Paul pounded Alisha as hard as he could, her screaming, “Fuck me! Fuck me!” urging him to thrust even harder, knowing he wouldn’t last long, feeling her tightness gripping his piston-like thrusts as he drove into her faster, deeper, each thrust harder than the last, knowing he was on the verge of exploding when he felt her body tensing, trembling, then convulsing, her voice screaming, her wetness pouring out of her, forcing him to thrust even harder before he too, erupted in a huge overwhelming orgasm.

“Oh! Oh! Oh, Ahhhhhhh!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, writhing in ecstasy before collapsing on her, gasping for air, his panting, limp body laying heavily on her soft, warm body, her breasts crushed against his chest, their wetness between them, the aroma filling the room.

After a few minutes, he slid off of her and rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling, still panting. Alicia turned on her side to face him, draping her leg over Paul’s limp penis, and rubbed his chest, playing with the curly gray hair, smiling into his eyes, “Well, I think we’re going to be good neighbors,” she said.

Still astonished at what had just happened, he smiled at her, “I think I’m going to like being your neighbor.”

“You better be careful, mister, I’m insatiable.”

“Is that so? Well, maybe you’ve met your match.”

“Oh yeah,” Alicia said. “I like challenges.”

“Yeah, well watch yourself, young lady. I might be more than you can handle.”

Paul could not believe how he was speaking to her, how she was looking into his eyes. This was so unlike him, but looking at her tan smooth skin, her leg over him, her breasts pressed against his body, aware that he was now in bed with a sexy, young woman who had just seduced him, and here he was bragging in a strangely macho way.

“Is this me,” he asked himself while she leaned over and kissed him.

“I’ve got to keep you for myself and not let those cougars around the pool know about you,” she said.

“Really,” Paul said, remembering the woman who lifted her sunglasses when he left the pool. “Well, good luck. I’m not a one woman man,” he said, again feeling he was speaking like someone else.

“Well, I’ll see what I can do to keep you busy,” she said. “I have my ways.”

Glancing over at the digital clock and seeing it was after one he thought about the Gilded Cage and the dark haired woman he saw yesterday. He took a deep breath, looked up at Alicia smiling into his eyes, not sure what to say in order to leave without hurting her, or, more accurately, not burn any bridges behind him, he carefully squirmed away from her.

“Well, I have an appointment downtown, so I have to get going, but don’t be surprised if I want to come over and borrow some sugar from you,” he said, surprised at the teasing playful way he was speaking.

When he got out of bed and picked up his bathing suit from the floor, she leaned on her elbow watching him putting it on, “Aw, do you really have to go,” she said, pouting, and tilting her head to the side.

“I do,” he said, flipping his towel over his shoulder. “Thank you for the sun lotion. Maybe I’ll see you at the pool tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you come back here tonight. I’ll make you a nice dinner.”

“Hmmm, that sounds like a tempting invitation,” he said, standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

“Come at six,” she said, looking into his eyes, biting her lower lip. “We’ll have a good time.”

“Six it is.” His eyes roved over her smooth naked body before leaving. When he walked down the hall to his apartment, he wondered if he would see the sexy woman in black yoga pants at The Gilded Cage.

Once in his apartment, Paul poured himself a big glass of water and leaned against his kitchen counter, still in a daze about what had just happened to him in the last hour and wondered if his life was turning a corner. He felt energized and confident, remembering how Alicia screamed at his powerful thrusts, surprised at his vitality, and when he walked into the bathroom to pee, his legs no longer felt stiff. He looked in the mirror and though he still had his white beard and hair, his skin looked smooth and radiant, and he saw the ruddy complexion he remembered when he was in his forties. He turned his face from side to side, admiring how he looked, comparing how he looked just a few days ago.

“Think I’ll take a shower then go to The Gilded Cage for a bite to eat and a glass of wine,” he said, turning on the water, slipping out of his bathing trunks, then got in under the warm, cascading water. He shampooed his hair, letting the hot water steam up the shower stall, enjoying the sensation of the water on his body. While soaping himself, he felt the urge to masturbate rising, surprised that he could get an erection again so soon after his recent wild episode with Alicia, but found himself imagining she was with him in the shower, bent over, pressing her hands against the tiles, wiggling her ass, offering herself to him and with his soapy fist jerked off vigorously, shooting his white semen into the air, his orgasm ripping through him, his heavy breathing from the wonderful release thrilling him and thinking how he wanted to take a shower with her and make his fantasy real.

When he got out of the shower, trying to see himself in the foggy mirror, he wiped his hand over the glass and saw, slightly blurred, his wet hair looked gray, his beard more salt and pepper, his face glowing from the hot water. The difference was subtle, not so dramatic as to make him look like a different person, but clearly he didn’t look like the world weary poet and English professor of a week ago. Rather, he looked like he had just returned from a vacation, well rested and robust.

“Interesting,” Paul muttered, looking at the slightly darker hair on his chest, his stomach flatter. “I wonder if Luke’s potion is actually doing something,” he thought, drying his back and legs, not feeling quite as stiff, but then, dismissed that notion as irrational. “It’s me, I’m just feeling better because of the new poems I wrote and it's summer and I’m not teaching and maybe there’s no rational explanation.”

Walking into his bedroom, he slipped on a pair of boxer shorts, then another pair of jeans, a pale yellow sport shirt, leaving the top buttons undone, revealing a little of the hair on his chest, then, instead of the white sneakers, he put on a pair of Birkenstock sandals he hadn’t worn in years, picked up his New Yorker and drove to The Gilded Cage, feeling like he did when, in his forties, he was invited to be writer in residence for the spring semester at Berkeley. Evelyn and the kids stayed home but visited him a few times and he returned for Jonah’s birthday during a break, but the atmosphere in the San Francisco area seemed freer, more liberated, more laid back than New England, and though he went to a few parties, had some dinner and theater dates with women, had several tempting opportunities for sex after the readings, he remained faithful to Evelyn.

