Midlife Glitch (May/December Romances Book 1)

MIDLIFE GLITCH
 

BEN BOSWELL

Midlife Glitch Copyright © 2015 by Ben Boswell

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Cover image © Getty/iStockPhoto used under license

Cover design by Kenny Wright

First digital edition electronically published by Ben Boswell Publishing, January 2015

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without explicit written permission of the copyright holder.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

For those of you who have read my other stories, this one will seem like quite a departure. Instead of a somewhat hapless husband in awe of his wife’s sexuality, this is that story of a man having a relationship with an inappropriately young friend of the family. In some ways he’s still somewhat hapless, but in a different way that usual.

I have made a number of false starts on this sort of theme. I think the attraction of it for a middle-aged man should be obvious, but that, I guess, has always made a bit leery of my efforts in that regard. I’m not sure I’m a great judge of the success of this sort of story. I’m pretty easy to please with this particular fantasy. That said, I think this one works.

It captures the sense of doomed attraction of an inappropriate relationship. The mad, passionate rush of first sexual encounters. The sense of playing out a string on something you know can’t last. But really, what makes me proud of this story is the finale. I don’t want to give it away, but I hope you’ll agree with me that the ending is what brings this together and makes it more than just a hot fantasy… though I also hope you’ll agree it is that as well.

I have a number of other projects in this works in this general genre, which is why I’ve decided to call this book one of a series of May/December Romances. I’m not sure when book two in the series will be out, but calling it a series is a way of committing myself to writing more in this vein. If you agree that I ought to do so, I hope you’ll let me know either by email, Amazon review, or through Twitter.

As usual, I want to thank Kenny Wright for his support and his cover design work. Also thank you to my loyal readers. This one is a bit different than what you’ve come to expect of me, but I hope you’ll come along for the ride.

BB

It is amazing how having no problems can become a problem. I'm Dan. And, I'm a jerk. But it is also a fact that not one man out of a thousand would have behaved any differently. Well, not any straight man out of a thousand at least.

Joanne and I have been married twenty-eight years. I'm fifty-four, she's a stunningly well-preserved fifty-two, even after bearing and raising three rambunctious boys. I know that description sounds ungracious. I don’t mean it that way. But it’s life. Years take a toll, and after a while, you’re just sort of holding on to what you’ve got. Joanne is easily the sexiest woman in our group of friends. She looks ten years younger than she is. I could go on, but no matter how many compliments I throw out, she’s still fifty-two. A sexy fifty-two, but fifty-two.

Our youngest son recently finished college and actually found a job that allows him to live on his own, making us truly empty nesters. Joanne and I have always had a solid sex live, and it picked up nicely when Josh finally went off to school. No more needing to hide under the covers in the dark, listening for footsteps in the hall. In some ways, that's where our problem started. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'm in commercial real estate, and luckily enough my old firm got bought out shortly before the crash, leaving me with both a nice, little, nest egg and also a fair amount of time on my hands. I've done a few deals since, but have also had the chance to work on my golf game and spend some quality time with my guitar for the first time since before our kids were born. I like to joke that it allowed me to have a soft landing instead of a midlife crisis. Little did I know.

I've been dancing around the facts for a while, which I guess is simple embarrassment as much as anything else. So here goes:

Her name is Ashley. She's eighteen. Long, straight, blond hair down to the middle of her back. She's a little wisp of a girl, 5'2" and maybe 100 pounds soaking wet. But she's got that skinny-curvy combo going-on that only seems possible in women from their late teens to early twenties, an impossibly narrow waist combined with a shapely bubble butt, and perfect, full breasts that women spend a fortune trying to acquire if not blessed with them by nature. Big, blue eyes. Heartbreakingly beautiful.

She's my best friend Trent's daughter. Trent was my best man at my wedding. I was his. Joanne and I have known Ashley since she was born. She used to call me “Uncle Danny.” Are you getting a sense of why I’m embarrassed?

She'd just finished high school, and had gotten an unpaid summer internship in our area, and of course when Trent asked if we'd put her up for a month, we agreed.

Ashley is not only beautiful, but also a really sweet girl, at least with us. She helped with the dishes without being asked, was never moody or withdrawn, and just generally behaved like the dream daughter Joanne had always wanted, but never had. They even looked a little alike, both blondes with pale skin, although Joanne is taller and had always kept her hair shorter, shoulder length at most.

***

I mentioned that Joanne and I have a good sex life. She's a really sensuous woman. Very responsive in bed, though for years we could only really let go on those rare occasions when we managed to ditch the kids with someone else. But once Josh was gone, we definitely took advantage of our privacy. We were finally able to have what we always called “vacation sex” at home.

We had developed a Friday night routine. Joanne would get home from work, and I’d have a glass of wine waiting. A nice dinner, some flirty chit-chat, then a slow move to the bedroom. We’d undress, taking our time. Sometimes leaving the lights on. Not having to worry about little, and then big feet, crashing through the house was such a treat. And then after, being able to luxuriate together if we wanted to, wrapped in a sheet, at most, just kissing and giggle together like kids. Or because we’d been together so long, just roll over and go to sleep if that was what we wanted.

