© by RJWing and Skydax

                                    7/20/98
			

	With skepticism she studied the art work.  It was a small 
cyber-illustration but large enough that he would easily take in the 
sensual beauty of the woman. The face in the portrait was barely 
visible because of the deep brown permed curls that fell along the 
cheeks, to the shoulders of the soft woman.  Dressed only in loose 
shorts, the model's bare chest was mature and supple. She herself 
really looked nothing like the little   painting...though her own body 
was not far from the likes of the one done in oils. 

        Her own hair was very short, and her legs were hardly thin and 
silky -- aged too early with varicose veins. But she would send the 
picture, with a poem about her own naked body and how comfortable, 
at ease she was with him.

        She opened the viewer, book marked the picture for perhaps 
a later reference. Opened up the "mail document", attached the URL 
and sent the sensuous message...


        A yellow exclamation mark appeared suddenly in the right hand 
corner of the Netscape screen. She smiled, clicking on the icon to 
accept the incoming e-letter, perhaps they were crossing in the mail 
and she would not have to wait long for his warm reaction to the sent 
graphic. His responses were  always warm, and sometimes even downright 
erotic, sending poetry that had the power to bring moisture to that 
area he called "the  garden," resting, waitng for his touch nestled 
between her thighs.  Once in an exchange of giggling fantasies, 
beneath cools sheets and  in Warner Brother voices..."I wheely, wheewy, 
wove you!" 

     He had talked gently...hesitantly...  about her "clearing the 
garden" ... was it truly a garden? was that how he thought? -- so he 
could see her.  And she did. Some weeks later.Without telling him.   
Eight powder blue gillet plastic razors, and nervous fingers, worked 
to uncover herself. 


     She had been shocked. Literally. Having no idea what to expect....
the petals of which he so often spoke, were not those of a firm young 
maiden...and she laughed softley, uneasily ...at the realization that 
"sagging" covers much  female territory as a woman becomes older. If 
it bothered him...he never told her. Instead thanked her often for 
being willing and would bury his head between her legs, his long hair 
draping across  her nakedness.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~somewhere across the country~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	He was 54 years old, had fathered three daughers who were now 
living their own lives, in other cities. He had been married twice, 
and divorced twice...although his second divorce had taken awhile to 
“settle.” 

	Not financially (he’d been drunk through most of it, and 
simply wanted to keep his pathetic pension away from his ex’s greedy 
hands...well, greedy was uncharitable...but she had been disappointed 
in his inability to make rivers of green flow into their bank account). 

	Emotionally, it had been difficult, because they were both 
insecure...and if it had been a contest, there would have been 
no winner...only, if one looked at it in those terms...losers.

	Now, as if in another life...and it was, in many senses of 
that word...he was talking with another woman on-line. She enjoyed his 
repartee in the instant message mode of AOL. He’d read her “profile” 
as she had read his. They were amazingly similar in many ways...except 
for the fact that she was married. Although she chided him quite often 
with the phrase that he was still "more married than she was."

	Well...he couldn’t really argue with that (although he did). 
The fact was that certain emotional bonds had yet to be severed...and 
even after they’d met in “real life,” and she had stayed at his 
apartment (while he stayed at his ex’s place), the tentative nature of 
all relationships lingered like the threat of a thunderstorm over 
them.

	The first time was still vivid in his memory. He had not known 
quite what to expect (and he knew she had no idea at all, for the 
photo he’d sent was five years old, showed no grey hair, unlike his 
current photos, none of which he could even stand to look at, let 
alone frame or display, and certainly didn’t show the deeper lines 
around his eyes and mouth, most of which was hidden now by a nearly 
white beard).  But, he was wearing an "agreed upon" straw cowboy hat 
-- and somehow, she did recognize him...and from a tiny face in a 
photo showing a group of  thirty or forty faces...he recognized her. 
He liked her, immediately.   There was something about her smile he 
found magnetic, and...sexy.

	In fact, he still remembered how clumsy he had been with her, 
finding the truck in the airport parking lot, even putting her luggage 
in the back of his small 4X pick-up. At his age, he’d met his share of 
women (as he later confided to her), and he had lately developed a 
rather “cool” exterior -- certainly not cool in the sense that younger 
people used the word...but “cool,” as in -- distant, unreachable 
emotionally, and constantly on guard.  

