Phillipe was excited. He had a job painting the outside of a cabin on a lake. He'd get to stay there for up to three weeks to do the work. As a nineteen-year-old, having a place all to himself for the first time would be novel. He wouldn't have family around to bother him. He could do what he wanted when he wanted. This, he expected, was going to be fun. He envisioned days giving a fresh coat of color to the weathered wood, followed by evenings by the water, swimming, fishing, and watching the sunset paint the sky. With a sense of freedom and adventure, Phillipe packed his bags, eager to embrace the experience that awaited him.

The warm sun of midday filled the lakeside property with the sweet scent of pine. The owner left him all the supplies he would need for the job. They had even stocked the refrigerator, freezer, and cupboards.

The first night, he got drunk. He had brought a case of beer. He was going to celebrate his freedom. After a few beers, he strutted around the cabin in his underwear. With a carefree spirit, he embraced the solitude and the thrill of youthful freedom. After a few more beers, off went the underwear, too. Happy and carefree, he danced naked about the cabin, sang badly, laughed about it, and ate whatever he wanted.

The next day, he woke up around noon. He had planned to start the painting, but the late wake-up and hangover canceled that plan. The second night, he was feeling less festive. There was no phone service, no internet, and no TV. He had nobody to talk to.

This was when Phillipe began to snoop through the cabin, desperately searching everywhere, hoping to find something interesting to distract him from his emptiness. He found treasure in the main bedroom. Cached under the bed was a storage bin filled with a collection of very private things; exploring this discovery and its secrets was how he would spend the night.

Phillipe readied himself by changing into his birthday suit and putting on the cozy flannel robe he had brought from home. He made himself comfortable on the bed and then began; one at a time, he extracted dildos from the tote and laid each on the bed in order of size. Next, he put several vibrators in a pile to test if they worked and how well they worked after examining the rest of the cache's contents.

Next, envelopes. He discovered a stack of them bound with an elastic; on quick inspection, they appeared to be erotic, handwritten letters; these, too, he set aside for later reading. Two more envelopes contained photographs, all of the same woman posed provocatively in various states of undress; they seemed to span several decades of her life. She had an unconventional beauty about her, with an adorable smile. He found her captivating. Was she the cabin owner? Desperately, he longed to kiss her smile. Seeing these images gave him a hard-on. He was very tempted to jerk off, but resisted; he would return to them shortly; no rush, he had all night to kill.

The last thing in the bin was a pair of old porno magazines called Amateurs Only. They were real women, not photoshopped perfect, but women of varying ages, shapes, and sizes. Phillipe slowly stroked his cock as he paged through the first magazine. On page nineteen, he stopped. There she was, the woman in the photos he had just finished admiring.

"Holy shit," he said. Laughed, then again, "Holy shit."

He left the magazine open on that page. Then he grabbed the other one and rapidly turned the pages, looking for her again.

"Found you! I think I might already be in love with you," he confessed, placing the two spreads next to each other. He then quickly sorted the photographs and placed his favorites among the images from the magazines. He jerked off enthusiastically whilst admiring the display. Just before he came, he grabbed a box of tissues, rammed his cock right into the box, filling it with cum.

"Shit," he said. That was the only box of tissues in the cabin; he had snooped through the cabin enough to know. He was going to be doing a serious amount of masturbating, probably until the early morning. And again in the days that followed. That box of tissues would have been useful.

He went to the bathroom and wiped himself clean with a damp cloth. Next, he went to the kitchen and grabbed several bottles of water, then started a search for anything to use as lube. Mustard, no. Honey, viscous and sticky wouldn't work. Dish soap, maybe? Coconut oil, bingo! Phillipe returned to the bedroom, putting the water on the bedside table and placing the coconut oil onto the bed. Next, he went to the drawer of ladies' unmentionables he had discovered earlier. He pulled panties out of the drawer as if they were tissues, thoughtlessly tossing them onto the bed.

"No," he checked himself. I'd better not use all those for my cum. I'd need to wash them after. One or two, perhaps, will not be noticed as missing. He was about to collect them when his erection returned at the sight of all those panties on the bed. He pulled out the drawer and dumped the rest of its contents on the bed. And a second drawer. Stockings, pantyhose, bras, garters, lingerie. He'd put everything back later.