He remembered Jane, a smart, sexy, graduate student, who came on strong, letting him know she wanted him, and how his resistance frustrated and confused her. He parked and sat in his car reminiscing, remembering the night in her candle lit apartment, after several glasses of wine, how she tried seducing him, how they kissed and held each other, tearing at each others clothes, then for some reason, he suddenly shoved her away.

“What’s wrong with you?” she yelled.

Now, sitting in his car, he closed his eyes at how stupidly foolish he was to walk away from such an amazing, sexy woman in the name of fidelity. Why wasn’t he like Lord Byron, or Dylan Thomas or other poets he knew, who threw morality to the wind? Now, however, with the youthful way he was feeling and looking, he sensed he was getting a second chance and was determined not to waste it.

When he walked into The Gilded Cage, taking the same table as the day before, he noticed the young woman he was attracted to sitting in the corner. At first, she didn’t notice him standing at the counter, but when Wendy looked up at him, her eyes widened, “Wow, Dr. Cantor, what happened to you? You look great.”

“Nothing happened to me,” Paul said, delighted at her reaction. “I just got a little sun today and I’m eating better, maybe that’s it.”

“Anyway, what can I get you?” she asked, looking at him with what seemed like adoring eyes. Why is she looking at me like that?

“I think I’ll have another glass of wine, do you have chardonnay?” he asked, surprised at her reaction.

“Yes, I’ll bring it over to you,” she said, looking into his eyes, smiling, cocking her head to the side, flirting with him.

Before taking his seat, he glanced over at the woman reading her book just as she looked up and their eyes met. She glanced back at her book, then back at Paul, her eyes lingering. Suddenly, he decided to be bold and went over to her table. “May I join you?”

She looked up at him, startled at first, and then smiled, “Sure, yeah, it’s cool, why not?”

“I saw you here yesterday and wondered what you were reading,” Paul said, somewhat surprised at how she spoke, but noticed the low cut pink tank top revealing quite a bit of cleavage.

“It’s kind of trashy,” she said, lifting the book to show him the cover with a dark haired woman with one breast exposed being kissed by a bare chested man with long blond hair.

“Dangerous Love,” he read, surprised, yet somewhat disappointed she was not reading something more substantial.

“Looks enticing.”

“Yeah, it’s not great literature, but I like romance books,” she said, putting it down on the table. “It’s pretty erotic,” she whispered, leaning forward, drawing his eyes to her breasts. “By the way, my name is Mindy, what’s yours?”

“I’m Paul,” he said, reaching over to shake her hand. “Glad to meet you Mindy, I noticed you here yesterday.”

“I noticed you too. I thought you looked distinguished.”

Just then, Wendy brought his wine to him, “Enjoy it, Dr. Cantor,” she said, “I’ll bring your magazine over from the other table if you’re going to be sitting here,” she added, glancing at Mindy.

“Dr. Cantor, she called you. Are you a doctor?”

“Well, I’m a professor at the university,” he answered. “Not that kind of doctor, not a medical doctor.”

“Oh, I work for a doctor, a dentist. I’m an oral hygienist,” she said.

“Oh, so you look down in the mouth,” he said, joking.

“Of course,” she said, not getting his joke. “How else would I clean someone’s teeth if I didn’t look down at their mouth?”

“Strike one,” Paul muttered to himself, aware his joke went by her, then remembered another joke, a clever pun he once heard about dentists. “So do you think tooth is stronger than friction,” he said, certain it would make her groan, but she just looked at him.

“What do you mean?” she said. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Strike two,” Paul said to himself, realizing his humor was going over her head. He glanced at the cover of her book, knowing they would not be talking about literature and disappointed by her response to his jokes, and began wondering if his physical attraction for this sexy young woman was dominating his reason. Would he regret seducing her, taking her to his apartment or the Super 8 Motel if he played his cards right?

“So, Mindy, do you come here much?” Paul asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“Nah!” she said. “Just started coming here a few weeks after work. “I just broke up with my boyfriend about a month ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Paul said.

“Don’t be,” she said. “The jerk didn’t deserve me. Anyway, that’s why I started coming here instead of to his apartment after work.”

“I haven’t been here in over a year,” Paul said.

“Yeah, yesterday was the first time I saw you. I thought you looked interesting. I’ve always been attracted to older men, not sure why,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee, looking into Paul’s eyes over the rim. “Maybe I have a daddy thing.”

“Well, I’m flattered that you thought I looked interesting. I thought you looked interesting too,” Paul said, looking into her eyes. “In fact, I came here today hoping I would see you.”

“Oh, really,” she said, putting her mug down, smiling at him. “Really, you did?”

“Yes, and, if you want to know the truth,” Paul said, pausing to take a sip of wine, glancing at her breasts, then back into her eyes, “I thought you looked very sexy,” Paul added, emboldened by the way she looked into his eyes and his recent conquest of Alicia.

“Well, thank you, kind sir,” Mindy said.

“So are you lonely without your boyfriend,” Paul asked.

“Not lonely, exactly, but I started coming here ‘cause I thought maybe I’d meet someone more interesting. He didn’t appreciate me. He wanted one thing, if you know what I mean, and I wanted him to treat me special, like I deserve.”

“What do you mean you’re not lonely, exactly?” Paul asked, sensing what she meant, but wanted to hear what she would say. “What’s missing?”

“You know what’s missing,” she said, leaning forward, smiling, looking into his eyes and revealing more cleavage.

“I think I do,” Paul said, trying not to look at her barely contained breasts, but knew he was caught and their eyes met.

“If you want to know the truth, I have my needs,” she said. “So are you attached?”

“No, I’m not attached.”

“I’m surprised,” she said, “A good looking, distinguished man, like you.”

