The announcement came over the public address system:

“We regret to inform you that flight 215 from Johannesburg to Istanbul has been canceled. Passengers with confirmed reservations will be booked on the flight leaving Johannesburg at the same time tomorrow.”

“Shit!” said Maggie to nobody in particular.

“Damn!” The speaker was a young U.S. Marine in uniform sitting beside her in the airport lounge. “I was ordered to arrive in Afghanistan today. I'll miss my flight from Istanbul. I hope I'm not in trouble.”

Maggie turned to him. “I'm sure they make allowances. Getting to Afghanistan is never easy.”

“You've been there, ma'am?” the Marine asked with a look of incredulity on his face. He was tall and handsome in his well-starched and wrinkle-free uniform. Maggie was dressed in her usual travel wear: blue jeans, a blue button-down collar man's shirt, tennis shoes without socks, and a colorful Cambodian scarf draped around her neck. Her light brown and graying hair was tied into a ponytail.

She looked at the young man sitting by her side, amused by his surprise that she, a woman who was obviously not a soldier, could have been in a country at war. She tweaked his interest with a little bravado. “Several times. It's not bad – if you don't hang out in crowds or restaurants or hotels – and don't go to the wrong places. I work for the UN Refugee program. My name is Maggie, not ma'am.” She held out her hand.

He shook her hand. “I'm Joe, ma'am..uh...Maggie.”

He was indeed handsome and his smile revealed perfect white teeth. She glanced at his collar. The single silver bar identified him as a second lieutenant. “A few months out of college,” she guessed. “Why are you in Jo-Burg? It's not on the way to Afghanistan.”

“I was on TDY to the Embassy here to command the guards. Nice job – but now I have to earn my pay. Tell me more about Afghanistan.”

“Okay,” she said. “But I'm starving. Let's talk over breakfast.” She pointed to a nearby restaurant.

He assented and the two of them walked toward the restaurant. “Why are you in Johannesburg?” he asked.

“Just passing through. I had some work to do in Zimbabwe.”

He shook his head, still incredulous. “Afghanistan to Zimbabwe. You get around, Maggie.”

While they were eating the idea popped into her head. She fought against it. “My God, he's young! He seems nice.”

When they finished eating and were sipping their cups of coffee, she said, “Well, it's been pleasant talking to you. I'm going to get a room in the airport hotel and wait out this delay.” She nodded toward a sign on the wall that said: “Intercontinental Hotel” and with an arrow pointing the way.

“That's too rich for me,” he said. “Isn't the airline supposed to give us a hotel room for the night? “

“Good luck with that. The employees ran to hide as soon as the cancellation was announced.”

“I guess I'll read a book and settle down in a chair.”

“What are you reading?” She liked men who read books.

“The Silk Road. Part of it's about Afghanistan--”

“I've read it.”

He looked at her with something of curiosity approaching adoration in his eyes. Maggie liked being adored. “Have you been to those places it talks about?”

“Yeah, some of them.”

“Jesus, lady. I'm impressed. And what are you reading?”

“A new book, called 1491. It's about--”

“I've read it.”

That made up her mind. “Look, the hotel rooms have two double beds. You can join me in a room if you wish, and we can read and sleep the day away. I'll pay.”

“That would be great!” He paused. “If you pay for the room, then I'll pay for breakfast. And maybe lunch and dinner.” He looked her over closely and joked. “You don't look like you eat a lot.”

Maggie smiled at the compliment. At age 43, she still had a slender body with just enough curves to be perceived as feminine. She liked that he wanted to pay his share – and read books. She allowed him to pay the breakfast bill and the two of them walked side by side to the hotel.