	But, depsite his awkwardness (eerily like that of a teenager) 
he began to like her even more, for she laughed, not at him, but with 
him. He made small jokes about his clumsiness, and she laughed. Well...
you could have worse beginnings, he thought to himself (and with a 
shock, realized he was thinking in those terms...despite his on-going 
relationship to his ex, to whom he had been faithful for 24 years). 

	When they parted, that first visit, and she suprised him by 
asking for a kiss, he complied... not out of any sense of 
“gentlemanliness”, he had to admit that to himself...he complied 
because he was curious. What was it like to kiss a woman who asked to 
be kissed? What was it like to kiss someone other than his ex (who 
didn’t really care for kissing, anyway...whatever the circumstances). 
He felt, and enjoyed, the shock of their lips touching. He also had 
the deep sense, somewhat unnerving, that things were going to change 
a great deal.

	By the time she came to visit again, he’d had several horrible 
fights with his ex. His ex was a woman who knew how to respond to hurt 
(or perceived hurt) in one way -- fight back, tooth and nail. She was 
good at ripping his psyche (he supposed he had become good at that, 
himself...but he no longer allowed himself that dubious luxury...he 
was tired of fighting...it was one reason he’d said yes to separation, 
and later to divorce, in the first place). His attention to his ex 
was beginning to fade, in proportion to the interest he found in this 
new relationship.

	So, it was...that during her second stay, he did accept what 
he perceived as her invitation to bed.

	Once again, the teenaged clumsiness replaced what he’d thought 
of as “easy movements...assured and embellished by practice...” But...
this wasn’t his ex...it wasn’t anyone he’d ever gone to bed with 
before. She was different...and he was unsuccessful, and embarrased. 

	So, it was with surprise, on a subsequent visit by this woman, 
he discovered she had actually taken part in one of his fantasies -- 
she did a strip-tease (he’d mentioned that he wanted to see a woman, 
professionally dressed and very proper looking, remove her clothes), 
and...to his greater suprise he noticed (though she had mentioned this during a 
phone conversation), that she had shaved between her legs. 

	He was stunned by her beauty. He had seen her body before...
and it was more than pleasant to him. After all, he was hardly  the 
“healthy specimen” he had always aspired to be, earlier in his life, 
(mark) 
The years and abuse had taken their toll on him.  And he was 
mesmerized by her easy, flowing moments, though he knew this wasn’t 
something she’d done often (he wondered if she’d ever done a 
strip-tease for her husband....he knew his ex wouldn’t even consider 
the thought).

	Most of all, he was mesmerized by the beauty of her sex. She 
had been so worried, he knew (form phone conversations) about her 
appearance “down there.” Now, she danced, almost with a kind of shy 
pride...and with good reason, he thought -- she is beautiful. He 
couldn’t wait to experience the touch... the taste, of those beautiful 
lips.
	

Date: Sat, 12 July l998 9:21:41
    Subject: Greeners
    From: Doug Mick -- dmick@trip.com --

 Hi, you! 

 I gotta tellya, RJ...the young ones out here are the most beautiful
women I've ever seen. And...yeah...I know I'm old enough to have
fathered any of them...but I also know I haven't...

 And, I gotta tell your about Liz...I mean...geeze...Rae -- this
woman is killer! She's shy and sexy...rides a Harley with the Brothers
Fast gang, and she likes me! 

 You know, RJ...I think my bro' and I deserve it, but...awww...Christ,
we're both...you know...fifty something, him and me...even Liz 
knows a geezer when she sees one -- she just likes 'em riding a hog, 
that's all.

 Gotta run...the boss calls.

DM

 
           Ahhhh....how ironic that she would be sitting, doing an
inventory on her soon-to-be-49 year old body and here comes the e-mail 
from the man who is lamenting his own age....Only yesterday she had 
told him about "greeners"...those new young things hired at work who 
were indeed babies and had no sense of the richness of some men....
"yeah, yeah, yeah"...I had tried to champion the older woman...but he 
wanted a "greener".

          But didn't most men? Even her soon to be ex seemed to be 
mesmerized by a woman who "looks younger".  

          "Have you seen Lilith?  She just turned forty but everyone 
says shelooks thirty easily and she does!"  And she must for Rae's 
best friend told her the same thing only adding. "But she's a real 
bitch". As if that really mattered. 