“Thank you, Mindy,” Paul said. “I’m not attached, but I have my needs, too.”

“Sounds like we both have needs,” Mindy said, then picked up the book and looked at the cover and again showed it to Paul. “This cover gets me so hot.”

Paul glanced at the cover of the two lovers kissing passionately, the man’s hand on the bare breast.

“Why does the cover get you hot?” Paul asked, looking at the cover, then into Mindy’s eyes, waiting for an answer.

“Sometimes I have a need to be ravished like that,” she said.

“Interesting.” Paul was getting hard from the conversation. “So you have a need to be ravished?” Paul asked, leaning forward, smiling.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this. You might get the wrong idea about me.”

“What do you mean the wrong idea about you?”

“You might think I’m a slut,” she answered. “I’m not, you have to know, I’m really a good girl, but my boyfriend just didn’t appreciate me. He treated me like shit, just wanted to get into my pants, if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean. You didn’t want to be taken advantage of. You wanted to be appreciated, treated special.”

“Yeah, exactly,” she said, looking at the cover of the book, “Even though I sometimes want to be ravished, I want a man who thinks I’m special, you know, doesn’t treat me like a slut, you know, makes me feel special.”

“I understand,” Paul said, feeling his hardness straining against his jeans, suddenly feeling like he wanted to ravish her.

“I feel funny telling you this, Paul, but yesterday when I saw you I thought, now that’s a distinguished looking man, I bet he would appreciate me. Make me feel special. You just had that look about you.”

“Thank you, I told you I came back here today hoping I would see you. I was attracted to you, but I have to admit this conversation is turning me on.”

“Me, too,” Mindy said.

Encouraged by Mindy’s words, thinking about the word slut and feeling emboldened, Paul finished his wine, leaned forward and said something he never thought he’d have the nerve to say. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yes, let’s,” she said, picking up her book, throwing it in her canvas bag and started walking to the door.

Paul picked up his New Yorker, holding it in front of his bulge, seeing, as she walked in front of him, her tight faded jeans straining her round ass, her hips swaying. “Damn, I want to fuck her,” he gasped, suddenly realizing that she was young enough to be his daughter, if he had one, but shoved that thought from his mind.

As he followed her, Paul noticed Wendy looking at the two of them leaving, her mouth opened in startled surprise, but then he noticed a look of concern, as if disturbed and wondered what she was thinking. Still, when their eyes met, he got a sense that she was also attracted to him and that without much effort he could get her in his bed. “I can’t believe this is happening, he thought, looking at Wendy and then at Mindy, as she turned around to see if he was following and biting her lower lip and swaying her hips.

As soon as they got into Paul’s car, Mindy leaned over and started kissing him, her hand immediately going to his crotch, rubbing his bulge while his hand went between her legs, cupping her mound through her tight jeans, their tongues swirling madly.

Feeling his lust growing, he pulled his mouth from hers, gasping and reluctantly took her hand away. “Let’s go. My place is five minutes away,” he said, not believing this was actually happening.

“Hurry,” she said, moving away so he could drive.

Pulling out, driving around the block, then towards his apartment, weaving around cars, he looked over at her, their hungry eyes meeting; her long, dark hair looking wild; her breasts stretching the tank top. “I don’t believe what’s happening to me,” he thought, looking at Mindy, remembering how she said she wanted to be ravished, and now he was going to be the man giving her what she wanted.

“Almost there,” Paul said, glancing at her, noticing the nipples poking at her tight tank top, thinking how hot she looked, how erotic this whole scene was, astonished how his life was changing, how miraculous it seemed being with Alicia earlier, now Mindy and lurking in the back of his mind, Wendy’s slender, sexy body came to his mind, as well as the cougars around the pool.

Parking in his reserved spot, both hopped out of the car. Though Paul was tempted to push her against the car door and take her right there in the parking lot, instead he nodded with his head. “Follow me,” he said and they rushed to the entrance, opening the door, letting Mindy follow him up the steps to the second floor, then down the hall to his apartment. He quickly glanced at Apartment 5, hoping Alicia would not suddenly step into the hall. He then opened his door, letting Mindy in and immediately slammed her against the closed door, lifting her hands above her head, their mouths kissing fiercely, her legs apart, his body slamming into her, grinding, humping her, their lust out of control.

Suddenly, she bucked him away, squirmed from his arms, turned him around and pushed him against the door, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, then getting down on her knees, looking up into his hungry eyes, took his hardness in her mouth, then started licking and sucking the head of his throbbing cock before moving her hot, wet mouth up and down faster and faster, devouring him, his hand gripping and pulling her hair, while his thrusts filled her mouth.

Feeling he was on the verge of exploding, he pulled her mouth away, lifted her, grabbed her arms, pulling her roughly to his recliner and pushed her down on it. “Take off those jeans,” he yelled while pulling his off. She lifted her ass and started squirming out of her tight jeans. Paul leaned over her and helped peeling them from her legs, then, grabbing her soaked panties, sliding them down, her eyes fixed on his hard cock sticking straight out.

Looking down at her laying back on his recliner, Paul grabbed Mindy’s legs and put them over the arms of his chair, spreading her legs wide apart, completely open to him. On his knees he dove into her, wanting to ravish her with his mouth and tongue, drive her crazy before ravishing her with the pounding of her life.

With her wide open legs hanging over the arms of the chair, Paul’s mouth devoured her with loud hungry growling sounds coming from his throat as he savagely thrust his slurping tongue into her, practically swallowing her flooding pussy.

“Oh my god,” she screamed lifting her ass off the chair, reaching for his head, grabbing his hair, pulling him hard against her pussy, then suddenly convulsing in huge spasms, “Ohhhhfuck! I’m cummming! Oh, fuckkkk! Eat me! Eat me! Don’t stop, Ohhhhh my God....yesssss!”

