Sorry, I don’t know where to begin.

Let me start with the day before April Fools’ Day of this year. Why? Because the sport of baseball keeps moving Opening Day around and Grandma Kelly is fed up with all the fol-de-rol as she calls it. She couldn’t keep up with all the different dates for Opening Day and it was confusing her clients. She now opens her business on the first of April every year and closes it on the last day of the World Series. You won’t get an appointment with her during the World Series but you are welcome to come and enjoy Grandma Kelly’s Lemonade, her lemon poppy seed cake, and watch sports on TV.

You know what? I think I better start over.

It was last year when I saw the ad in the paper. Have you seen those free monthly marketing newspapers that sell advertising and come to your mailbox once a week or so? It’s full of coupons and personal ads. And it’s usually on cheap paper. Most people throw the damn things away without reading them. I read them because I’m retired and every once in a while somebody wants to sell something I want. Like a used automotive floor jack and two jack stands I bought a few weeks ago.

It was July 2017 and in the personals section was a small ad that read Give or Receive an Exotic Sports Massage, Call for Appointment and it had a phone number.

I paused.

Was this for real?

I must've stared at the ad for fifteen minutes before I set the paper aside and went out to feed the birds. Ruth loved the damn birds. After she passed, I kept up the habit of buying suet and thistle for them out of respect for her. When I was done, I went inside and picked up the phone. I had to know if this was real or not.

A woman answered and I could tell she was elderly. I said I was calling about her ad in the marketing paper.

She said “I’m glad you called. Do you prefer to give or to receive a massage?“

I said, “I don’t know if I want to give or receive a massage. I’ve never had an exotic sports massage and don’t know what it is.”

“Why don’t you come by and then you can decide. I have an opening at two o’clock. The Twins are playing.”

“How much does this cost?”

“It’s a free will donation so whatever you want to pay, you pay. But you have to pay in cash. No checks and no credit cards.”

“I can get a massage for whatever I want to pay?”

“Yes, exactly. And you can watch the ballgame and have a glass of lemonade, too.”

I have to tell you I was hooked. There was something that sparked my curiosity just enough as they say. I found myself saying yes to the two o’clock appointment and asking for her address.

After I hung up, I realized I had no clue what to wear to an exotic sports massage. What do I know about this? Nothing. After thinking about the ad and the appointment for a couple of hours, I decided to wear nice slacks and a short-sleeve patterned shirt. I chose moccasin driving loafers as they would slip on and off easily. I chose not to wear a watch or a gold chain around my neck. Just in case this wasn’t legit. I mean to say in case it was misrepresented.

I arrived on time at the address and found myself looking at an older two-story brick home in a nice part of St Paul, Minnesota. It might have been a lawyer or doctor’s home at one time. There was a sign next to the driveway telling me to park in the back so I followed the driveway around the side of the house into a small courtyard parking area. A pleasant-looking white screen door had a Ring Bell sign next to it.

I was greeted by a woman in a short satin white bathrobe wearing white sandals. She introduced herself as Kelly. I told her I was Mark and I complimented her on her home. She brought me into an elegant room with three TV screens tuned to sports channels, a wet bar, green plants, and an expensive-looking white leather massage table. The massage table, I later learned, had an electric vibrator with several speeds and patterns. This room looked like an upscale experience. I was impressed.

She had me sit at the bar while she retrieved a crystal pitcher of lemonade with thin lemon slices and large red raspberries . She poured us each a glass. My first sip was smooth. There was no doubt this was an adult beverage.

“Grandma Kelly’s Lemoncello Lemonade. Do you like it?”

“Best ever, I think.”

She paused and looked over at the TV. There was a replay of a second base steal.

“That man is fast. Dee Gordon may be the best base stealer alive today. I love baseball and tennis. How about you?“

I told her I enjoyed tennis more than baseball and she flicked two of the TVs over to tennis matches. Wimbledon was over and the Atlanta Open had not yet begun so she chose Wimbledon Highlights on one and an ATP event on the other.

The Twins-Mariners game stayed on the main screen.

“Have you decided if you want to give or receive an erotic massage?”

“Erotic? The paper said Exotic?”

She told me it was a deception. If she used the word Erotic only drunks and teenagers would call. She discriminated by age. If I didn’t have grey hair, she would not have let me in. I asked her what would happen if I wanted to give rather than receive. She said I would massage her while she watched the Twins play.

