposed I could deal with that, but I didn’t want to disappoint Bette.

The music stopped and most of the couples went back to their tables. Then the DJ started a slower tune. Bette stood up, took my hand, and led me onto the floor. She stood facing me, expecting something, and I whispered, “I don’t know how to dance. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

She looked annoyed for a moment, then smiled and pulled me close. “You sweetie. It’s easy, you just move. Go ahead.” She was already swaying, so I held her and tried to follow along. A little while later, I was usually going the same direction as her and it seemed to get easier. I can’t say I was really comfortable with it, but Bette felt good in my arms. I enjoyed her warmth and the feel of her muscles moving under my arms, and the soft pressure of her breasts. The music came to a stop and we did, too.

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