Sally-Ann's Rain Man - Sex Stories

Sally-Ann's Rain Man

... asked, massaging his scalp with my fingers. “Twenty-three years.” ‘Twenty-three years of marriage and three years of grieving,’ I was thinking, doing the math in my head as I continued to massage. “Well, I’m not shy about saying it, I’m Forty-one. How old are you, Thomas?” “I’m Forty-three, and you are a beautiful forty-one at that; you can pass for a woman in her early thirties, and I never fib; since you don’t bet, you can bank on it.” “You were a baby when you married; you were what, seventeen?” I turned on the water and reached for the shower wand to rinse him. “In retrospect I suppose I was. I was seventeen and Sally was sixteen. Our parents didn’t approve so we eloped against their wishes; my wife was my whole world until the very end.” “Was she a blonde, brunette or redhead,” I asked. “Sally was a brunette.” “Did she wear her hair long or short?” “Short towards the end but long for most of our marriage, but that’s in the past; I’d rather talk about us, “Thomas said standing up, rubbing his head with a fresh towel. I took the towel from him and finished drying the rest of him, “As I said, I can get used to this, beautiful.” He pushed his thick damp black hair back away from his face while I finished drying him. “You know, Miss McCarthy, nobody but my mother has done this for me since I’ve been 5 years old. I considered myself too grown up for such nonsense after that; I was wrong. “Stand still and behave, Thomas. I’m not done with you yet,” I warned sternly as I took my ...

... large wide comb from the counter to comb his hair, parting it different ways before I combed it straight back, the way he wears it; the timer rang seconds after. I was thinking, ‘I’m still amazed how laid back Thomas is.... he shall be my Thomas. Thomas is much more dignified than Tom. A Tom is a male turkey and my Rain Man is anything but that. I’ve dated a few turkeys in my time...bah, fiddlesticks and drumsticks to them. Who am I to doubt Fate? I want him and I’ll deny it no longer. My Rain Man shall be my Thomas. I’m just learning to stand outside in the rain and it’s about time I embrace it.’ “Do you prefer short hair on women, Thomas?” “Actually, I prefer it long. You not thinking of cutting your hair short are you?” he asked, looking worried. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” I replied letting the question hang “Ten minutes should be plenty of time for you to get dressed.....” When I walked into the kitchen Sally-Ann gave me a long white chef’s apron and said, “The carving knife & steel are on the cutting board.” She continued to bustle about to finish setting the table in between whisking flour in the pork dripping in the roasting pan for gravy. I’m a meat and potatoes kind of guy. Fresh pork-roast and mashed potatoes with gravy; corn mixed together with peas, carrots, corn and green beans; gravy on them too. Don’t forget the homemade apple sauce. Don’t forget the light and flaky buttermilk biscuits. Such a meal is hard to argue with; especially with such a fascinating ...