“And it’s a free will donation?”

She looked at me and pointed to the silver box on the table next to the bar. There was a dinner table name card next to it with the words Free Will Donation.

I had not touched another woman since Ruth had passed. And no woman had touched me either.

I chose to give rather than receive.

Kelly stood and flipped one TV back to the Twins game so there were two baseball games and one tennis event on the screens. Turning to me, she told me to go into the bedroom on the right side of the hallway. She said she preferred apricot kernel oil on her skin and I should remove my clothes to protect them. I should wear the robe I find there.

She slipped off her satin robe and placed it on the back of the chair at the bar. Her sandals were next. She was nude. She spread her arms wide with her palms up and did a full turn to show me what she looked like. Then she set the bed to a low vibration and lay on her stomach. Her face was turned to watch the Twins on the left screen; her arms were by her sides, palms up.

Kelly was spectacular to look at.

Ruth had a better body but it had been two years since she passed and this was the first in-the-flesh woman I had seen since. Why, of course Kelly had an elder woman’s skin; mottled skin, with a life of experience, as well as matronly weight around the hips. A slight sag in her breasts and a little extra skin just meant she was about my age. Like I said, she was spectacular.

She was proportionally in shape. Me? Not so much. I'm a big-bellied man. I’ve carried this extra weight out front for a while now. I’ve a full head of hair but the hairs on my chest are few and far between. I’m sixty-six but I’m also strong and flexible. If I suck my stomach in, I can still see my dick by looking straight down. I always said a man should lose weight when he can’t see his hard dick. Ruth said she was thankful it wasn’t longer or I’d be even heavier than I was. She accepted me for who I am even though she preferred a lighter version of me.

Kelly was elderly, yes. I could not tell if she was in her fifties or sixties. Her face was smooth and radiant. I suspected she was on estrogen supplements and had a facial lift at some point. She had that inner glow some older women radiate. Thank goodness she had hair down below, where she was supposed to. A little, not a lot. It’s likely best to say that she was groomed.

Old habits are hard to break. In the bedroom, I folded my clothes when I took them off. I debated about wearing my underwear and chose not to. I folded them, too. I decided to go barefoot and placed my shoes under the edge of the bed as I had been taught so many decades before.

The robe I was to wear sat folded on a dresser. It was silk and had an oriental pattern to it. It was thigh length. Underneath was a pair of flip-flops. When I returned to the massage room, the flip-flops announced my coming.

”Come around where I can see you.” She motioned where I should stand.

I managed to get into view without blocking the TV.

“Looks good on you. Drink your lemonade before you begin. You won’t want to lift the glass when your hands are oiled. You’ll find the apricot oil in the cupboard next to the wet bar. You can just set it in the bottle warmer. Towels are in the lower drawer.”

As I drank my lemonade and opened drawers for what I needed, she said, “One more thing, Mark. Please remember I am somebody’s grandmother when you touch me.”

I wasn’t exactly sure but I figured she meant I should be respectful. I nodded. I told her I had four grandchildren, two boys and two girls.

Suddenly there was a roar from the TV and Kelly gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Eddie popped another double.” Her voice was triumphant.

“You must watch a lot of baseball.”

“Every chance I get.”

I emptied oil into my hands and rubbed them.

“How should I begin?”

“Start at my feet. Foot rubs are always the best place to start and then work your way up until I roll over. When I do, start at my feet again.”

I began in silence. I didn’t want to compete with the announcer and I didn’t want to make a nuisance of myself. I quietly began rubbing oil into Kelly’s soles and between her toes. I lifted her legs when needed. She complied with any re-positioning I attempted.

I studied Grandma’s body as I went. I smiled at the idea of her being Grandma Kelly. There was incongruity between the nude woman on the table and my thoughts of Grandma Kelly playing with her grandchildren. If her family knew, they would be shocked. But then, given this room, they must know about her massage service.

Her legs were tan up to mid-thigh and white the rest of the way to her waist. Her skin was soft and pliable. No bruises, tattoos, or dryness anywhere. Not even at her knees. I was thrilled to touch Kelly but I thought about Ruth. She wasn’t Ruth, of course, but I pretended she was. My hands remembered what it was like to touch Ruth. As I touched Kelly, two years ago seemed like yesterday.

