Maggie's Farm - Sex Stories

Maggie's Farm

... others eyes. “ Let’s dance,” she said a few minutes later and took my hand and we went into the living room. I hadn’t noticed it before, but she went over to a turntable sitting on an amplifier. Next to it was a big speaker and on the opposite wall, another speaker. I remembered having a stereo system like that years ago when I was first married in the Sixties. She went over to a pile of record albums on the floor and picked one up. “This is Vivaldi, one of my favorites. I love the Four Seasons and play it every day, especially when I am baking or canning.” “ That’s one of my favorites, too.” I was surprised to see an old record album and realized that most people, including me, had CDs and thought it interesting that she had old vinyl records. She picked up another album and showed me the cover. It was a picture of Frank Sinatra wearing a fedora-like hat on the back of his head and a trench coat over his shoulder and I remembered that album. “ It’s great that you still have these old vinyl records,” I said and watched her put the record on the turntable, but before playing it, she went into her small office off of the living room and again, I noticed the old typewriter and the large manuscript next to it. When she came back with a box of matches, she turned off the lamp and started lighting the candles. “ So, are you a writer?” I asked, still surprised to see the typewriter and not a computer or laptop. “ Yes, I’ve always written but I've never published. Lots of poetry, but ...

... I just finished a memoir,” she said, while lighting the candles, and then went over and carefully put the needle on the Frank Sinatra record and we started dancing. We put our arms around each other and moved slowly, swaying, holding each other. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held a woman and danced. I loved feeling her breasts against my chest, the fragrant smell of her hair, our cheeks touching; the sound of the violins filling the room, the words and the dark room with candles glowing. It was so warm and romantic; the opposite of how we were in the barn. I glanced up and saw our shadows on the wall reflected from the candlelight. She moved her hands from my shoulders to my ass and I did the same as we swayed, slowly grinding into each other, barely moving, and then we stopped and kissed, at first gently, then more passionately. Without saying anything, she went over to the turntable and put the Vivaldi album on, took my hand and we went upstairs to her bedroom. She lit several candles and for a few minutes we stood at her bedroom window and looked out at the farm bathed in moonlight before she turned and we embraced, kissing each other tenderly, then more intensely, our tongues swirling. She lifted my sweater over my head and I took her green flannel shirt from her shoulders and we slowly undressed each other in the pale light of the moon coming through the window. We fell onto the bed, holding each other, kissing, our passion rising, my body on hers, then her body ...