I don't want to make it seem like there was anything crazy going on. But Joanne sometimes gets quite vocal when she gets excited, which is exactly what happened one Friday evening as she rode me happily while I tweaked her firm, sensitive nipples. That’s always been her weakness, my secret weapons, those gorgeous nips that I’d learned to handle so that I could almost get her off just by playing with them.

"Oh God, oh God, oh my Gawd!" she was gasping, impaling herself roughly on me.

As good as our sex life was, it was, almost inevitably a little by rote. It is a feeling I suspect only long-term couples ever experience. We both had it so down that, it felt like we could almost check out. My hands would still find her nipples, squeeze them just right. She’d still know how to ride me, working my cock with practiced ease. So even in the middle of sex, even near the end of the act, I admit, I wasn’t always all there. Enjoying it, present, active even, but also not fully committed. Though Joanne and I never talked about, I suspect she had similar feelings. I mean, no matter how good it is, screwing the same person for the five-thousandth time – and we were probably closing in on that number -- is not going to have quite the same passion, the same juice as the first time, or even the first thousandth.

So even though I was close, I wasn’t lost in the moment. I was enjoying it, but still aware of my surroundings. I happened to glance toward the bedroom door which was, as usual, cracked open to let the cats come and go. There was a flash of gold, and it took me a second to realize what it was: Ashley peering into the bedroom, spying on us.

That should have been an exciting jolt. A sexy, young woman spying on us. In the proverbial “Penthouse Letters,”
she comes into our room, hand in her panties, breathing hard. The women lock eyes and then lean towards each other to kiss….
 

But it wasn’t like that. All I felt was embarrassment, and then a desire to protect Joanne. She’d be mortified. I looked up to make sure she hadn’t noticed, and she hadn’t, thankfully.

Ashley didn't realize I saw her. At the very least, she didn't act as if she realized. She wasn't looking at my face, but instead was excitedly watching Joanne as she loudly and enthusiastically finished before collapsing panting across my chest. That seemed to break the spell as far as our voyeur was concerned, and Ashley then quickly withdrew, lightly padding back down the hall.

As was our custom, we rolled over so I could finish, but knowing Ashley had been watching us was a weird distraction. I thrust a few times, but I could feel my erection fading, and rather than deal with the embarrassment, I faked it. I’m at an age where, sadly, not being able to get it up is a bigger risk than an unwanted boner. Getting older sucks.

Joanne and I snuggled for a little while, but one of the nice things about being married forever is that sex does not always require an hour of post-coital cuddling and conversation. Nice to have the luxury to do it, also nice not always to have to. Joanne had had a long week, and I was a little shaken. So with a kiss, we each retreated to our own side of the bed and went to sleep.  Well, at least Joanne did. I was too weirded out.

After a few minutes, when Joanne's breathing let me know she was asleep, I crept out of bed. I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do, but I slowly made my way toward the guest bedroom. I was planning, I guess, to confront Ashley and let her know I knew she'd spied on us.

Or something. Truth be told, I wasn't sure what I'd say to her. Part of it was that I couldn't even quite understand what she'd been doing. Why would an eighteen-year-old want to watch a couple of old folks having sex? And sweet girl or not, I couldn’t help but imagine her texting to her friends.

>>OMG just saw the grossest thing. Can you believe people that old still fuck?

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t likely. It seemed out of character for her. But so did sneaking around the house spying on us. It just seemed like the responsible thing to do was confront her. Or something. I’m still not exactly sure what got me out of bed that night.

The guest bedroom is actually a loft, an addition built over the garage and accessed from the family room. I was still working out what I'd say to Ashley, so I was sort of lost in thought as I climbed up the stairs to her room. I didn't announce myself, but nor was I deliberately sneaking up on her. At least not consciously. Maybe I was. I’ve tried to reconstruct my thinking at the time, but I can’t with any certainty. In retrospect, it seems weird. Like I was looking for an excuse to spy on her. And maybe I was. I’d admired her from afar enough over the previous weeks as to call my motives into question.

Her curtains were open, bathing the room in dim, soft moonlight. As I crested the top of the stairs, I saw and heard her at the same time.

She was lying on her back, covered to the waist in a bed sheet, moaning softly. I could see one hand rustling under the sheets between her legs.  Her other hand was pulling at an erect nipple, one lovely breast exposed in the V-neck of her thin top.

I was transfixed. God, what a sight. She was radiant, a few strands of silky hair draped across her face, catching in her mouth as she moaned sultrily. I could hear a soft wet squishing as her fingers worked her snatch. She started bucking her hips, now gasping in passion.

I was rock hard, tenting my PJ bottoms. I reached down and firmly stroked my hard cock. I was close, so close. One more tug and I'd come all over myself. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. I took one last peek at Ashley, and then quickly retreated down the stairs, my body protesting by giving me a twinge of blue balls for the first time in decades.

I slept fitfully, at best. I was more confused than ever.