Kelly had a matronly behind. It suited her and it pleased me. I massaged it purposefully. I could feel her tense and tighten underneath her skin. I kept at it until her butt relaxed.

I took long deep strokes from the outside of her thigh down to her ankles. Three soft sensual strokes for every deep one. Always an odd number. I teased the inside of her thighs on the way up. Relaxation and sensation. My thumbs on the inside of her thighs. The tips of my fingers on the outside. I heard her breathing out and in.

Like Ruth used to do.

I synchronized my strokes to her breathing for a long while.

“Press the up arrow twice on the remote, please.”

I wiped my hands on a towel before touching the remote. The vibration kicked up for each click.

Kelly shifted position to make more contact with her mound on the leather table. Her legs parted slightly. I could see the dark of her sex and an occasional pinprick flicker of light between her thighs.

I added more oil to my hands and moved them to her back. I spread my thumbs wide and pressed them from her spine outward, pushing and kneading where it was required. Making two fists, I rolled my knuckles on her backbone. Ruth had always liked this.

I heard a small moan come from Kelly. She liked it, too.

I pressed my knuckles lightly into the small of her back and rolled them down. When I rolled them over her tailbone, it pressed her mound a little more firmly on the table. The table vibrations did what I couldn’t do from this position. I heard her exhale and an oooh escaped her lips. I repeated this movement eight more times for a total of nine.

Ruth once told me nature loves odd numbers. In all things, choose odd numbers and human nature will reward you. Kelly’s sounds were a pleasant reward. She closed her eyes and appeared to forget about baseball. She was going with the flow.

Her lips parted and she mouth-breathed. This was a good sign. I added more oil and massaged it into her arms and over the back of her shoulders. I walked in front of her and pulled her arms forward until one was on each side of my legs. I was careful to avoid letting my hips touch her. If she had been Ruth, I would have gently bumped the top of her head with my erection…but she wasn’t Ruth and I didn’t have an erection.

I added more oil to the middle of her back and took long strokes rubbing her from her tailbone to her shoulders. I paid special attention to her sides and made it a point to massage the place where her breasts connected to her rib cage under her arms. Ruth had told me this was an erotic area for her. Kelly’s sounds told me she agreed with Ruth.

I studied the dark freckles on Kelly’s back as I rubbed oil into her skin. I imagined connecting them to see what shapes would appear. I remembered the time when Ruth and I tried to make sense of her freckles. It was a pleasant way to spend a lazy Valentine Day morning the year she died. She made me use my phone to take pictures of her back so she could see the freckles herself. We found the constellation Libra and the footprint of a fairy on her back. There was only randomness with mine. I still had these photos in my iPhone two years later.

I massaged Kelly’s neck gently. She rolled her neck with my touch. She relaxed completely. She was oblivious to baseball now. She lay still and let me caress every centimeter of her body from neck to toe and back again. She trusted me.

“It’s time for me to roll over, Mark. Would you mind handing me my lemonade?”

I wiped my hands on a towel before reaching for her glass.

She sat upright and turned off the table vibrations. She perched casually on the table and looked comfortable in her nudity. I handed her glass to her.

“It doesn’t matter if you are, Mark, but are you married?”

“Ruth passed away two years ago. “ I spoke in an undertone. Sotto voce. I took my time pouring a second glass for myself and I took even longer to sip it.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Am I your first since?”

I nodded yes. All the love I ever felt for Ruth, I had conveyed to Kelly through my fingertips. I knew it. Kelly knew it, too. I felt guilty. I couldn’t trust myself to speak. It was emotional.

“You were remembering Ruth when you were touching me. You must've loved her a lot.”

I nodded again and turned towards the ball game to compose my face without her seeing me. I could never explain to anyone how guilty I felt nor the wetness in my eyes. I cheated on Ruth by massaging Kelly and I cheated Kelly by thinking of Ruth. I couldn’t trust myself to speak. Not yet. I needed another minute.

Kelly sensed my conflict and sat quietly watching the game. I stood just as quiet and sipped my lemonade. When I was ready, I turned and set my empty glass on the bar.

“Let’s put the TV on mute for this second part. Take my glass and hand me the remote.”

