A Widow's Comfort Ch. 02 - Sex Stories

A Widow's Comfort Ch. 02

... stab a few bites from her Death By Chocolate Lava Cake, the busboy cleared the table and we scooted the chairs around to face the dance floor and the stage. The house band, something calledLocal Boys Make Good, was pretty good. They had a female lead singer who reminded me of Mama Cass but sang more like Janis Joplin, a lead guitar player who had a good touch on his Stratocaster, a rhythm player working his Les Paul hard, a bass player with a Paul McCartney violin bass, and a drummer on the kit who could keep a solid beat.

When the lead singer started onSummertime, her voice doing a passable run to get the song started, I stood, took Mom's hand, and led her to the dance floor. We weren't the only couple dancing or I probably wouldn't have done that, but we danced well together. She taught me before my first junior high school dance and we had practiced from time to time since.

We danced throughSummertime in the classic slow dance position, her right hand in my left, her left hand on my shoulder while my right rested on her hip.

I could have kissed the singer when the band slid seamlessly intoMoonlight in Vermont. We danced, nothing fancy but a solid box step, through that.

The nice, slowMoonlight in Vermont was just ending, the final chord still ringing, when the lead player hit those that series of double stops that startedJohnny B. Goode. Mom started to head for the table but I caught her and spun her into aJive dance. The look on her face when she spun back, ...

... her hand laying on my chest and her head thrown back in a laugh of pure joy made me think of Jennifer Grey as Patrick Swayze spun her back in the final dance fromDirty Dancing.

By the time we finished that dance, I knew she was done. Her hair was damp with sweat and I could see dark circles at her armpits. I was pretty sure her bra was damp and if she didn't have it on she would have similar dark lines down her back and between her breasts. She was breathless and smiling as I walked her back to the table and seated her. She was breathing hard and laughing as she took a deep drink from her screwdriver.

"No mas, she said, giggling, "I haven't had this much exercise," and she stopped and looked across the table meeting my eyes, and the mood changed as it does sometimes, "or this much fun in years."

"Honestly?" I asked.

"No, Will," she said, grinning, "lie to me."

I laughed and said, "Neither have I."

But she wasn't laughing.

She reached across the table and covered my hand with hers, her fingers and thumbs doing that thing only a woman can do, her invitation no less clear for being silent.

"Take me home," she said, her eyes holding mine, doing that little twitching thing as she focused first on my right and then my left eye.

Her meaning could not have been clearer if she had started taking her clothes off.

"Mom," I said, meeting her gaze, "are you certain?"

"The question is," she said, "areyou?"

"You're the one who taught me not to answer a ...