The clouds from a recent rainstorm shielded the sun enough that Anna didn’t spot the bike leaning against the porch until her headlights crossed over it. As she completed the turn, she also saw the backside of a man putting something under a rock.

All her senses went on alert. Henry, her former’s husband’s brother, often made comments that provoked people. “He’s got a nice ass,” she thought automatically. “But I wonder what he’s doing. Do I need to call 9-1-1?”

The man, his helmet hanging from the handlebars of his bike, smiled as he walked his bike toward her passenger side window. She saw his clothes covered with sloppy mud as he got closer.

He tapped on the window. She rolled it down an inch. This SUV had auto-lock doors that didn’t open until she moved the door handle. That made her feel safer. His smile helped too. The smile reassured her that he intended no harm. Yet, he shouldn’t be there. Her brother-in-law and his wife were gone.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” she demanded. “This is private property.

“Yes, I’m aware of that and I don’t like to trespass. But I was out on a bike ride and a passing car splashed mud and water all over me. I had to wash the face guard off. I left a note explaining and some money to pay for the water.”

He stood, scanning the skies as the clouds threatened more rain.

“Guess I better push off. I’ve got at least fifteen minutes more to ride before I get home. I’d like to get there before it’s too dark to ride.” He put on the helmet, pushed his bike until he got near the road, hopped on and took off toward the city.

Ann sat there, stumped until the yapping of Henry’s two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels got her attention. “Who in this age leaves money behind after using that small amount of water.” He hadn’t even washed his clothes off, the jeans and pullover Henley standard for this part of the country. He didn’t wear all that expensive stuff that most riders wore and bragged about incessantly. This type of man was a refreshing breeze on a muggy day.

Michelangelo and Frida (both named after gay painters and both males) used auto devices for feed and water, but, like many dogs, they always craved attention. Despite usually going through the back door, she walked to the front, picked up the note, stuffed it in her large jacket pocket, replaced the rock and stepped inside the house.

What with playing with the dogs, fixing her evening meal, and showering, she didn’t think of the note until near bedtime. The note was his business card with block lettering on the back saying much the same as he verbally told her. The money was a five-dollar bill.

She laughed from the innermost part of her soul for the first time in years. The water cost less than a nickel if that. This guy intrigued her like no one since her first husband nearly twenty-five years ago. The name, Adam Martin, she didn’t recognize. The card contained a phone number with a legend of Independent Computer Consultant.

When she undressed that night, she discovered her panties were moist, which surprised her. Unusual, and certainly not something she experienced during her seventeen-year trophy wife marriage to Roger Jameson, multi-millionaire and lover of ladyboys

That night she dreamed of her first husband as they made love for the last time. A year out of college, his hang glider and parachute malfunctioned, crashing him into the rocks near Cape Lookout as she watched. In the morning her nightgown was wet too. His death left her nearly penniless and prey for men like Roger.

For the first time in years, she felt like painting at her studio on the bluffs overlooking Portland. Once finished with breakfast and making sure the dogs got an outside run, she called Max Carter, Henry’s gay personal assistant and sometimes sex partner, at a local art museum.

“Max, I’m not coming in today unless something is pressing. I think I’ll paint at home.”

“That’s fine. You are far ahead of where we expected in restoring that local painting. Have fun.”

As she drove to the studio, she thought about the Jameson family. Dad and mom lived in New Jersey now, not far from Atlantic City. Roger, her former husband, served for years as CEO and Chairman of the Board for a large international chip manufacturing company. He had one brother, Henry, and two sisters. Among all six of them and their spouses, there wasn’t a straight person in the group. She finally decided that the reason the parents lived in New Jersey was that it was one of two states that allowed incest. Nothing that she could prove, but she strongly suspected that.

She removed the painting she’d tried to do for more than a month from the easel placing a blank canvas on it instead. By noon, she had the outlines of the bicyclist, but she didn’t remember that much of this face, mostly hidden by the dwindling light. Pleased by her efforts, she paused, and ate some soup with crackers and the last bit of left-over salad for lunch, after which she resumed her sketch.