Under Kelly’s touch, the TVs were muted and soft jazz filled the room. She turned the table vibrations to a slightly faster and louder cadence.

“This always feels good on my tailbone and shoulders. This is where I remind my clients This is the erotic part of the massage. You have good hands, Mark, don’t be shy about using them.”

She lay face up on the table and looked at me. Her expression told me she was available to my touch.

Our future was suddenly clear between us. She was a woman; I was a man. I’d woo her and she’d allow me.

“I’m beginning at your face, not your feet, Kelly.“

I dripped a large amount of oil into one palm and gently rubbed my hands together. It was warm but not too warm.

And where the face goes, the body follows. I remembered hearing that someplace.

Abundant warm oil, gently rubbed in. Every tender moment I ever felt for Ruth I put into my fingers on Kelly’s face. Temples, forehead, chin, lips, throat, neck, and finally ears. I spent a lot of time on the ears. I could feel Kelly’s blood warming them as I caressed them. When Kelly’s face relaxed, she was more beautiful and radiant than when I started.

Ruth always said a good breast massage was heaven. I moved to Kelly’s chest. I helped her reach the highest levels of heaven with the attention I paid them. They were whiter than her shoulders and her thighs. Her nipples stood up nicely. The oil kept them soft even after they swelled to full erection.

Kelly was beautiful. My hands complimented her body with every caress. Her skin glistened with oil from the tip of her pert nose to her navel.

It was time I stopped touching her upper body.

I wiped my hands on the towel, poured more lemonade, and took a long drink. I was about to do something I had not done in forty-four plus years: touch another woman’s sex.

Turning back to Kelly, she was so beautiful and so available to me. She was nipple-up beautiful; the kind of aroused beauty that Ruth always achieved. I lifted and moved Kelly’s legs wider to see her sex. She complied and I could see the fullness she had to offer a man. Her mound was pronounced. Half of her trimmed hairs were grey and the rest were dark. Her labia were slightly thick and were open enough for me to glimpse the pinkness inside. I marveled how different she was than Ruth and yet there was enough similarity to bring back a memory of an earlier time.

I oiled Kelly’s feet for the second time. I caressed and stroked and rubbed my way up her legs and finally to her sex. Both of us anticipated my touching. When it happened, she oohed softly.

I put a bit of pressure on her pubis and I could feel the vibrations from the table below. Kelly moaned lightly as her tail and hipbone vibrated.

I caressed the outside of her sex softly by running my fingers lightly across the length of one lip on the way down and the other on the way up. Seven times. The odd number rewarded me with a tightening of her abdomen and thighs.

I whispered, “Is this oil safe?”

Kelly’s lips hissed, “Yesss, food grade. Wipe fingers first.”

I wiped the fingers of my right hand on the towel and slipped two fingers inside Kelly to stroke the underside of her pubis. With my penetration, she oohed again. My left hand was massaging her vulva in circles and I lightly touched her button during each revolution.

“Let me do this, Mark. Massage me on the inside.” Kelly moved my hand away from her. Placing a finger on each side, she held her bud between them and took long strokes. She touched my fingers on the down stroke as she did. Her free hand pinched one nipple while I pinched the other and continued to stroke her on the inside.

She alternated between pointing her toes and curling them. My fingers could feel her tighten her kegels; her sex gripped my fingers. I curled them inside her and stroked.

Grandma Kelly orgasmed two minutes later. She clenched and released her sex on my fingers several times.

“Don’t pull out.” Kelly lay quietly with my fingers inside. She had one hand on her breast, the other one caressed the black and grey hairs of her sex.

She breathed slowly. She savored the feelings which the massage and the orgasm had brought her. She reminded me of Ruth again.

“Would you mind kissing me?”

I leaned over and kissed her lips lovingly, my fingers still inside. She kissed me back. Her lips were soft. We kissed a long time and the pressure of her kiss and the taste of her mouth was exquisite. She put her arms around my neck and pulled me close. We kissed until our lips were satisfied.

My lips and her lips, together, told me the same thing… she was not Ruth.

We separated slowly; disengaging ourselves; taking our time. I removed my fingers and proffered a towel. She shook her head no.

“I want to be like this for a few minutes. Why don’t you get dressed?” She sat up and let her legs hang over the edge of the massage table.