Her convulsions and loud screaming made it impossible for Paul not to pounce on her and thrust his swollen hard cock into her, wanting to take her and fuck her into oblivion. He was crazed and more energized than ever, somehow feeling powerful and strong, not knowing where his strength came from, his adrenaline soaring through him, causing him to thrust harder and faster and deeper, filling her with his driving, savage cock.

“Fuck me! Fuck me you little slut!” he shouted, surprised to hear those words, feeling he was someone else, using words he never heard come from his mouth. He was out of his mind with wild, primal lust.

“Oh fuck, don’t stop! Don’t stop!” she screamed, lifting her legs over his shoulder, her ass rising from the chair while he pounded her harder and harder, driving her back. “Make me your slut!” she yelled. “Make me your fucking slut!”

No woman had ever shouted those words at him before. This was his chance to live every fantasy he’d ever had, to release every carnal desire he had suppressed after all of those years lusting after sexy women. Now, he wanted to take full advantage of the opportunities coming into his life. Now, all he wanted was to fuck Mindy’s brains out and have the orgasm of a lifetime, and now, he felt his body tensing, trembling, his cock swelling, his need to explode reaching that place of no return, and then it hit, the ultimate explosion sweeping over him, ripping through him, rising like a volcano erupting in an overwhelming orgasm, shooting his cum like it was hot lava into her oozing, juicy pussy, both of them writhing and screaming before he collapsed on her body, unable to budge, panting, gasping and feeling the spasms of her pussy squeezing his cock, milking every last drop, as he lay still, wallowing in the afterglow.

When he came back to earth, feeling the wetness between them, still panting, dazed with the reality that under him lay a sexy young woman he had ravished, he suddenly remembered Alicia in Apartment 5 inviting him for dinner, realizing that in one day he had more sex than he has had in years.

“Well, here we are,” Paul said, panting, lifting his head from her shoulder and looking into her eyes.

“Yeah, wow, I’ve never been fucked like that,” she said.

“That was pretty hot,” Paul said, looking down at her flushed face, her disheveled, dark hair.

“Now what?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Paul said. “This took me by surprise.”

“Me too, you surprised me,” she said. “You looked so distinguished, but man, you know how to fuck a girl. You have more energy than any guy I’ve been with. You’re amazing. I’m not going to let you get away.”

While hearing Mindy’s flattering words, Paul glanced over at the digital clock glowing in his dimly lit living room, seeing it was already after four and he and Mindy had been ravishing each other for over an hour. He remembered Alicia, wondering if he should ask Mindy to leave, saying he had an appointment, or should he just keep Mindy in his place, have some dinner with her, listen to music, have a stimulating conversation, spend a lust filled night in his bed, then she could leave in the morning after fucking each other silly and later, he’d apologize to Alicia.

And that’s what he decided to do, but after putting on his jeans, he put on his favorite Oscar Peterson CD and asked Mindy if she liked jazz and sighed when she said, it was okay, she didn’t get jazz, but she liked a band called, “Hot Potatoes.”

“Never heard of them,” Paul said, listening to the intricate piano playing of Oscar Peterson.

“They’re pretty loud,” Mindy said. “You probably wouldn’t like them.”

Though he enjoyed having mind blowing sex with Mindy, he felt the words, “Strike three” lurking, but pushed it aside for the moment, still hopeful there was more to her than a hot, sexy young woman. “How about having a bite to eat with me,” he said. “I have some soup I can heat up.”

“Yeah, that sounds cool. I’m hungry now,” she said, laying back in the recliner, wearing only her tight tank top with one breast hanging out.

Paul, wearing only his jeans and no shirt, went into the kitchen to heat up the potato leek soup, listening to the Oscar Peterson trio playing, How High the Moon. While, stirring the soup, then getting two bowls down from the cabinet, he thought about Mindy, hoping to learn more about her, find out her interests, probe her mind, now that he had probed her body, hoping to have a stimulating conversation.

“Well let’s have some soup,” he said, bringing the bowls to the table.

She sat down across from him at the kitchen table. “This is a treat. A man who can cook and sweep a girl off her feet,” she said.

Paul chuckled, looking at her, aware of how strange it was to have a sexy young woman in his apartment, sitting in his kitchen, wearing a tight tank top and nothing else.

“So you’re an Oral Hygienist?” Paul asked, trying to think of what they could talk about.

“Yeah for now,” she said. “It’s okay. I like it, I guess.”

“What would you really like to do?” Paul asked. “Is there anything you’re interested in, passionate about?”

“Not really,’ Mindy said. “I like hanging out with my friends, going to clubs on the weekend, you know, dancing, meeting guys. Sometimes, I think it would be cool to be a model.”

Paul sipped his soup, looking at Mindy sitting across from him, thinking about what she was saying about her interests, thinking she was pretty and sexy, but realizing she was empty headed.

“Is that it?” Paul asked.

“Well, I like sex…but you know that already,” she said, sipping her soup.

“I know,” Paul said, looking at her tits practically falling out of the tank top, then suddenly feeling his erection growing, surprised that could happen so soon after such intense sex, but also wishing they could talk about something more substantial. Looking at her, he strained to think of something stimulating they could talk about, but Mindy surprised him by putting her bare foot between his legs, pressing it against the growing erection. He looked at her, sitting with nothing on but her tight tank.

“This is so hot,” she gasped, closing her eyes,then opened her smoldering eyes, looking at Paul, then started moving her foot up and down his throbbing cock, bulging in his jeans.

Suddenly, he got up from his chair, quickly moved the bowls to the counter, then roughly lifted her from the chair and pushed her face down on his kitchen table, spreading her legs, looking at her round luscious ass, her wetness dripping down her thighs. He unzipped his jeans, letting his jeans fall to his ankles, took his hard cock and without hesitation rammed it into Mindy’s hot pussy, the sound of her screaming exciting him, her hands gripping the kitchen table.

