Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Beverly watched the young man in the pool flounder about oddly.  He wasn't
there to swim laps.  He really wasn't swimming at all.  Again he lay flat
on the surface of the water, allowing his head and legs to dip into a
hovering float.  At first reluctantly, and later laughing, children would
approach and prod him and he would spring up and splash the perpetrator. 
He was cute, and in his mid-twenties, with a face that was pretty rather
than handsome, and his eyes always seemed to turn in her direction when the
loudest shrieks of amusement arose from the children, as though it were all
for her.  Beverly watched, and tried to read her book.  The splashing
spread among the children and, inevitably, a fight broke out and the young
man immediately climbed out of the pool.  He strode by Beverly's chair on
the way to his own, smiling widely at her.

   "Do you see what you've done?" she asked with mock annoyance that came
out a bit too sharply.

   "I should be spanked," the young man said, and slapped his own ass as he
walked away.

   "Dickhead," Beverly sighed with a smile, then turned back to her book,
growing increasingly perturbed that the young man didn't return.

   A few days later, Beverly was struggling in her driveway to remove a
ping pong table from the back of her minivan, one half at a time.  She
would wrestled with a determined scowl that didn't seem to help her move
the damned thing.  Stepping back a minute, she examined a small cut on her
hand and saw someone walking up the lawn towards her with a wide smile and
a silly wave.  It was the man from the pool.

   "I'm sorry," he said with that smile of his, "I saw you here and I just
couldn't pass by.  You want help, don't you?  No, don't shake your head. 
That's foolish.  Let me do this for you and in exchange you can owe me a
favor.  That's how it works, isn't it?  I impose my help and expect . . ."

   "Will you please stop talking?" Beverly groaned.  "Yes, help me with the
table and we'll talk about what you get out of it some other time."

   Not more than twenty minutes later, the two had the ping pong table set
up in the garage.

   "Can we talk about what I want now?" the young man asked.

   "Sure.  Tell me," Beverly answered, hoping it wasn't a game of ping
pong.

   "I want to see your kitchen cabinets."

   "Oh, dear Christ, you're annoying."

   "This is it, Beverly."

   Beverly paused, thinking for the first time.  She stared at this man,
this Tom, as he had introduced himself as they set up the ping pong table.
"What is that supposed to mean?"

   "It means," Tom said, advancing on her slowly, kneeling down before her
at the foot of the stairs that led from the garage to the house, grasping
the backs of her ankles, rising up with his hands tracing the back of her
legs, under her sun dress, letting the fabric fall between his palms, and
finally kissing her, his tongue moving in her mouth as she wondered why she
had let him touch her as though she were his, kissing him back.

   "Come in, Tom," she said when the kiss broke.  She opened the door to
the house and the two entered into the kitchen, from the garage.  "I don't
stand on circumstance here," she said, sitting at the table.  She watched
Tom disrobe with silent fascination.  She was pretty, she knew, but a man
his age .  . .  it didn't seem that it should seem so right.  "Over here
now," she said when he was nude.  He walked forward with a hint of shyness
that passed the moment her mouth enveloped his cock.  He squirmed as he
moaned, and his squirms became thrusts, which she tolerated briefly until
he began to make her gag.  Then she reached down and grabbed his balls,
hard.  Tom yelped and stopped, understanding.  Understanding so well that
he stopped thrusting and stood stock still.  Unwilling to bob her head up
and down for Tom's viewing pleasure, she instead grabbed either side of his
hips and began to guide him, holding her head still.  There was somehow
something masculine about fucking Tom in and out of her mouth, something
that made her smile and entertain the notion of biting his cock off.

   She finished before he did, tired of sucking him before he could cum. 
Leaning back into the chair, Beverly stared up at him excited eyes that
felt somehow weary.  "Take my panties off, Tom." Tom knelt before her on
the floor and she lifted her leg, just one, and put it over his should as
if to tease him, when he reached under her skirt for her underwear. 
Beverly did help him by lifting her ass either, letting him struggle for
several minutes before rising to his feet with her panties.  "Hand them to
me," Beverly instructed.  Tom did as he was asked.

