For a Saturday, it was a very despondent day indeed. My best friend’s father had died that week and we rushed back from college to attend the funeral. I knew his family well, and we were all very sad at the passing of Tony. Despite Vincent’s mother wearing a heavy black veil her grief and tears were evident. Too young for a man to die, only in his early 50’s. Heart disease they said. I knew Vincent’ mother through my teenage years and always thought her a beautiful and sexy lady. But this Saturday all I could see was her grief and pain, and I felt great sympathy for her.
A few months later I was back in town and thought to pay her a visit, to bring her a gift of flowers and wish her my condolences. I also brought her a few bottles of Merlot, remembering that this was her favorite. I showed up unannounced but she smiled broadly nonetheless when she opened the door, seeing the flowers and a face she probably last recalled from when I was in high school. I had grown a few years since then and in that time learned to appreciate the benefits that women had to offer. And on seeing Mrs. Comeau I saw that she had lost none of beauty, charm or curves that I remembered her possessing.
Though a woman in her late 40′ she maintained a very womanly figure. Presented before me in jeans and a sweater I noticed both the sweetness of her face and the curves of her figure. Yes, her face showed her age, but her wrinkles were overwhelmed by her soft lips and doe like eyes. Not a slender lady, she had a shape of a true woman, with large breasts, well rounded hips and thick yet welcoming thighs. But I had seen too many skinny girls in college and her warm broad curves made my groin begin to tingle at the sight of her once again.
I could see the heavy breasts concealed by the sweater, large bulbous cantaloupe’s thrusting from her chest. And her jeans hung tightly around her wide hips and shapely thighs. My stiffy began to grow as I shyly handed her the flowers and I believe that I blushed as I also handed her the bag containing the wine. I lowered my head, averting her gaze and trying not to appear to be staring at her tits, which I must admit I was. With a warm voice she said “Well thank-you Adrian for all the thoughtful gift! Won’t you please come in!”
I entered the door, stumbling over my feet. As she turned around I could not resist the temptation to view her ass in those jeans. I was not disappointed. The jeans hung tightly about her broad bum, accentuating the ample curves. I don’t recall her dressing so sexy when I was in high-school. Had she dressed more conservatively then or had I just not paid attention? Or with her husband gone was she now able to more freely express her own preferred style of dress? Or maybe even trying to find another man in the city to hook up with? With the image of her breasts and ass swirling in my head I considered the possibilities.
We sat on opposite ends of the couch as I fumbling for words to express how sorry I was about her husband. Having referred to her as Mrs. Comeau she insisted that I call her Margaret now that we were both adults. She said that she appreciated my remarks but that there was no need to mention Tony furthermore, as, as she said “Life must move on for those still among the living.” She looked a bit sad on uttering the words. But her sadness was soon replaced with a smile and she jumped to her feet, exclaiming that she would like a glass of the wine now that I had brought and offered me a glass as well. I had taken the bus across town and so had no need to worry about driving, and feeling rather tense and shy, I accepted the offer.