                                                                          ***

They settled down comfortably in her hotel room. He took his uniform off in the bathroom and came out dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt and hung his uniform up carefully in the closet. She went into the bathroom, peed, washed her face, loosed her hair from the ponytail and let it fall over her shoulders. After a moment of thought, she took off her shirt, loosed her bra, and put on a t-shirt. She frequently went bra-less. Her small breasts were firm and her nipples large and prominent. She had often enjoyed stoking the guessing game in men's minds, “Is she or isn't she?” But this time, the thin fabric of the t-shirt left no doubt. Looking in the mirror, she said to herself, “It's my hotel room – and I'm going to be comfortable.”

She came out of the bathroom wearing the t-shirt and jeans. As she settled onto the bed, pillows behind her head, her book opened, he said from the other bed, “I don't want to bother you, but I would like to know more about your experiences in Afghanistan.”

She turned her head to look at him. He was polite. “I can't believe what I'm thinking,” she said to herself. And then she acted, patting the side of her bed. “Sit here with me. I don't want to have to yell.”

He dutifully got up from his own bed and sat down on the edge of hers. She stretched and looked up at his face. “If he doesn't respond, I'll give up. To try to seduce him and fail would make me look ridiculous. He has to take the next step.”

He did. As she prattled on about life in Afghanistan, he bent over and kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you for inviting me to your room.”

She smiled up at him and her hand touched his waist. “You're welcome. It's a pleasure to have you here.”

“I don't want to offend you, or anything like that....”

“You're not offending me, Joe.”

“Could I nestle in beside you? I'm lonely. We could watch TV.”

“Maybe. Lie down beside me.” She moved over in the bed and he reclined. She half-turned toward him and put her hand on his chest.

“Could I kiss you?” he blurted out. He rose on one elbow and sought her face with his and planted a kiss that missed her lips and hit her in the nose.

“Ouch,” she said.

He pulled back, dropped onto his back, and covered his face with a hand. “I'm sorry. I don't know how to do this. I'm such a klutz. Forgive me.”

“Don't worry. I don't think my nose is broken,” she said with a smile and sat up.

“Should I go back to my own bed?”

She leaned over him and took his head in her hands and kissed him full on the lips. “No,” she said. ”You may stay. But work on your aim.”

“Let me try it again.” Their lips met and her breasts under the thin fabric of the t-shirt pressed hard against his chest.

When she had finished kissing him, she rolled over on her back, breathing hard. His right hand reached across and touched her breast over her heart. “Is that okay?”

“Are you always so polite?”

“I'm not quite sure how to proceed. You're a bit intimidating. So confident.” With his hand still on her breast, he rolled over half on top of her and she felt, for the first time, the length of him, hard, beneath the fabric of his blue jeans pressing against her leg. His hand slipped under her t-shirt and moved upward to feel gently one of her breasts, tweaking the nipple with his fingertips.

He pulled up the t-shirt to expose her breasts and kissed first one and then the other, and sucked hard just over her beating heart. “It'll be more comfortable if I take this off,” he said. She extended her arms to assist him in pulling the t-shirt over her head. “God, you're beautiful.” He smothered her breasts with kisses.

“This is going to be quick,” she thought, partly with amusement, partly with regret. His hands fumbled for the button on her blue jeans, found it and loosed it, and she raised her hips to help him slip the jeans off over her feet, and then her panties, and she was naked, and he looked at her, while she helped him off with his t-shirt and he, still clothed in blue jeans, laid on top of her and humped hard against her crotch.

“Let me help you take those off,” she hinted, feeling for the button on his blue jeans. She loosed it and began pulling the pants over his buttocks.

“Don't touch me, please. I'll explode and I don't want to. Yet.” He stood up and pulled the blue jeans and his boxer underpants off. His penis was rigid, straight, red, and long. He wasn't circumcised. She obeyed his injunction not to touch him, although his penis was tempting near her mouth.

“I can't wait,” he said.

“You'll need a condom,” she answered. She reached over the side of the bed to find her purse, fished in it to find a package of condoms, took one out, bit through the plastic cover, and extracted it. She left the others in the package on the bedside table. She unrolled the condom as she said, “In case you don't know it, women always carry these things because a man never has one when he needs it.”