He spent the rest of the night as planned. He rolled around in and caressed his body with the sensual undergarments. He imagined them on the woman. He read the letters, masturbating as he did so, getting turned on by the private, intimate, and very erotic thoughts.

He tested the vibrators and even used one on his cock and balls until he surrendered a load. Phillipe did a side-by-side comparison of each dildo's size and shape, assessing their differences and similarities to his penis. He spat on the monster-sized one. Then he clamped it between his thighs, just below his hard-on. It towered over his boner and was large enough for him to need both hands to stroke it properly. Out of curiosity, growing more adventurous, he licked and sucked the least threatening-sized one. He'd never been lucky enough to taste a pussy until this moment. He licked and sucked it clean, loving his first taste of what he'd so often fantasized about tasting. Once that threshold was crossed, he grabbed a bigger one. The one closest in size to his erection. He had never dreamt of sucking off a dildo or having a penis in his mouth. Instead, he fantasized it was his penis, and he was going to give it the best possible blow job he could. After which, he rubbed his ejaculate all over that dildo after he came.

Phillipe jerked himself off many more times, losing himself in a frenzy of fantasy love-making with the woman in the photos, eventually falling asleep around the first light.

Phillipe awoke a few hours later with morning wood. Memories of last night swam in his head. Slowly, he became aware of the faint aroma of perfume and coffee. A terrifying thought popped into his head. The owner had come to check on him.

He had been resting blissfully, erect and naked, but for the cum-soaked bra sitting in his stomach. Panties and such were tossed everywhere—the photos of the woman on the floor and several dildos on the bed with him. A vibrator humming out the last of its battery life on the pillow inches from his head. The lingering scent of coconut and semen. Quite the leveled-up scene of being caught with his pants down.

At first, he nervously pretended to be asleep. But that only left him with thoughts he didn't want, telling him things he would rather not hear. So, he bravely opened his eyes. He looked at the open bedroom doorway and saw a nearly naked woman. The woman. Miss Photogenic. She wore only a garter belt, black stockings, and a smile. She raised the cup of coffee she was holding in a gesture of cheers.

She had watched and admired him as he slept. She had been so tempted to wake him with a kiss. Join him in bed and cuddle up to him. She even considered bringing a chair into the room to masturbate in while enjoying the sight of the erect, virile young Phillipe.

Immediately, Phillipe hid under the bedcovers. He realized this was a stupid idea. He then sheepishly pulled the bedding off his head. He attempted to speak but couldn't find the words to explain the situation.

"You must be Phillipe; my name is Emma," she said. Gracefully, she glided to the bed and slipped onto it. With coffee in one hand, she grabbed his still-stiff cock with the other. Casually sipping coffee and giving him squeezes. Not jerking or stroking him, only subtly changing the pressure she gripped him with. Less than a minute of this was needed for him to orgasm. Only a trickle of fluid came out, his balls having been thoroughly emptied from his earlier behavior. "There's coffee if you want some," she said as she left the room.

Phillipe leaped naked out of bed to follow her. "Um, Emma? Can I kiss you?"

Emma thought her knees would buckle, so she threw herself at him and kissed him passionately. "Yes," she breathed, "again and again, kiss the shit out of me. Ravage me with kisses." Again, she kissed him. "Please. I need you to shut me up with your lips on mine." Phillipe did it with pleasure as asked.

They made love on the undergarment-covered bed. Phillipe was no virgin and had hooked up with girls at parties and such. This, however, was the first time he was with a woman as a lover. The intimacy they shared fed off each other's vulnerability. Their eyes drinking each other in, each loving and kissing the smile of the other, never leaving each other's embrace for the rest of the day.

Emma was fifty-four, more than twice the age of Phillipe, closer to thrice. But they became friends and lovers. Neither admitted it, but they both knew they were soulmates.

Phillipe painted the cabin slowly and methodically; he was in no hurry. Frequently, Emma teased him with inspections. "Stroke it, stroke it," and "There's a hole there; be sure to get in it."

They shared the cabin, the bed, and their bodies. Much lovemaking and passion. Together they danced naked, sang badly, and laughed a lot.

Before Phillipe left, they made plans to continue the romance via snail mail. Once a month, they'd write love letters and hopefully be together again come winter.