          She read Doug's e-letter again.  Ahhh you silly man. You 
know perfectly well, it does matter. Or it should.  "AND" she wanted 
to type back to him. "SPEAK FORYOURSELF!! Don't go claiming that your 
‘bro"...MY MAN...(she laughed at the phrase) deserves one of these 
babies!"

         What is it Doug wanted anyway? Did he think an older woman 
was not capable of arousing a man  to howling sensual proportions? 
Surprising  herself, she discovered she could.  And not only could, 
wanted to. 

         With great pleasure she had come to love the exploration of 
Scott's body. She loved finding new places where her tongue, 
especially, could bring forth from somewhere deep within him wonderous 
guttural sounds. She liked especially, using a combination of fingers, 
moist lips and tongue when massaging his blood filled shaft...or 
caressing the soft area below that shaft, searching for that 
particular spot which with various touches sent his body writhing, his 
hands often holding her head, face, mouth against the surging flow.  
What "greener" had the desire, the strength, the want of meeting the 
challenge of "his" body. She would straddle him, proud to be naked 
upon him, locked in the ectasy of his movements as he would raise both 
their hips as they rode the energy of each others thrusts. Under him, 
she would brace her hands against the back wall, holding his body 
tightly with her legs as he drove into her, and she could not help 
but smile and almost laugh with complete, abandoned joy at the feel of 
him, the sense of him as she basked in  the beauty of his arched back, 
wild hair, alive with the  richness  of the merging of heart and soul 
and body. 
           
            "Mendota! You want to cyber with a young hot dick?"  Her 
profile  read that she was a babyboomer. She learned very quickly  on 
AOL that if divorced or separated,  a woman annoucing she was "middle-
aged" was an open invitation for a wide variety of propositions..the 
assumption being that she was lonely and had no sex life.  She loved 
being able to tell these young men .."you're too young...I've got my 
own hot one...and he's 54."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ across the country ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Doug and Scott often met at the Mexican food restaurant in 
RedRock, a small town with a large university campus. The food was 
good, and, as Scott recalled (though it had been years since he’d had 
a drink),  they made a mean Margarita (“salt 'n' rocks!” was the order 
they’d give  the bartender, while waiting for a table).

	   But it wasn’t the “salt 'n' rocks” or the food that truly 
attracted Doug. It was the beautiful young women that seemed to 
appear by the hundreds at thisparticular establishment. Many of them 
worked at the bar, as well...and Doug knew them all by name. 

	   They were undeniably lovely -- slim... perfect skin, firm 
breasts that were usually enticingly apparent by virtue of their 
nipples, and the young women knew precisely attracted attention. Still...
it was the attention of younger men (or “men of means”) that they 
solicited -- and Scott knew neither Doug nor he himself belonged to 
either group.

	   But it was Friday, and he had nothing better to do, so
Scott joined Doug at the bar, where Doug seemed to be delighting in a 
bizarre form of self-torture -- “Oh, my God, Scott...did you see her?”

	   Scott managed to refrain from rolling his eyes as he would 
turn in the direction of Doug’s gaze (as unobtrusively as Doug was 
not).  On this particular night, Doug’s eye was on a brunette...one, 
Scott could not help but notice, was easily two or three years younger 
than his own youngest daughter. But...she was beautiful, there was no 
debate about that -- her short, dark hair framed an exotic face, olive 
complexion, pert nose...full and very sensuous looking lips. Even 
Scott couldn’t help trying to imagine kissing those lips. But, while 
he tried...he couldn’t. 

           Even as Doug's eyes were wandering over the young woman's 
body...touching those delicate nipples (perhaps even tasting them in 
his imagination), Scott's thoughts were on Rae's's breasts. They were
firm and round, and Scott knew very well how they looked...how they
felt (especially when she took his throbbing erection between them, 
and moved up and down...caressing and further exciting him, until he 
felt as though he would explode).

           A voice called him from this personal vision, and he looked 
up. Doug was introducing him to someone.  “This is Liz...” Doug was 
saying, with a kind of “fatherly”(?) pride that was a bit unsettling 
to Scott, considering where his own thoughts had been wandering.

           Liz had jet-bla, probably close to 6’ tall (did she play 
basketball? Scott thought, aimlessly), with a natural beauty that 
required little to no make-up (if she were wearing it...she was damned 
good at using it, but he strongly suspected she wasn’t -- she didn’t 
need any “packaging”), and she had the body of a a female athlete of 
what  Scott thought of as the “Swan-Lake” persuasion....lithe and 
graceful --  perhaps she was a swimmer? a gymnast?