Paul leaned over her back, thrusting as hard as he could, “Take it, you little slut!” he yelled, pounding her, his body slamming against her ass, pushing the table forward with each thrust. He felt her pussy gripping him, her body tensing, trembling.

“Harder! Harder! Don’t stop!” she screamed. “Give it to me!”

Her shouting and his relentless thrusting brought him to the verge of orgasm and suddenly a bolt of energy shot through him giving him more strength and power than he’d ever known. Amazed at his stamina, he kept thrusting harder and harder.

“Oh my god, Oh my god!” she screamed, convulsing in a huge orgasm, her intense spasms gripping and squeezing his cock as she erupted, her cum pouring out of her, unable to move, while Paul kept pounding her juicy pussy harder and faster, his cock swelling, his orgasm rising with each hard thrust until he gave his final thrust after exploding in a mind blowing orgasm, then pulling out, sprayed his cum all over her ass, her back and into her hair before collapsing on her panting body, unable to budge, feeling dizzy but exhilarated by the lusty wildness he was experiencing.

“Wow, you’re pretty hot for an older guy,” Mindy said, once he let her up. “I’ve never been fucked so hard.”

Still gasping for air, Paul sat back on the kitchen chair, his limp, deflated cock dangling between his legs, and looked at Mindy now sitting across from him, her long, dark hair a mess, their mingled juices on her thighs, realizing he enjoyed their wild afternoon, but also realized he didn’t know what to say to her now that they had fucked like wild animals.

“Maybe it’s time for you to go,” he said.

“Oh, are you kicking me out? I was hoping to spend the night in your bed.”

“Maybe some other time. I told you I had an appointment tonight. Don’t take it personally,” Paul said, seeing she was pouting.

“Let me stay here and I will be here after your appointment,” she said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Paul said, realizing Alicia probably had plans for them after dinner. “Maybe we can get together tomorrow. Would you like that?”

“Yeah, I guess, if I can’t stay here we can meet up tomorrow,” she said. “That’s okay I guess,” she added, still seeming disappointed, still pouting.

Just then, his phone rang and he lifted his finger to Mindy, indicating he’d be a minute. He pulled up his jeans, not zipping them, then picked up the phone and heard Alicia asking if he was coming for dinner.

“Yes,” Paul answered, glancing at the clock. He turned his back to Mindy and walked into the kitchen. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I’m running behind here,” he said, feeling a little self-conscious standing in his kitchen with no shirt, his jeans unzipped and his deflated cock dangling.

When he hung up, Mindy was shimmying into her jeans, putting on her sneakers, looking at Paul. “Too bad you have an appointment,” she said as he walked her to the door, feeling anxious for her to leave so he could get ready to go down the hall to Apartment 5. She stood close to him, putting her hand on his chest, looking into his eyes, “We’re going to have fun together, mister,” she said, then kissed him.

“Yes, we are,” Paul answered, with his hand on the doorknob. “I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow and continuing where we left off,” he said, knowing he wasn’t being honest.

When she left, Paul looked over at the reclining chair where he had ravished Mindy, still finding it hard to believe what was happening to him, and now he had to gather his wits and get ready to have dinner and what might follow with Alicia, wondering if he could keep going like this.

After a fast shower, remembering his shower fantasy from earlier in the day, he dressed in a pair of tan khaki pants, a green and white striped golf shirt, open at the collar, a hint of his chest hair showing, and went to Alicia’s, noticing the room was dimly lit, candles flickering on the table, two plates on the table and soft music playing. Clearly, Alicia was creating the setting for a romantic evening.

“My, my, don’t you look handsome in that shirt,” she said.

“Thank you,” Paul responded, looking at Alicia dressed in a short floral sundress, cut low, revealing a hint of cleavage and a good portion of her tan legs, her long auburn hair flowing over her shoulders. She came to him holding two glasses of wine, kissed him on the cheek, handing him his glass.

“I’m glad you could come and I promise you we will have an enjoyable evening,” she said, clicking his glass with hers, looking into his eyes, letting Paul know she wanted him and she was going all out to make this a memorable night.

And she did. After having a delicious fillet of salmon with a tangy topping and a simple but elegant salad with cherry tomatoes and marinated artichokes, she topped it off with a dense chocolate torte she brought at the gourmet bakery downtown and served him espresso in small white cups she said were imported from Italy.

After moving to her sofa, it wasn’t long before she pulled him on top of her, kissing him madly, their tongues swirling, their bodies grinding and humping before she pulled him into her bedroom, both ripping off their clothes before falling to the bed, she rolling on top, he bucking her off onto her back and they fucked in every imaginable position before falling asleep, then waking up with his cock in her hot mouth and another mind-blowing orgasm.

After delicious coffee and a toasted croissant with orange marmalade, Paul returned to his apartment, seeing the remnants of his dinner with Mindy on the counter, the salt and pepper shakers and napkins on the floor next to the kitchen table where he remembered taking Mindy like a madman.

“I can’t believe what’s happening to me,” Paul said, shaking his head in awe at the mystery that had entered his life, how he felt, looked and, most baffling, how women were looking at him, desiring him and giving themselves to him. He put the Oscar Peterson CD away, picked up a CD of Brahms Intermezzos and put that on while he went back to the kitchen to wash out the soup bowls, wipe the counters, straighten the kitchen chairs, thinking about Mindy’s taste in music, shaking his head at the name of the band she mentioned, “The Hot Potatoes,” wondering if he wanted another hot afternoon with her, or whether he should call, “Strike three.”

Alicia was a little different and he remembered all the positions they tried during the night, dozing off, then waking up, rolling around the bed, how she shouted, “Fuck me, stud!” when he got up on his knees behind her and she wiggled her ass and he rammed his cock into her dripping pussy as hard as he could with both of them screaming and climaxing at the same time.