I wiped oil from my hands and forearms.

As I dressed in the other room, I realized I didn't have an erection. I should’ve had one but I didn’t. Why didn’t I? I had no reply.

I heard the massage table stop. The jazz was replaced by an announcer on the TV set.

Next to the bedroom door was a sign that said Robes and it had an arrow pointing down to a clothes hamper. I folded the robe I had been wearing because, well, old habits are hard to break. I opened the hamper to set it inside and saw there was a crumpled robe already there. I wondered if it was from today or yesterday. Its presence reminded me I had a donation to make.

Kelly was still nude when I re-entered the massage room but the glasses were cleared and the massage table was wiped down.

I thanked myself for having the presence of mind to bring two fifty dollar bills and a hundred dollar bill. I had no clue how much to give as a Free Will donation when I arrived but now I knew. I dropped both fiftys and the hundred into the box. It would have cost me that much to go to the ball game. This was better.

On the table next to the Free Will Donation name card, a small white paper bag had appeared.

Kelly spoke, “Nobody leaves Grandma’s without a treat, a kiss, and a hug, Mark. Come over here.”

Kelly opened her arms to receive me. I enveloped her and held her naked frame in my arms. I looked into her eyes and she looked into mine. We kissed for the second time. For two years I had never felt so welcome anywhere as I did in Grandma Kelly’s arms that day.

“Come see me when you can, Mark. I mean that, too.”

I believed her. We had a connection.

“You might try my lemonade with an old-fashioned next time.” She smiled. I could see the flirt in her eyes. We were from the same generation and we understood each other.

I drove home feeling good about myself and the massage.

I was in my kitchen, Ruth’s kitchen really, standing at the table when I opened the white paper bag. I pulled out a yellow bottle with a label that read Grandma Kelly’s Lemonade. There was a tagline on the label that read The sooner you drink this, the fresher it is. I smiled.

There was also a small piece of cake wrapped in plastic with a label that read Grandma’s Lemon Poppy Seed Cake. And lastly, there was a magnetic business card that read Grandma Kelly’s Lemonade and had her phone number on it.

Looking down at these items on the table, I could see that my last hug with Kelly had left me with oil stains on my clothes.

Instantly. Suddenly. Immediately. My mind was flooded with images of Kelly. My dick became erect. I re-experienced Kelly’s outstretched arms and naked turn around; I re-envisioned her body face-down with her head turned to watch the ball game. I remembered her matronly butt, her greyed hairs on her mound, and the rest of her body stretched out in front of me, upside-down, and then nipple-up. My fingers remembered touching her skin and her sex. Mostly I remembered holding her in my arms and kissing her before I left. That was a great kiss; my body remembered it.

I couldn’t control myself. I unzipped. I pulled my member out. It was shockingly hard and it felt intense! I stroked and I pumped myself and thought about Kelly with every rub. I masturbated the hell out of my dick until I spurted onto the maple kitchen table. My seed lay next to the white paper bag.

Shocked! I was so shocked at my behavior! I had not touched myself like that since before Ruth had passed and, even more surprising, I had not thought about Ruth the entire time I masturbated. I thought only about Grandma Kelly: her body, me touching her, her fresh lemonade, her baseball on TV, our kiss. And then, when I came, my only thought was how I wanted to spurt just like this in front of her.

Immediately!

My erection still stood. My feelings intense. I couldn’t believe it. I masturbated a second time and I let my fluid shoot onto the table to mix with the first. By God, it was glorious! The stiff contractions in my legs, the swelling, the stroking, the pulsing, and the release of that glorious jism on the kitchen table, Good Lord, it was the best experience I'd had in a very long time.

After two years, my mourning for Ruth was complete. My seed on Ruth's maple kitchen table was evidence. I never thought about me mourning Ruth before. Before that moment, I was simply remembering Ruth and our life together. I remembered her presence and her essence every day since she passed. I didn’t know I was mourning; I’d never felt depressed or sad or anything like that. But now, after two orgasms in ten minutes with the image of another woman in my head, I knew I had been mourning Ruth and I knew I was done with it.

Ruth was still with me. We had forty-two years of life together and she was not going away. But now there was room in my life for more. The hot jizz on the table had left me with space inside that could be filled with other things. I was incredibly grateful for the marketing paper, the advertisement, for Kelly, for baseball, and for her lemonade.

