The rhythm was irresistible.Number one Slayton Street had been a fire station. A large two-story brick structure from the thirties.The nineties were a little more practical, and the staff and equipment were moved to some modern accommodations further down the street. In a fit of sanity someone decided that the existing building could be put to some use, rather than being knocked down, and Slayton Corner was born.Andy wasn't at all sure, despite having — he thought — set this all up.Across from him was a tall blonde, much too old for him, and seriously gorgeous. She slid around on the shiny old leather of the seat and faced him. Her bare feet were perched on the leather, and from where Andy nervously sat he could see under her short black skirt to skimpy bright yellow knickers.She hoisted her ass off the seat for moment, lifting the skirt, and hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her knickers before sliding them down her legs in an easy movement. She threw them to the floor and looked. Not even close. And I don’t pass you around. We’ve been married forty-five years and I’ve never wanted anything from you except you being faithful. You’ve done that. Now I want you to fuck another man for me.”“Not going to happen,” she said. She had a determined look in her eye. “You can get that effin’ thought out of your head right now, mister.” That’s when she rolled out of bed, pulled her robe over her head, and zipped it closed. “I’m sixty-four. What’s wrong with you?” It was her way of closing herself off to me.“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I said. “This is what I want.”She went silent. We didn’t speak the rest of the night. Or the next morning either. But we talked about normal things soon enough. Two weeks later we had sex again. We used toys.After her orgasm, I said again, “I want you to fuck another man for me. One that you like, I’m not saying you’ll do this next weekend, I’m just sayin’ that I want you to fuck another man for me.”She said she wasn’t going to do it. She.
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