Perfection

Erotic Horror

Out of college, not yet employed, he did yard work for middle-aged wives alone all day. Naturally he joked about being invited in for lemonade and seduced.
When one of the women invited him in for lemonade, he hesitated. Thinking of the jokes about hot-to-trot widows he and his friends made, he shrugged and decided fresh-made lemonade would hit the spot. She was in good shape but old enough to be his mother, and she had a little beer belly going, but her eyes sparkled, her smile was nice, and she wasn’t a character in one of their jokes.
Her voice, low-pitched and multi-toned, soothed him. It was almost as if she was singing when she spoke. The lemonade was great, fresh lemons and enough sugar, a balance of sour and sweet.
He smiled as he thought that could describe her, too.
“You have such a nice smile.”
He blushed. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Oh, don’t call me ma’am. My name’s Janet. Or Jan, if you want.”
“I’m Martin.” At once he felt stupid. She knew his name. She’d called to hire him.
“Hello, Martin.” She reached out and touched his forearm across the table, which pressed her breasts down as if she were making prints of them. Her fingers were warm. They made him tingle.
“Hi, Jan.” His heart raced and he got breathless when he said this. Was he really sitting there flirting with this woman? A widow who’d hired him to do yard work? Would the clichés collapse on him?
“You know, Martin.” She stood and came around the table, caressing his shoulders as she stood behind him. “We could go upstairs and … cool down. Take a shower. Relax a little.”
Trembling shook his hands enough that he put the glass down so he didn’t spill. He didn’t know what to say.
She leaned down, breasts on his shoulders, face against his. She whispered, “You can fuck me.”
His blush surged hot enough to scorch her but she stayed where she was and, when he turned to say yes, she kissed him on the lips. Her tongue flitted out, just a quick touch on his.
He nearly came in his pants.
He got up and she took his hand to lead him upstairs. Each step up he told himself this was some kind of warped fantasy. It was too clichéd. It was too much like what his jokes with his friends covered, a serious hope of lust fulfilled. It felt like sweet perfection.
She guided him first to a large bathroom. It had a walk-in shower with multiple shower-heads that sprayed from three sides and from above. She got naked like a magic trick, shedding her close effortlessly, then unbuttoned his jeans and lowered them.
His boxers tented and she pulled them up and over his erection, which she caressed, once, before using it to lead him into the shower.
He got out of his shirt just in time, tossing it back. His shoes he kicked off with the jeans and he wore no socks. No use staining good socks during yard work, he figured.
She touched a large button and the shower came on, warm at once, and he stood letting her soap him. She gave him a hand job that made his knees wobble. His hands she led to her body. “Soap me.”
He cleaned her better than he cleansd his car.
The shower went off and warm air enveloped them, lifting her shoulder-length hair and drying their bodies. He’d never experienced this and it felt fantastic.
Taking him into her arms, she kissed him until his cock sprang up again, then led him from bathroom to bedroom, where a king sized bed waited. She climbed on, crawling on hands and knees. “You want me this way?” She lowered her shoulders and stuck up her rump. Then she rolled over and lifted her legs as she lay on her back. “Or this way.”
“Both please.”
She laughed and for the rest of the afternoon she let him do things that led to teaching him further things. It dizzied him.
When it was time to go he got dressed and, at the front door, paused to kiss her. “Thank you.”
She laughed. “Just so you know. We’re not in love, we’re not an item, and we’ll be regulars until I decide we’re not. Got it?”
“Yes … Jan.”
He heard the next day she had been found dead on her bed, throat slit, a note on the bedside table. All the note said was I DECIDED —SINCE MY LIFE’S A PERFECT JOKE, WHY MESS WITH PERFECTION?

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/p94gqp/perfection