This was the first time she’d been almanbahis enthusiastic about painting since the early days of her marriage to Roger. The official cause of death was listed as a heart attack eighteen months ago in Bangkok. She knew he died with his pathetic cock inside the ass of a ladyboy while he sucked another lady boy’s cock.

He fucked her pussy three times in their marriage; the others were blow jobs and anal, and not even good ones at that. When he wanted to staff their mansion in Silicon Valley with ladyboys a year ago, she objected. He cut her out of the will. No matter. Her ten million pre-nuptial agreement was enough. His money paid for her daughter, now twenty-one and a last-year dance student at Julliard to get the training she needed. Julie already had offers from several prospective Broadway musicals because she sang almost better than she danced.

She got to where she needed more details to finish the head before stopping to call Max again.

“What company does the museum use to research backgrounds on people,” she asked him.

“I suppose I should ask why, but I doubt you’d tell me. We use Stumptown Security.”

“Okay, I’ll send you a scanned copy of this business card a guy gave me. Please have them send the results to my email. Nothing too deep. Just his vitals.”

“At least you are interested in someone,” Max replied. “Girl, you’ve turned down so many fine guys. Men I’d love to have inside me. You need someone to share your life now that Julie is gone so much.”

“I don’t, Maxie,” purposely using a name he hated to get him off her back. “I got used to being by myself and I prefer it.”

Before she left for the evening, she’d completed at least a charcoal sketch of the man on a smaller canvas. She left the face blank but sketched in his extensive widow’s peak as best as she could remember.

On the way to Henry’s house, she heard her email notification ping. That night, she read the results on her laptop.

“Adam Martin, 59, independent computer consultant, formerly employed by a trucking company headquartered on Swan Island. Address about two miles from Henry’s and Sophie’s house. The same place is listed for his business address. Only the phone number is printed on the card. Married for nearly thirty-five years. Two children, a son who is a network specialist with an international company, and a daughter who is the top civilian administrator for a Puget Sound area police department. His wife died two weeks before their anniversary. Donations to American Cancer Society.”

“Geez, he’s older than Roger was when he died. Looks like he’s in far better shape too.” She did some more research too on business sites but got nothing more than the security agency gave her.

What she didn’t know is that Stumptown was a former client of Adam’s. As soon as Ann’s phone call finished, Edie, the elfin computer whiz of Stumptown, called him.

“We just got a request from a woman for your background. Her name is Ann Murphy. What should I do?”

“Give her everything. I’ve got nothing to hide. Allow me to run a background search.”

“Done.” Adam wasn’t busy so he started. When he finished, he sat back in his chair and whistled, especially after he saw her official company portrait. Forty-nine, full name Eleanor Ann Murphy-King-Jameson, a daughter from a short, previous marriage to David King, enrolled in dance at Julliard. Former husband Roger, a multi-millionaire, perhaps a billionaire, died overseas of a heart attack at age 55. There was another section for speculation and personal information like whether he cheated on his spouse, but Adam chose not to read that section.

He remembered he and his wife, Gloria, going to a dance presentation featuring Julie, but he was one of five hundred people and hadn’t seen the mother.

“I like her. Hard to tell, but she looks good and is somewhat interested in me. Drat, I don’t have her phone number. Mustn’t appear too eager for fear she’ll think I’m a male gold-digger. I’ll let her come to me if she wants.” One thing that puzzled him was the obvious large rock on her left ring finger. Some of the rumors he heard over the years were that Roger liked kinky sex.

Meanwhile, Ann couldn’t get the man out of her mind. She wasn’t looking for a lover, just a male friend to help her get back into the mainstream of life. Everyone was after her money or her pussy, mostly her money. She wondered what excuse to use when she called him. Her painting and charcoal sketch was good enough to sell, but she wanted his permission first.

On Thursday, she decided to call him, using the excuse of returning the money. He answered promptly.

“I’d like to personally return the money,” she said as she introduced herself as Ann Murphy. “Perhaps at lunch tomorrow. We can split the cost.”

“That’s fine. You don’t need to return the money, but I realized I didn’t even have your name.”

He suggested a Thai restaurant five blocks from her house.