“No one ever called me stud before,” he thought, “but I never gave women the chance.” But then he remembered his few lapses while on reading tours, just before separating from Evelyn. He sighed, remembering Evelyn, how their sex life had died, but remembered they still had great conversations and what a great mother she was to their two sons. She made him laugh with her quirky sense of humor, but then he remembered the sudden flare ups where they argued and called each other horrible names, how days would go by when they didn’t talk, how sullen and distant they became, but then they would start talking again, having great conversations about a book she was reading, how she was studying herbal remedies, and how she responded when he read her some of his new poetry, how she nodded, smiled, and made astute observations about a line.

“Too bad about us,” he muttered, shaking his head, shoving his memories of Evelyn away and returned to the present. “That chapter is done,” he said, walking to the window and looked down at the pool, noticing three women in bikinis on the lounge chairs, talking to each other.

He thought about going down and really work on his tan, but decided not to. In his bedroom, looking at himself in the mirror over his bureau, seeing his face had more color than it has had in years, his eyes seemed bluer, his chest not as pale, noticing he looked slimmer. You’re looking pretty good for an old guy. What’s happening to me? I wonder if that potion had anything to do with this,” he thought, then remembered the bargain he had made with Luke when he agreed to drink it, again dismissing the notion of his soul and spirit belonging to Luke. Still, he was baffled by how many women suddenly wanted him and closed his eyes, pondering what Luke meant when they shook hands and he said, “I will own you.”

At The Gilded Cage that afternoon, he was disappointed to learn that Wendy was off when he asked, but then Catherine, the freckled faced girl behind the counter, said, “She’ll be coming in to pick up her check in a little while. It’s payday.”

Paul nodded, “Oh, I see,” he said and then ordered a chardonnay, surprised how glad he felt that she would be coming in and wondered if she would join him for a coffee or glass of wine.

Just as he finished his glass of wine, thinking how much he liked indulging in an afternoon wine, he closed his New Yorker and saw Wendy coming into the café wearing a short denim skirt and T- shirt, a small red backpack hanging from her shoulders. When she saw Paul, she came to his table and sat down across from him.

“Oh hi, Dr. Cantor, hope you don’t mind if I join you?” she asked, having already sat down and placed her backpack on the floor.

“No, of course not and please call me Paul,” he said, and added, “So this is your day off.”

“Yes, this is my day to paint all day,” she said.

“Oh, are you an artist?” Paul asked.

“I am, or I’m trying to be,” she said. “I paint every day when I get off work. I was just painting but had to get my check.”

“If you’re painting everyday, you’re an artist, not trying to be one.”

“Okay, I’m an artist,” she said and laughed. “I like how you said that,” she added, leaning back in her chair, looking at Paul, smiling, their eyes meeting.

“I’ve always loved to draw and paint, ever since I was a kid.”

“What kind of paintings do you do? Is it realism or abstract? What style do you work in?” Paul asked, feeling her passion for art, sensing her seriousness, something he remembered when she took his creative writing class.

“I’m all over the place--abstract, realistic, sometimes I combine collages in a painting, sometimes photographs are worked in. I’m pretty free, experimental--kind of wild, do you know what I mean? ”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Paul responded, nodding, struck by her description, wondering if she was as wild in bed as her art work. “Can I treat you to something,” he asked, “a coffee, a wine, anything?”

“No, thanks, I just came into get my check, but I’m glad I saw you. I remember when I had you for that creative writing class, how excited you were about writing, but you didn’t look like you do now. Something is different.”

“Really, what do you mean? How did I look then? What are you saying?”

“You seemed distant. You looked distracted, like you were someplace else, like you weren’t being you,” Wendy said, staring at him. “Now you seem different. When I saw you the other day, remember, I said, “Wow, you look great!”

“Yes, I remember. I was surprised,” Paul said, fascinated by what Wendy was saying, knowing what she said was true and struck by how perceptive she was, how honest and spontaneous, something he wasn’t.

“Listen, Paul, I have an idea,” she said, pausing, hesitating. “How about coming to my studio and I’ll show you my paintings, how about it? I’d love to see what you think.”

“I’d like that,” Paul said, surprised but delighted by her idea, wondering if she was seducing him, but at the same time, he felt she genuinely wanted to share her art with him. He liked her seriousness and passion.

“Cool, I really want you to see my work, especially a new painting I’m working on. I’ll be right back,” she said, jumping up. “I’ll get my check and we can go. My studio’s not too far, we can walk.”

While waiting, he thumbed through the New Yorker, glancing at a few cartoons, chuckling at the humor and remembered the cartoon he had tacked up in the English Department office a few years ago because of the whole publish or perish pressure that dominated academia. In the cartoon, Jesus is being taken down from the cross after being crucified and the caption read, “He was a great teacher, too bad he didn’t publish.”

A few minutes later, Wendy returned, “Okay, Paul, let’s go,” she said and walked next to him to the entrance when Mindy walked in and saw them, her eyes glancing at Wendy, then at Paul.

“Oh no,” Paul thought when he saw her surprised face, then angry eyes.

“I was just coming to see if you were here,” Mindy said. “But now I see you’re a bastard like all the other guys I know.”

Before Paul could say anything, she looked Wendy up, and down and then sped past them to a table.

“Wow, what was that about?” Wendy asked. “That’s the girl you left with yesterday, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. We had a little fling,” Paul confessed, then wished he hadn’t said anything.

“Oh, I see, well I guess it’s none of my business,” Wendy said. “I didn’t know you were such a Casanova. Maybe I better watch myself.”

“Don’t worry,” Paul said. “I just want to see your art.”

“Cool,” Wendy said, “I really want to know what you think.”