I watched baseball or tennis with Kelly two or three times a month until the World Series started. I had her magnetic business card on the refrigerator along with others Ruth and I had collected. I always called for an appointment. Most of the time I had an old-fashioned with my lemonade but I massaged Kelly a few more times, too. She was magnificent every time.

Of course I counted the robes in the hamper every time I went. Wouldn’t you? Some days there were none but many times there was one already there. One evening I went to Grandma Kelly’s for a night game and there were three robes in the hamper. I said to Kelly that if she was tired, we could just sit and watch the game together. She was happy to sit in her robe and watch the game with me. A pitcher of lemonade nearby.

When the Series started last year, I called Kelly and said I wanted to stop by and watch Game Three with her. She told me to come over. She said two other men were coming and she would have food and lemonade for us. It was the first time I saw Kelly with clothes on. The four of us watched the game together and we had a great time. They had known Kelly for a few years and they welcomed me as a friend. They were good men. Kelly liked them. I did, too. John was the one with the French-cuff shirt and bull elephant cuff links. I don’t know what he did for a living. The other man was Peter and he was in real estate. When we said goodbye, we each held Kelly in our arms and kissed her deeply.

That was last year.

It was March 31st this year when I called to make an appointment. The person who answered the phone told me Kelly was not yet back from Florida and she was filling in for her until she returned in another week. Of course I was surprised. And disappointed. I was looking forward to seeing Kelly again.

“Grandma Kelly doesn’t usually open her business until tomorrow, you know that, right?”

“Yes, but I was hoping to watch sports with her today. Knowing she won’t be back for another week, I'll just wait.”

“Don’t hang up, please. Would you like to come anyway? I have to go to Grandma’s place today and clean it before business opens tomorrow. Let’s call this a soft opening. It'll give me a chance to rehearse my role and you can watch TV. Do you prefer to give or receive a massage today? It'll be free.“

I was curious about who was filling in for Grandma. The free massage was not an inducement but checking out Grandma’s stand-in was, so we set a time for us to meet at Grandma’s place.

Her name was Mary and she was wearing a wedding ring, a white satin robe, white sandals, and a gold anklet when I arrived for my appointment. I was surprised.

I said, “You are beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re married?”

“Yes. Does it surprise you?”

“Well, yes. Does your husband know?”

Mary smiled, laughed, and went on to explain that she and her husband, Mack, enjoyed marriage adventures. When Grandma Kelly decided to stay another week in Boca Raton, Kelly called her friend John for help. John then asked Mary to manage Grandma’s business for a week. Mary’s husband agreed it would be an adventure.

Mary asked if I had grandchildren. I said yes, two boys and two girls. I took their pictures out of my wallet and showed her. She told me she would be a grandma soon, too. Her daughter was in her seventh month. She said she couldn’t wait to be called Grandma Mary.

I was curious so I asked about her anklet.

“Do you like it?” Mary lifted her foot onto the massage table. There was nothing underneath her robe.

“Each charm represents a completed marriage adventure and, of course, the anklet is suggestive just by itself. I love it. It’s a good tease as well as a conversation starter. Mack has one, too, and when we are out together, we have the most interesting conversations with strangers. His is more masculine looking, of course.”

Mary changed subjects as she put her foot back on the floor.

“I know you were looking forward to Kelly but I want you to know I am really happy you came. I need a rehearsal. I tried it with Mack but it’s not the same. Shall we start? Kelly’s notes say you like tennis. The Miami Open finals are today. Sloane Stephens is playing Jelena Ostapenko for the championship.”

“I was hoping we could watch it.”

“Of course we can.”

Mary flipped all three TV sets to CBS and went behind the bar to retrieve a crystal pitcher of lemonade with thin slices of lemon and red raspberries.

Déjà vu.

“Kelly has the best lemonade I’ve ever tasted. This is her recipe.” Mary poured two glasses. We sipped as we watched Sloane settle into the first set. Ostapenko had a strong two-handed return and was doing well with it.

Watching sports and sipping Grandma’s lemonade? Déjà vu.

When the players switched sides, Mary spoke.

“You said on the phone you preferred to receive. This is a good time for you to put on the robe in the other room.”