“I wasn't expecting to need one today. I have some in my suitcase.”

"Be prepared. Isn't that a motto?” She slipped the condom carefully over his penis which quivered with her touch.

His finger slipped inside her. She was wet. He moved to lay on top of her. She spread her legs to accommodate him. He probed with his penis and penetrated her. She gasped as she felt the length of him and flexed the muscles of her vagina to grip him tightly. He stroked frantically for a few seconds and then with a moan of ecstasy loosed inside her, his hot breath against her ear, his hands squeezing her to him, his hairless chest pressed hard against her breasts.

He rolled off and laid beside her. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. I didn't want it to be over so quickly.”

“It's all right.” She draped a leg over him and kissed him on the cheek. “Now,” she thought, “the moment of truth.” With experience over the years, she knew that men behaved differently after sex than before. Some became indifferent; others felt guilty and told her about it; still others told her their troubles, seeking sympathy and understanding; a few, the good ones, laughed and joked, and held her lovingly and loved her as much before as after – and had sex with her again, as soon as they could. The first time was practice; the second time was sweet.

“Let me get rid of that.” She stripped the condom off his softened penis, carried it into the bathroom, and flushed it down the toilet.

“You've got a body like my girlfriend. My ex-girlfriend,” he said as she walked back to the bed. “Slender, small, firm boobs, straight hair, but hers is black. What's this?” he asked as she stood beside the bed. His finger ran down the skin on her abdomen.

“Stretch marks. Women who've had babies have them. You've never seen a woman's stretch marks?”

“No. You have children? Are you married? Do you mind personal questions?"

“We just fucked. That's personal,” she giggled. “I'm divorced, as of three years ago. Children, yes, two, both about your age,“ she said. “Oops, I shouldn't have said that,” she thought. “Maybe he thought I was younger.”

He showed no alarm. “What happened with the marriage?”

“I got bored with it ten years ago. I was discreet. I didn't hate my husband, but I began to fuck around, to drink, to have a career. I got a job and began to travel and found my way into international work. He eventually found somebody else and requested a divorce. I wasn't sorry to give it to him. What about your girlfriend?”

“I haven't seen her for months. I'm expecting to see an email from her saying goodbye.”

“You don't love her?”

“Sort of. I like the sex. So does she. Your husband?”

“I thought I loved him for a long time. And sex was my duty. I enjoyed it, but not as much as I wanted to. I needed more romance and adventure than he gave me.”

“Speaking of sex....” He took her hand in his and moved it to his penis which grew in her hand. I'll do better this time and I hope you enjoy it more.”

“I enjoyed it. I'm enjoying you. For me, it's the whole experience. I love to talk, to exchange confidences. To learn about you. And your girlfriend.”

They laughed together and hugged each other closely. “This time I want to make you come.”

“Take it kind of slow and I will. More than once.”

“Would you get on top? Would you like that? My girlfriend doesn't like it that way. She wants to feel conquered. I get the vibe that you're not that way.”

“No, I'm into sharing. I grew up in a male-dominated household and my husband was domineering. So, I like equality.”

“I want to see your tits bounce up and down while you're fucking me. And I want to see your face when you come. I'm very comfortable saying that to you. Is that because you're older?”

“Maybe. Although there are a lot of uptight women – and men – of all ages. But I'm relaxed about sex. It's an enjoyable way to spend an hour, or a day. If I ever marry again it won't be because the man is an artist in bed. It'll be because I like him, and his performance in the bedroom isn't that big a deal.”

Without another word, he picked up a condom, put it on, rolled her over on her back, mounted her, and guided his penis into her. “Does that feel good?”

“Oh, yes.” And it did – although he lacked a bit on technique, his enthusiasm was infectious. “I thought you wanted me on top?”

“Next time.”