   Beverly reached out with her panties and wrapped them around Tom's dick.
As soon as she began masturbating him, he groaned loudly.  "I bet this
brings back memories," Beverly said.  "How'd a boy like you get to be such
a big man?" She gazed up with genuine concern.  "And still remain a boy? 
Tell me the truth, Tom.  It won't hurt.  I promise."

   "I don't know.  I was mature for my age when I was younger, but then I
just kind of stagnated.  I'm not sure how or why.  But when I noticed you a
few weeks ago, I thought that there was just something about you that . . .
"

   "Tom.  Tom!  A few weeks ago?" Beverly's hand slowed on Tom's cock but
didn't stop.  "Tom, you've been stalking me?"

   "I followed you a few placed, I took a few pictures."

   "To build a shrine with?"

   "No.  To masturbate to."

   "You son of a bitch." Beverly rose from her chair, not entirely
displeased, but very annoyed and rattled.  When she felt Tom's body encase
hers from behind, she yelped.

   "There's only one of me.  I'm not crazy.  Not very.  Please don't be mad
and please, please don't be frightened.  I don't think I love you, but I
saw you and I saw the incarnation of some archetype I've held for what
seems like longer than I've been alive.  You're a goddess to me, Beverly."
He held her close, closer than she wanted.  "You're everything I ever
wanted in a woman.  Let me worship you." Tom bent Beverly over the table,
lifted up the skirt of her sundress and before Beverly know what was
happening, he was inside her.  "This pedestal isn't too high, is it?"

   "No," she gasped without thinking.

   "I need you so bad, Beverly.  I need this like water need air to serve
as a counterpoint to.  I need to be inside the pussy of a woman so perfect
I wish she had birthed me."

   Beverly grunted and whimpered and tried not to make more noise as Tom's
words played at some strange chord in her mind and his cock sawed in and
out of her, making the walls of her pussy contract and spasm with pleasure
as the hard dick inside of her massaged their clasping walls.

   "Tell me love is not more to you than a word or a promise seldom kept,
tell me love is colored by this, that need molds lust, that my desire for
you cauterizes the loose ends of your heart.  What I cannot win, I will
make whole.  You and it."

   "Stop, stop," Beverly grunted, wincing over her shoulder at Tom.

   "I'm not mean.  And these aren't cruel words.  What your mind says at
other moments . . ."

   "Oh God, oh God.  Yes!" Beverly cried, no longer able to stifle herself,
and sagged in orgasm, feeling wounded and suspicious.  Tom continued
fucking her, faster now, trying just for relief.  And still he spoke.

   "I need you.  I fucking need you and I can't help it.  Do you know how
that feels?  Tell me, tell me, tell me . . .  " Tom came deep inside her
and slumped against her body as she straightened.  "Tell me and I'll go. 
If you want, tell me.  And I'll go."

   "You can go," Beverly said, uncertainly.  "You'll, you'll likely come
back the next time you need your dick sucked." Tom paused in dressing and
glanced up her.  "I didn't mean that, Tom.  I'm sorry."

   "You did mean it." Tom frowned.  "Maybe what just happened was really
just the sum of its parts, but what I felt and what I hope you felt - I
hope those things factor in." Tom advanced on Beverly.  "Beverly," he said
softly and kissed her.  When they broke the kiss, Beverly lay her head on
his chest and smiled.

   "This doesn't mean we love each other.  You got that?"

   "Does it mean I should stay?"

   Pulling back from the embrace, Beverly answered, "My kids will be home
in an hour.  Though I'm sure they'd love to meet the man who made their
mother cum, I'm not sure I'd cope well with the awkwardness."

   "So I guess that means I'll piston my cunt plunger in and out of your
syrupy fuck tunnel some other time."

   "Oh, for God's sake!!!"

   "Sorry.  Bad joke."