As they walked out, Paul turned and saw Mindy sitting at the table where they sat yesterday, suddenly feeling how complicated his life was becoming, remembering the lust filled afternoon they had yesterday, his evening with Alicia, and now here he was walking to Wendy’s studio.

Once in Wendy’s third floor studio which was also her apartment, he saw canvases on all the walls, many leaning against the wall, an easel in the center of the room, splatters of paint on the floor and could see she was productive. He noticed how the late afternoon light came in the window, casting a warm glow on everything.

“You sure seem productive,” Paul said. “You have a lot of work here.”

“Yes, when I’m not working at The Gilded Cage, I paint. My art means a lot to me and guess what, I’m having my first show in September at the Leighton Gallery.”

“I’m impressed. That’s a prestigious gallery,” Paul said, walking around the room, looking at the paintings, stopping in front of each one, seeing the variety, all of it vibrant, bright swirls of color, energy. Some of it landscapes with trees, rocks, water, others of intricate lines and bold strokes, some pen and ink drawings, several still lifes, a few collages made with colorful pieces of cloth and twigs and stones.

Wendy walked in back of Paul as he looked at everything, then he stood in front of the unfinished painting on the easel. Standing back, looking at what looked like a portrait of a man with a white hair and a beard, blue pensive eyes, and noticed a lot of the face was in shadows. He looked at it, stunned at what he was seeing, then turned and looked at Wendy.

“Is that me?” Paul asked.

“I think so,” Wendy answered. “I just wanted to paint a portrait, something I don’t do, but then after I saw you the other day, this is what happened. I wanted to paint you.”

“I’m flattered and surprised,” Paul said, “but why?”

“I don’t know, but when I saw you the other day, I not only liked how you looked, but I also sensed something wasn’t right and painting made me know. You don’t know me very well, but I’m an empath. I can sense things about people and that’s why half your face is in shadows. Something dark is happening to you. I know it.”

“Something dark?” Paul asked, looking at Wendy, then back at the portrait. “If anything, the opposite of dark is happening. I feel better than ever. I feel youthful, strong and you saw that woman get angry at me in the café. That’s what’s happening, suddenly women desire me. I have had more sex in the last couple of days than I’ve had in years. Excuse me for saying that to you, but you’re wrong, nothing dark is happening.”

“Why do you think that this is suddenly happening to you?” Wendy asked, looking into Paul’s eyes. “What’s different?”

“I can’t explain it, but until a few days ago, I was in bad shape. I thought my life was over. I felt life had passed me by. I don’t know why I am confessing this to you, but I was sexually frustrated. You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I wanted young sexy women to look at me and desire me. Something I avoided when I was married and determined to be ethical as a teacher, even when I had golden opportunities, and now, I have more women after me than I can handle.”

“You’re a little devil, aren’t you?” She smiled. “So you’re taking advantage of your new lease on life.”

Wendy’s mentioning the devil startled Paul, and he suddenly remembered Luke, or Lucifer and the potion he drank the other day, “Yes, I have a new lease on life, you could say that,” he said, dismissing the incident in Luke’s office as irrational. “I just decided to take the mask off and let my hair down, my thinning hair,” he chuckled, “and now I’m being me.”

Paul looked back at the painting on the easel, stepped closer, looking at the blue eyes half hidden by the shadow. “It’s interesting that you have half of my face in a shadow.”

“That’s how I see you. I didn’t know anything about what you're saying, but I just had this feeling about you, that something mysterious was happening to you, so that’s what came out in the painting. I can’t explain it.”

They were both quiet, looking at the painting, and then she did something that surprised him. She laughed and stepped in front of Paul, smiled, looking into his eyes, “So you took control of your life and now you’re suddenly a stud,” she said.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way. I mean, it’s true, things have gotten pretty wild.”

Wendy put his arms around Paul’s neck, pulled him against her, lifted her lips to his and kissed him gently on the lips, then moved one hand to the back of his head and kissed him harder, slowly opening his mouth. Paul kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her but sensed there was something different in the way she was kissing him, something warmer, tender, caring, unlike the way Mindy and Alicia kissed him.

“Do you believe in angels?” Wendy asked, after their lips parted.

“Angels?” Paul asked. “I don’t think so. I don’t believe there’s such a thing as angels.”

“Maybe you will find out there are,” she said, then kissed him again, then took his hand and led him to the bed on the other side of the studio. She lay down and pulled Paul down next to her and kissing him, wrapped her arms and legs around him, embracing him in a tender, loving way that made Paul feel he was being made love to and not seduced.

“I want to make love to you,” she said. “You’re a beautiful man, a wonderful poet and teacher. I could see by the way you looked at my paintings you are a lot more than a stud. You deserve a woman who can love and appreciate you.”

“Really,” Paul responded, moved by what Wendy was saying, “Thank you for saying that.”

“I mean it,” Wendy said, smiling. “When I saw you the other day at the café, I felt something and I haven’t stopped thinking about you. That’s why I started this painting, but I also sensed a dark shadow was over you.”

After she said that, they kissed each other, their lips opening each other’s mouths, their tongues touching, their bodies moving as their passion grew. Wendy stopped and pulled her T-shirt off and Paul did the same, also removing his jeans, while Wendy removed her denim skirt and panties and they were back in each others arms making sweet, tender love, moving slowly, but soon, their union grew more intense, and their moving faster, harder, building like the crescendo at the end of a symphony until they both had simultaneous orgasms that Paul knew were unlike anything he had ever experienced.

“That was wonderful,” Paul said, laying on the bed, holding Wendy in his arms as they cuddled, her head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of her soothing body and knew then, strike three had happened with Mindy. He also knew he didn’t want to be in Alicia’s bed. He wanted the feeling that Wendy was giving him, and though he didn’t quite believe it, he wondered if she was right, she was an angel letting him know what is possible.

