I never have claimed to be an organized person. Sometimes I put something away for safekeeping, and then later, forget where I put it. I was scraping through my desk drawer recently looking for a pen when I discovered my little black book. Yep, that tiny little directory where I kept the names and phone numbers of women I had dated.

The problem was, I had stuck this away twenty years ago, right after I got married. But since the marriage was long over, I decided to revisit some of the girls, now women, to see if they were still around and available. I only put first names with the phone numbers, and a little info to help me remember each. “Tall, liked dogs…redhead, a little heavy…brunette, two cats…Giselle, likes dancing,” etc. Each of them was a girl who enjoyed sex the way I like it.

Testing the phone numbers, I found two disconnected, three had been changed, and when I tried Robin’s number, there was no answer and no voicemail or message machine. Robin was the last woman I dated before I got married. Robin was a young widow when I dated her. She was “curvy” with a beautiful face. She was desperately looking for another husband, or at least someone with a long-term commitment in mind.

Robin never had to work since her husband was a professor. Consequently, she didn’t know what to do with herself; she had no hobbies. Her only responsibility was taking care of her daughter.

I remembered where Robin lived so I drove by. Her red Honda Accord wasn’t in the driveway, but I didn’t expect it to be; it had been almost twenty years since I had seen her. I parked on the street and went up and knocked on the front door. It was a cold and rainy day so I was hoping someone would be home.

A young woman opened the door with a friendly smile. “Yes?”

“Hello, my name is Will, and this is a little awkward but I used to date a woman named Robin who lived here. Is she….?” My question was interrupted by a ringing cell phone behind the woman.

“Hold on a sec; come on in and shut the door,” she said, retreating into the kitchen. I looked around. New kitchen appliances, antique dining table gone, and newer furniture.

The woman put the phone on the kitchen table and yelled, “Joanne, Greg’s on the phone!”

Then she returned her attention to me. She was tall and lean, broad shoulders, dark hair too short for her face, dark brown eyes, and a wide mouth.  “Robin was my mom, but she died two years ago of lung cancer. I’m Maggie.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, sincerely.

Another woman appeared, looked suspiciously at me, and then answered her phone.

“I tried to tell my mom to cut back on smoking, but she wouldn’t listen to me,” Maggie said. “Would you like some coffee or tea? I’d like to know more about your time with my mom.”

The other girl was off the phone and jumped right into the conversation. “Tea for everybody; we’re out of coffee, Mags.”

Maggie introduced us; “Will, this is Joanne, my wife; Jo, this is Will. He used to date my mom.”

Joanne shook my hand firmly. Very firmly, and then busied herself preparing the tea and soon the three of us were sitting at the kitchen table. She wasn’t as tall as Maggie. Blond, bushy hair, hazel eyes, a few extra pounds here and there but evenly spread out.

“Red Zinger for everybody today,” she said. “How long did you date Robin?”

“For about a month, and Margaret, I mean, Maggie was twelve then.”

“OH!” Maggie blurted. “I think I remember you!”

“Really? That was a long time ago,” I said.

“Mom only had a boyfriend about every two years, so when I was eighteen, she told me about her boyfriends and lovers, to warn me about guys. But you have a tattoo on your right shoulder, don’t you?”

I was astonished because I never exposed it to anyone except the women I slept with. “Yes, but how did you know that?”

“I remember that you were friendlier than some of the other guys. You took the three of us out to dinner and opened the car door for us, you put gas in Mom’s car, and took us to the circus one weekend. I was surprised when you broke up.”

“That was my fault; I decided to move to another state to be closer to my dad, who was ill then.”

“But how did you know about his tattoo?” Joanne asked.

Maggie giggled. “Our bedrooms are upstairs so Mom never let a guy sleep over, but she would have sex with the guy in the living room on a big soft comforter.”

“Black with silver stripes?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“YES! And when the talking downstairs stopped, I would sneak down and crawl behind the kitchen table and watch through the chairs. I remember seeing you lying there, and I saw the tattoo.”

“For some reason, she liked having that small table lamp on when she had sex,” I said.

“When I asked what happened to the nice guy with the tattoo, she told me that you moved away.” Maggie looked at Joanne and smiled. “She also told me that he was the only guy who ever made her come with his mouth.”

Joanne sat up and clapped her hands. “Holy shit! I can’t believe she let you get away.”

“As I said, it was my fault.”

Joanne leaned with one elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm. “I’d love to learn your technique.”

“Wait,” interrupted Maggie, “I saw you on your back and Mom riding you, but I never saw you going down on her.”

“Evidently before you came downstairs, I guess. She sat in the sofa chair in the living room corner, legs over the arms and I sat on the floor. Then we moved onto the comforter.”

Joanne turned to Maggie. “Mags, will you go get that comforter off your bed and bring it down? I think Will is going to give me a demonstration.”

I looked at Maggie, stunned and embarrassed. “It’s okay,” she said calmly. “I’m gay and Jo is bi and we both have other partners. She has a boyfriend right now.”

While Maggie was going after the comforter, I tried to reason with Joanne. “This is awkward and as much as I find you attractive, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to give you oral sex.”

“I’ll tell you what,” she said, “just do your best and I’ll let you know how you stack up against Mags and some other girls I’ve been with.”

Maggie came back and handed the comforter to Joanne, who took it into the living room. Maggie sat down at the kitchen table and resumed drinking her tea. I didn’t know what to say to her. When I stepped into the living room, Joanne had spread out the comforter on the floor, and had turned on the same old table lamp.

She had slipped off her jeans and was naked from the waist down. Her legs spread, knees in the air. “Come on in and chow down, dude!” she said with a grin.

I crawled between her big thighs and kissed the insides, one and then the other, working my mouth towards her core. There was a faint smell of flowers, sweet and soft as I pressed my mouth to her lips. She put her legs around me with her feet in the middle of my back. There are no special secrets to giving a woman an orgasm with your mouth; you just do what gets her wet and then follow instructions. Joanne crushed my head with her legs when she came, and I had a serious erection.

When I got to my knees, she said, “On a scale of one to ten, that was a seven; would you care to earn the other three points?”

I started to unzip my pants, but she waved her hand at me. “Oh, no, you don’t get to stick that thing in me, just your fingers or your tongue.”

So, I got back on my stomach and used my fingers to fuck her while I teased her clit with the tip of my tongue and sucked on it. She was so wet that even after she came, I removed my fingers and just sucked at her hole. And I know that she liked it because she let me lap at her for a long time.

Finally, she pushed me away. “Okay, you’ve had enough lunch, now go finish your tea. And thank you, Will, that was wonderful. I mean it.”

When I stepped back into the kitchen, I asked Maggie where I could find the bathroom. “I want to wash my face off, so I won’t be hard all the way home.”

Joanne laughed out loud. “Damn, I wish he didn’t have a dick.”

I sat and finished the tea while Maggie told me about her work and how she had inherited the house, and how she met Joanne. They seemed happy with their arrangement. As Maggie took me to the door, Joanne yelled over her shoulder. “Leave your phone number. If Greg fucks up and we break up, you could always come over and practice on me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I answered. And I left my phone number.