           “Lisa’s very much into mountain-climbing...” Doug did a 
weird kind of “ve vant to pump *you* up!!” gesture (he was into his 
second Margarita, as Scott was still nursing a “baby beer”, the 
collegiate term for non-alcoholic beer).  He was showing off his 
friend...and here was a very attractive young woman to show off...
(if not just a little bit...adolestcent?) but Doug had slipped past 
the line already. Scott knew it. Perhaps Doug would know it tomorrow, 
perhaps not....didn’t matter. The moment was awkward. Scott shook the 
firm hand of the mountain-climbing young beauty.

	Unbidden, but unavoidable...another image began to form, 
even as Lisa (clearly uncomfortable because Doug had become more 
than a bit “loud”) was about to ask him what he wanted to order for
dinner. Scott mumbled a “Glad to meet you...” followed by an order
he knew by heart (“Enchiladas de Pollo”).  And once again his mind 
wandered to Rae.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~back east, somewhere...~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  "Jalel!!!" Grandma Jean, with two fingers, turned the young
 girl's face towards her. "You look absolutley wonderful! Why look at 
you. When did you grow to be so beautiful?" Rae settled the two 
overnight bags next to the small director's  chair in the tiny living
room.. Her own grinn matched her daughters as the grandparents fussed 
over the teenager.

         "What happened to the pimples?" Grandpop added. Jalel rolled
her eyes at Rae, who shot back a knowing look. Ahhh, what a horrible
visit  that had been six months earlier when Grandpop decided that
Jalel was being neglected because of three very large "zits" that
encompassed the girl's small mouth. But that was then and this is now,
andJorrie, just a couple months shy of being eighteen looked wonderfully
tan, healthy and even downright sexy. While Rae never accepted the story
of the ugly duckling blossoming for herself growing up (one her mother
told over and over again), it had happened for Jalel. 

         "Rae," the bright tone leaving Jean. "But as good as Jalel
looks, you don't. You look very pale and your face is too thin.. How
come Jalel looks so good and you don't? " Jalel's smile faded, 
whirling to catch her mother's facial response. Rae didn't skip a beat.

       "Jean, maybe because Jalel is not yet 18 years old and I am
three weeks away from being 49." 

      "49," Rae's Dad muttered. " You are old."

     "Yeah," Rae retored..."And that makes you ancient!" and she
wondered if her remark bit into him as his did her. 
      
      Jalel had become  everything they said. And it was only 
recently, that Ray began to "feel" the age of being the mother of a 
beautiful daughter.  She had remembered a conversation a long while 
back with her good friend Cathy when this realization had hit Cathy 
about her own child, Heather. Rae had met Cathy when Heather was two. 
She always thought of the child as a small yellow duckling..with a 
bottom that waddled and a patch of curly yellow hair a top her head.
At sixteen, the toddler had become a knockout displaying her blonde 
tressles against tight  black leather. Low cut t-shirts at the 
family/friend dinners, caused a stir among the male guests as she 
would knowingly bend over to serve just the right piece of meat. 
Cathy, once  a beauty herself, began to eat out of shame that she was 
jealous of her daughter and grew to depressiver proportions.  
 
    But Jalel did not wear leather, and her chest was small and she
often wore a ponytail and she was more obsessed with wearing namebrand
clothes, than if a boy was paying attention. But eventually, Jorrie
would care what a boy thought...or maybe even a man.  Jalel a
‘greener?'

    Rae shivered at the thought....Oh Scott, she wondered.  You have 
raised three beautiful girls. How did you do it? How do you raise 
girls that men will look at and want to touch them? How do you tell 
them...to only want to be touched by the likes of you....and yet...
you were not always kind about the lovingof your women. They were not 
always "names" to you....how do we get to where we are....and she 
wanted at that moment to reach across the miles....to reach him. There 
would be no phone tonight. She would sleep with Jorrie, giving her bed 
to her parents. There might be a brief conversation and though she 
felt very comfortable in front of Jalel saying "I love you" to Scott, 
she would not be able to touch him through the phone....




-- to be continued...

-- copyright RJWing (Renee Jaskulek) and Skydax (DS Farrar)

And other sensuous, sensitive places...