For the next month, Paul and Wendy were always together. She came to his apartment. He came to hers. He read his New Yorker at the café, enjoying watching her work. He wrote poetry every morning. Rather than going to the pool, Paul began sitting in the park a block away from the café, a place he had recently discovered, and he liked going there while waiting for Wendy. He liked sitting in the shade, reading, writing in his notebook, feeding pigeons, watching people.

One day, he thought he heard the sound of a motorcycle drive by and looked up and saw it stop by the entrance and recognized Luke walking towards him, saw his swagger, his long hair, his thin mustache and goatee, the black leather vest, the black boots, and then he smiled and sat down next to Paul.

“Remember me?” He smiled.

“Yes, I remember you. How did you find me?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions. I’ve been keeping track of you and know what’s been happening. Did you doubt my potion would work?”

“Your potion,” Paul said. “I never believed in your potion.”

“So you think you suddenly became this hot lover by yourself,” Luke said, trying to suppress a grin.

“I have to admit my life has changed since I sat in your office.”

“Do you remember our bargain, our deal?”

“Yes,” Paul sighed. “What about it?”

“Well, I think it’s time for me to collect. You had your fun, now it’s my turn,” Luke said.

“What’s there to collect? You know I don’t believe in any of your idiotic notions about my soul and spirit.”

“Is that so?” He chuckled, then stood up and looked down at Paul. “Well, I’ll be on my way,” he said and started to walk away, then stopped and came back to Paul. “Don’t be surprised if that woman you’ve fallen in love with, the one who thinks she’s an angel, breaks your heart.”

Paul looked up at Luke but didn’t say anything. When Luke walked away, Paul watched him and was stunned by his statement, then dismissed it as nonsense. He felt the bond that had developed with Wendy was strong and though she was twenty five years younger, he knew she loved him, and he was more in love with her each day. He felt lucky to have her in his life and the thought that she would break his heart was ridiculous.

However, that night at dinner, Wendy told him she had bad news. She had to go back home to Ohio. Her mother was very sick and she probably wouldn’t be returning. She canceled her show at the Leighton Gallery. She then took his hand in hers and said, “I think it's best that we break up. You have your life here, your job and I don’t think I can handle a long distance relationship. Really, Paul, this is for the best.”

“No, I don’t want to lose you. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“I understand how hard this is for you. It isn’t easy for me either, but it’s the right thing,” she said, holding his hand. “I’m having all of my paintings shipped home. I don’t have much else. I’m leaving in two days.”

“Two days,” Paul said. “This is all so sudden.”

“I finished the painting of you and I want you to have it,” she said.

“Thank you, Wendy. But I want you, not the painting.”

“I know,” she said, then kissed him, took him in her arms, embracing him and that night, they made the most passionate, exquisite love of his life. It was as if all their feelings for each other had been squeezed into a ball and she said, “I will always love you, remember that.”

“Wendy, I am determined not to lose you. I will write, email, and call you. I will always want you in my life.”

“I won’t respond, Paul. This is the end. This is the way I want it. This is the way it must be. Let’s just have this memory.”

That was the last night he saw Wendy. The next day, when he opened the door in the morning to pick up his newspaper, the painting was leaning against the door without a note. He looked at the finished painting and noticed that more than half of his face was in the dark shadow, but when he looked closer at the blue eyes in the light, there was a tear rolling down the cheek, and a sudden sadness overwhelmed him, and he felt his throat ache, holding back the tears that came to his eyes.

As the weeks past, Paul wrote letters but got no response, in fact they came back undeliverable. When he tried to find her phone number, he couldn’t find a number for a Wendy Peterson anywhere in Ohio, and now all he had were the memories of their month together and the painting she left him.

He felt his despair returning. He tried writing poetry but nothing came. At his feet, he had a wastepaper basket filled with rolled up sheets of paper. He stopped going to the pool and his tan became pale skin.

That fall, he gave notice that he was retiring from the university. He said he needed more time to write even though he knew he hadn’t written a poem in six months and didn’t care any more. He knew the muse had left him. He didn’t have the passion to be moved by anything enough to write about it. He felt tired, old, the world weariness that he felt the day he drove into the country and stopped at Luke’s Bar and Grill was now dominating his days.

He still thought about Wendy, remembered her passion and talent, then the pain of her disappearing from his life made him want to shove the thought of her away, but he couldn’t. Her face and angelic smile kept appearing.

He knew he still loved poetry and hoped he would find the passion to write again, but every time he tried, it was a struggle. He had lost his desire to be looked at by young women, and when he did take walks and saw someone he thought was attractive, he didn’t care whether she looked at him or not. It didn’t matter. Though he rarely remembered dreams, he started have a re-occurring dream that woke him up. In the dream he was walking on a beach looking at the ocean, he was alone and he heard himself saying out loud lines from a T.S. Eliot poem: “I have heard the mermaids singing each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.”

Those lines haunted him and he recognized that whatever romance, sex and love he longed for, those days were behind him. Though he couldn’t explain what had happened to him, or what brought him to this place in his life, he knew he would never forget the afternoon he shook Luke’s hand, or the potion that tasted like root beer, but he also had the memory of Wendy, her face, her angelic smile was like a rainbow in his heart, a gift, something he cherished, something that made the dark shadow in her portrait of him leave and in his imagination, he knew Wendy was with him.

He remembered her asking him if he believed in angels and when he said no, he remembered her words, maybe one day you will find out there are. He also remembered her saying, “Though they couldn’t be together, she would always love him.”

Somehow those words soothed him, filled him with warmth and, surprisingly, a reverence for what is possible came to him. For some reason, he couldn’t explain, he felt his desire to write returning and began waking early, eager to get to his desk. He opened the curtains and let the morning sun glow in his room. He felt inspired and knew Wendy was his muse and that, despite the bargain he had made with Lucifer, he was about to write the best poetry of his life.