She stood, slipped off her robe, and placed it on the back of the chair at the bar. She spread her arms wide with her palms up and did a full turn to show me what she looked like. Then she set the bed to a low vibration.

She kept her sandals on. She was stunning. She did all of this exactly as Kelly would have done.

Déjà vu.

Mary looked to be in her forties. She was spectacular. I was thrilled to think about her touching me.

Old habits are hard to break. In the bedroom, I folded my clothing and placed the pile neatly on the bed. After putting on the robe and flip-flops, I checked the hamper. There were no robes. There should not have been and there weren’t.

The flip-flops announced my return to the massage room.

Mary removed my robe from behind, hung it on a nearby hook, and, with her eyes averted, had me lie face down on the table.There was no towel across my butt.

Déjà vu. Just like Kelly.

While she gave me a back and leg massage, I lay on my erection and the vibrations kept me hard enough to be uncomfortable… as I always was. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

We started in silence but Mary wanted to talk. She was a great conversationalist and told me how Kelly got into the business.

John (the same John I met last year during the Series) was a friend of the family. When Kelly’s husband passed, John knew she had no income and no skills that would earn her enough money to keep her home. John loaned her money to set up the erotic massage business and came up with the advertising, the branding, the sports on TV, the lemonade, and the treat bag. Kelly had managed the business successfully for the past seven years. It was an exotic and erotic massage from the beginning.

About this time, Mary asked me to roll onto my back.

I did and my dick was proudly erect.

“It's a nice dick, Mark. How old are you?”

“Sixty-six.”

“I hope Mack can still get it up like this when he reaches that age.”

Mary oiled her hands and slathered it over my dick and balls. She stroked the shaft up and down as if testing it.

“Want to play a game? The second set in the match is starting. Let’s keep you erect for the whole set. Interested?”

I grunted yes. I couldn’t imagine saying no. A naked beautiful woman wanted to keep me erect. I was all in.

“Good, I was hoping you’d agree.”

As she massaged my face and neck and chest, she told me about her marriage adventures. She allowed her breasts to touch me during the massage and often leaned across the table for the express purpose of placing her nipples on my big belly. With her nudity, her erotic stories, and her touching me, my dick was stiff and it didn’t waver or quiver for the first twenty minutes.

A phone chimed. Two phones were on the wet bar. She went to look at them. “Let’s pause for a second. I have a text from my husband.”

She left me with an erection and angst. A potent combination. Would she touch it again? Would she return? If it started to go soft, did she expect me to keep it erect? I had a queasy feeling about her expectations. I wanted to do the right thing but I didn’t know what it was.

Sloane hit a nice passing shot and Ostapenko was looking a little depressed.

I lay on the table with the most twisted concept of elapsed time. Surely it was only seconds ago but it felt much longer.

Mary tapped out a message. She waited. A return message chimed. She smiled and tapped a few more times and waited again.

Sloane was dominating the second set. I was erect. And a naked woman was in the room texting her husband. This was one hell of a Saturday.

Mary returned. “Sorry. Mack didn’t know I was having a client today. We have a rule that both of us have to know when the other is having an adventure.“

Mary’s phone chimed differently this time. “This is my husband Mack. He wants to talk to you to be sure I am safe.”

“What?”

Mary put the phone on speaker. “Hi, honey. We’re here.”

“Mark? Hi, this is Mack. Mary says you’re watching Sloane Stephens play. Is she winning?”

That’s when Mary’s hand encircled my dick and stroked me. Good Lord!

I croaked, “Um, yes, second set. Ostapenko broke early, Sloane is not letting her back in.”

Mary had a mischievous look on her face. She was enjoying my discomfort. I kept it together as best I could. My dick was like iron under her touch.

This was as close as was I ever going to get to one of my all-time best fantasies. Wife sharing. Sex with another man’s wife and his full knowledge of it. This was close enough to my fantasy that I could die a happy man now.

Mary oiled me again.

Mack continued, “We saw Sloane at Indian Wells a couple of years ago, 2015, I think. Serena beat her. Do you remember her, honey?”

Mary said she did and used both hands to stroke me quicker.

“Mark, is Mary safe with you?”

I could only mutter yes. My eyes were fixated on Mary pumping my shaft while her husband was on the phone. So effin’ hot!