“I'll like that.”

As promised he went slowly, running the length and thickness of himself deep within her and withdrawing – and with every stroke, she felt the tingle running up her spine. “Wow!” she whispered in his ear, “This is beginning to feel good.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he held her buttocks in his hands, seeking, and she breathed heavily into his ear, and sought his mouth and their tongues touched, and he buried his head in her hair, kissing the top of her head, his hands running up and down her sides, matching the strokes of his penis within her.

His hands moved to under her hips and raised her. She arched her back to take him deeper.

“Oh, God, I'm going to come! Are you ready?”

“I'm with you,” she answered. “Do it hard.” She locked her legs around him and clutched him to her, and felt the smooth skin of his chest brushing against her nipples, erect and hard as little marbles, and she tasted the salt of his sweat, and he groaned, once, twice, thrice, and she knew he was coming, and she let go, gyrating her body to feel him, as emotions rippled up and down her spine, and for a moment she was breathless, and it came out of her in a deep sigh, as she felt his hot breath in her ear.

She collapsed back on the bed, spreading her arms, and he lay atop her, breathing hard. She felt his penis soften within her.

“That's the best sex I've ever had,” he said.

“Liar. But I appreciate you saying it.”

“I'm not lying. I'm comfortable with you. It feels...well...normal.”

“It is normal. Tell me about your girlfriend.”

“I don't think she wants to be a military wife. She's too ambitious, and she doesn't come when I'm fucking her. She has to have her clit massaged or sucked.”

“Lots of women can't climax from vaginal sex.”

“Were you faking?”

She laughed. “I wasn't faking. I come like Old Faithful – every hour on the hour.” She meditated on that. “I think it may be because I was so inhibited as a young woman. When I was thirty-three, I had only fucked one man, my husband. Well, revise that. There was a boy in high school who sort of fucked me; I wasn't ever sure – and it scared me. I was religious and inhibited and sex was sinful.”

“What do you mean, sort of fucked you?”

“We did a lot of things, but never vaginal sex. One night, however, his dick suddenly found its way inside me. I panicked. I was worried about getting pregnant and certain that I would go to hell if I had sex before marriage. I made him take it out, but he climaxed. Maybe some of it was inside me. I don't know. I was scared. I ran away from him and never saw him again.”

She continued, “I promised God that if I didn't get pregnant, I would never have sex, or even fool around with another man who wasn't my husband. I kept that promise for a long time. I married a preacher two years later and became the perfect preacher's wife in a small Kansas town.”

“And then?” he asked.

“Years later, I realized that all my youthful dreams of adventure were seeping away. I sought ways to break away from my husband and experience more of life. One night, for the first time in my life, I got drunk and had sex with a guy – and it was both scary and exhilarating. And so I did it again, and again, and again. But I was discreet. I didn't want to humiliate my husband. And that's the story of my life.”

“How old are you now? I thought you were about thirty-five until you said you had children my age.”

“I'm forty-three. Much too old to have a ponytail. And you're?”

“Twenty-two.”

She digested that. “You are my youngest man. Ever. Except for that boy in high school.”

“I'm honored,” he said with a laugh. “And speaking of fucking?”

“I've barely caught my breath. You have a lot of....energy. Bang away. A hard man is good to find.” She laughed.

“I haven't had sex for four months. I have a lot of pent of desire.”

“Me too – and it's only been a month.”

“Who was the last guy?”

“A man in Thailand. I lived with him when I wasn't traveling. I sort of loved him, but he just liked me. We only fucked now and then. He had other women. I had other men – although he would have been the only one if he had returned my love.”

“That sounds sad. Unrequited love.”

“As they say, it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. In the long run, I'll only remember the good parts of the relationship. And it was good. Very good.”

“Will you see him again?”

“Probably. And I will fuck him till the day I die, if he will have me. And I think he will. But in the meantime, I'm enjoying my time with you. Do you want me on top this time?”