On Friday, she walked from her house to the restaurant only to find almanbahis yeni giriş him already there. She ordered and noticed he specified a vegan item, a diet Julie was trying. They ate, they laughed at his jokes, and she relaxed around a man like she’d never done before, not even with David, who was a thrill-seeker who was always hyper-charged for his next conquest. Their sex was frenzied, hard and fast. At her age, she wanted someone to treat her like a real woman, to work softly, slowly and sexily.

“Since you won’t take the money back, I’ll donate it to a charity in your name. Any preferences?”

“Please donate to any charity you wish and please do it anonymously. I get too many requests for money now.”

After some discussion, they agreed to meet at the foremast of the USS Oregon in Tom McCall Waterfront Park one week from today. That location was within blocks of the museum where she worked. If rain fell, he suggested they visit the museum. Again, he didn’t ask for a phone number or other personal information.

All that intrigued her more. Both the painting and the charcoal sketch sat in her studio, finished. They had such a good time talking, that she never thought to mention her works.

The day was sunny and bright. She got to watch him jog, using the pretext of needing to catch her breath. When they returned to the foremast, she suggested they sit on a bench. He’d never touched her, never seemed like he wanted to, and even sat a respectable distance on the benches when they sat.

“May I ask you a few personal questions,” she said.

“Certainly. If I feel uncomfortable about answering or don’t want to answer at this time, I’ll simply say so.”

“I’m curious why you’ve never tried to flirt with me, ask for more personal information, let me lead with everything?

He smiled. “Ah. I wondered when we’d get to this crossroads. That’s because I already know your name and a host of other information. I know your name is Eleanor Ann Murphy-King-Jameson, and that you have a daughter from your first husband who is enrolled in dance at Julliard. I also know that your last husband was Roger Jameson. He was a multi-millionaire, even possibly a billionaire. I didn’t look at the personal and speculative sections. I figured if there was something there, you would tell me if you wanted me to know.

“It just so happens that one of my former clients is Stumptown Security and Edie, my friend who works there, called me as soon as you finished talking with her. She let me search for you about you.

“I know you work at the art museum as a restorer and that you once painted for a living. I’ve looked at photos of some of your early works and they are beautiful.

“That puts me in an awkward position. I have money. We had a life insurance policy on my wife that paid me enough I don’t need to work the rest of my life which let me quit a job I didn’t enjoy. I don’t want to seem like a male gold-digger. I’m sure you get enough of that.

“Even more to the point, a friend of mine once told me that if a woman didn’t put out by the third date, she wasn’t ever going to and wasn’t worth pursuing. I’m not sure if these are dates, but if we get together again, that would be the third official time.”

“Oh, you mean if they don’t fuck at the end of three dates, he dumps her.”

“Yea, but I wasn’t going to be that blunt, but yes, I don’t have sex with women.”

“You’re not interested in sex with women? Are you gay?”

As she looked at him, his face twisted into annoyance. “Not a chance. I do understand that Henry, your ex-brother-in-law where you were staying that night, is polysexual as is his wife. I’m not interested in that lifestyle for me.

“No, what I meant, is that I don’t fuck women. For me, sex is the aftermath of love, not the other way around. When Gloria and I were married, we had a wonderful kinky time. We were committed to each other. I’ve tried having sex since then, but no one is willing to make that type of pledge.

“Oh, yes. I have two wonderful children who think I need to find a new wife. I’m not interested unless I find a woman willing to be with me till death do us part. That’s all I wanted to share for now.”

“Let me tell you then what you might have found in the personals section of that profile, and we’ll get that out of the way.”

She told him that Roger charmed her into marriage with his kindness and consideration, not having sex until after they were married.

“I was in a bind. My paints weren’t selling well, my husband died in a hang-gliding accident, and I had a small girl to support. He promised me a huge amount of money as part of the prenup, at least it was to me. I didn’t know about his sexual issues which included affairs with ladyboys until after I got married. When I objected to him staffing our house near Silicon Valley with ladyboys, he cut me from his will.

“If anyone could be called a gold digger, I guess that would be me. I was looking for financial support first but blindly fell for his charm. Once almanbahis giriş married, the money kept me there. He mostly left me alone and paid for everything. Looking back now, the time wasn’t worth it, but a person gets used to a lifestyle and it’s hard to change. That’s pretty much me in a nutshell. I’ll answer any question you have, within reason.”