“Good. When a man shares his wife with another man, he needs to know she is safe.“

Oh, Good Lord! He said the word share and wife in the same sentence! I strained upward to meet Mary’s downstroke!

“I’m sure you agree. I’ll let you get back to tennis now. Grandma makes the best lemonade but Mary makes the best old-fashioned. Enjoy both of them, Mark. Take care.“

Good Lord! Did he just say what I think he said? Was he giving me permission to enjoy a hand job from his wife?

Mary kept one hand on my dick and hung up her phone with the other.

“He’s the best, isn’t he?”

“Uh huh.” I was feeling the pleasure of a pending orgasm. Mack’s permission was the most erotic thing in my mind! I was about to let the dogs out! Let the flying monkeys fly! I was about to soar with the eagles!

“Oh, no you don’t!” Mary commanded.

She pinched the head of my dick, pulled my balls away from my body, and then squeezed my shaft behind the glans firmly. She held it tight without moving. My urge to orgasm passed. The pinch hurt but my orgasm was derailed.

“We have at least two more games of tennis before you can release.”

This was intense. Sweet Jesus. So intense. My imagination was in overdrive. Mack was sharing his wife with me. I had wanted this wife share experience since I was thirty-eight and it was all coming true now. Mack and Mary had to know I wanted this. I don’t know how. There was no question in my mind that both of them knew the effect this was having on me. This was the single most erotic event of my life! They knew it and they were making it happen. Wow!

Mary oiled her hands again and ran her fingers between my toes. She told me more about her marriage adventures around town. She was like Scheherazade as she massaged the hell out of my body and dick.

She kept edging me with stories and massage and, sometimes, she would just stop and simply let my dick throb in the air. Pulsing. One. Two. Three. Three pulses before it settled again into a normal erection.

I tried to focus on Sloane and tennis to keep my mind off the teasing and tantalizing that Mary was doing. I wasn’t successful.

Thank God, Sloane didn’t let Jelena back in the game. It would have meant more tortured restraint. Mary stopped telling stories after Sloane won.

I was on fire! I was pumped up! Release was imminent!

Mary picked up an empty glass. It almost slipped out of her fingers from the oil.

“Mark, I want to keep your seed and take it with me. May I?”

“Oh, hell yes.“

Mary placed the glass near my glans and tugged three more times. I spurted. I lifted my hips off the table. I spurted hard, fast, incessantly, completely. It was everything I had in me. My balls pulled up so tight they all but disappeared into my body.

As I came down from the pinnacle, as I moved away from the precipice, as I returned to Earth from the Heavens where Mary had carried me, she held my softening member until she was able to cup and cover my package with one hand.

I was spent. Exhausted. Depleted. Drained. Played out. Worn out. I had been erect for almost two hours and edged for an hour. It was wonderful.

I didn’t want to move. I wanted to sleep so when Mary asked me if I wanted to sleep, I said Yes, if that’s okay.

The next thing I remember is waking up with my robe covering me. Jazz was playing on the radio and Mary was cleaning. She was still nude.

“Sorry, I passed out on you.”

“You needed it, don’t worry. I was able to clean a few more things while you slept.”

I went into the bedroom clutching the robe around me. A few minutes later I came out dressed. I dropped two hundred into the Free Will Donation box.

“It’s not necessary, but thank you. Mack and I are giving everything to Grandma.”

Mary handed me the white paper bag and said “Nobody leaves Grandma’s without a treat, a kiss, and a hug, Mark.”

Déjà vu. All over again.

I hugged Mary’s naked frame and told her the rehearsal was excellent. I asked her how she was able to learn the routine so well. She said there was a video of Grandma rehearsing with John from seven years ago.

I drove home a happy man. When I opened the paper bag to put the lemonade in the refrigerator, I saw the label had been edited to read Soon-to-be-Grandma Mary’s Lemonade.

I called the next morning on April Fools' Day for an appointment to give a massage to Soon-to-be-Grandma Mary. I had my reasons and neither one was about me. (cough)

After all, six-foot-ten-inch John Isner was playing Zverev for the Championship in Miami.

And besides, Grandma Kelly might need money after staying an extra week in Boca.

There was a robe in the hamper when I arrived on April Fools' Day. I never knew who it was but he was there every damn day, ahead of me, until Grandma Kelly returned.