“Yes, I want to watch your face and see your boobs bounce and see you come. But, first, I'd like to taste you. Would you like that?”

“You are so fucking polite! Of course.”

He slid down to the end of the bed and off it and kneeled on the floor between her outstretched legs. With his hands beneath her hips, he pulled her crotch to her, and lowered his head, and kissed her clitoris and his tongue gently caressed it and then he found her vagina and inserted his tongue inside her. He looked up at her. “You're smiling,” he said.

“Who wouldn't? It feels good.”

“It's nice and it's sexy. I've only fucked two women and neither of them smiled while they were having sex. Do you want to come this way?”

“As you wish.”

“I still want you to come when you ride me.”

“I can do both.”

“God, I love fucking you.”

“Your girlfriend was one of your sex partners. Who was the other woman?”

“An old girlfriend from high school. She had a bad breakup and needed some love. So I gave it to her. Eventually, she found a new boyfriend. But I still fuck her now and then when we have the chance. You're the only person who I've ever told about that girl.”

“I'm good at keeping secrets.” She laughed, “Especially since I don't know your last name.”

“Tell me if I'm out of line, but I'm curious. I'd really like to try group sex. Have you done it? I'll keep your secret.”

“The answer is yes – and you don't know my last name either. Anonymous sex is nice, isn't it? Just fun.”

“Why don't you ride me while you tell me about it. I'm afraid you won't come again if I finish you with my mouth now. And I want to see your face when you come.” With that, he got to his feet, his penis hard, and lay down on his back on the bed.

She said up on top of him, reached for his penis with a hand, finding it rigid and inserting it into her as she leaned forward.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, “That feels good. Now, tell me about group sex.”

“Six years ago,” she began, “I took a vacation to a Greek island. I fell in with a group of two men and two women, plus me. One of the women was a lesbian but she fucked men also. We stayed in cabins on a secluded beach and we all went nude. I went three days without wearing any clothes – except an apron when I cooked. I was the new girl in the group and they all wanted me. It was a gigantic fuck fest.”

“The women also?” He lay passively as she slowly stroked over him, dipping her body to allow him to take a breast in his mouth.

“Yes, if “fucking” is what women do. I did oral with the two women and the men fucked me, sometimes all in one glorious big pile of bodies. ”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes, I loved the experience – but there's too much busyness when you're doing two or more people at once. I prefer one man at a time. I'm beginning to get hot. How about you?”

“I want to just lie here and watch you come. Can you do that?”

“I can do that.” She increased the speed of her stroking, putting her arms on his shoulders, rocking back and forth on his penis, leaning over to kiss him, her nipples tingling as they brushed against his chest. “I'm ready.” Her movements became frantic, bouncing up and down on him, her lips parted in ecstasy, leaning forward to experience the whole of him, feeling the friction against her clitoris, and she climaxed with a cascade of shakes and shivers and a long moan escaped from her lips.

“That was fantastic to see,” he said.

She collapsed, lying on top of him. When she could speak, she said, “The climax is more intense when I'm controlling the action. But I don't get the feeling of intimacy I feel when the man is on top doing the work. Both ways are nice.”

“Are all older women like you?”

Maggie didn't like the word “older,” but she responded cheerfully. “I guess that about one-half of us “older” women don't like sex much, and the other half loves sex. Of that one-half, most of us have had a few extra-marital experiences – or if not married are easy to get into bed. Me, for example.” She laughed. “I've lost all the inhibitions I had when I was younger.”

He mused. “I can't tell you how happy you have made me. This will be a day to remember. Can I tell all my buddies about you during those long, lonely nights in Afghanistan?”

“I'd be flattered. But in the story make me beautiful and with big tits.”

“I like you the way you are.”

“You're very sweet. I need to take a shower and then let's think about lunch.”

“Can I fuck you again after lunch?”

“I rather imagine that you can.”

He did.