“No, that’s good for now. When do you want to meet again?”

They decided every Friday with extensions into the weekends on occasions. They hiked on Mt. St. Helens, they went to the beach one day, they had some sort of meal every Friday, and she gave him both pictures of her completed portraits. In late May, they went to Julie’s senior performance and graduation and shared the costs, staying in totally separate rooms.

Her daughter lived with three other women in a crowded apartment.

“I like him, mom,” Julie said after the three spent an evening together just before the performance. “He seems like the perfect match for you. What is your status?”

“We’re just friends. He lost his wife to cancer three years ago. He got the payoff from a one-million-dollar life insurance policy her parents bought when they got married. I could offer to pay for everything, but he likes to contribute.”

“Don’t let him go, mom. He’s a keeper.”

Ann agreed.

During the show, he proved knowledgeable enough about the performances he could give a somewhat professional critique. They got seats together both ways. They held hands and kissed a few times, nothing more than good friends.

“I like to read. Don’t have much time for videos and TV. Sometimes I take a book to the waterfront park and read. E-readers mostly, but hardcovers too. My eyesight isn’t too good anymore and I have trouble holding pocketbooks for long.”

Some days, they got together for lunch both to walk and to eat. She admitted to herself she was attracted deeply to him. He not only decided that, but he began work on jewelry for her, including engagement and wedding rings. That’s why he lived outside of the city where he could have a metal shop.

Julie kept trying out for Broadway shows. In early August she called her mom.

“I got a part. Rehearsals begin immediately. Dress rehearsal is the day before Labor Day. Opening day is Labor Day night. Can you come? And please bring Adam. I want to see what’s going on.”

It was her turn to book the flight and accommodations. They weren’t able to get airplane seats together, but she picked a hotel near the musical that was reasonable in price with a connecting door between the rooms.

Saturday, they went on a guided bus tour of New York City, playing tourists. She’d been here once with Roger, spending a horrendous day in a hotel room by himself while he conducted business meetings. They walked in Central Park, visited the Statue of Liberty, rode to the top of the Empire State Building, and saw the September 11 Memorial and Museum and the Brooklyn Bridge. The day started early and ended after dark. The journey back to the hotel went through Times Square, but the bus didn’t stop.

They were too tired to do anything but eat a buffet in a hotel restaurant the next morning. The dress rehearsal started at two PM and finished at five PM with several stops and starts in between. They attended free as Julia’s guests. Afterward, she took off and they found a New York deli, ate enough to be stuffed, and took some items back to the hotel to put in their private refrigerators. Afterward, he stood in the connecting doorway as they talked.

“Give me your honest opinion,” she asked.

“I tend to blurt things out, so don’t get upset. I think the play was terrible. Julia is the star, not that awful woman they picked. I recognize the name so that must be the reason so got chosen.”

She patted the bed next to her. You can sit here if you want.”

Anticipating this, Adam said, “Are you ready to make the final, total commitment? I’m not yet. There are a few things I need to take care of first.”

“You are right. My libido is getting the better of me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re healthy, normal humans.”

He walked toward her as she stood up and for the first time they kissed. Thoroughly, totally kissed long and strong enough he got hard, and she felt her nipples pebble and her pussy get thoroughly soaked.

With sadness, he turned around and left, locking his side of the connecting door. That night each of them played with themselves into huge orgasms.

As he predicted, the Labor Day performance got terrible reviews across the board, with most of them saying Julia was the best part of the show. They stayed one more day and toured both the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum and Modern Museum of Art before flying out early Wednesday morning.

This time he drove his car to her house. They rode the light rail to the airport.

Reversing the process, they barely got moving along Airport Way when her phone rang. With the time difference that mean it was past five PM for Julia.

“Mom,” she said loud enough that he could hear her on the phone as they sat together. “I got a new part in an off-Broadway show. The lead singer and dancer fell and broke a leg. Can you come and watch the dress rehearsal and opening night? Evening performances this time. Again, no cost to you.”