Me and Mrs. Smith (R)

I was a depressed mess. Life sucked and I didn't give a crap about anything. I was miserable even before my mother died and it only got worse after that. My father lost himself in his work as a widower and he didn't have the time, patience, or insight to deal with a morose teenager who wasn't good at sports, was afraid of girls, and who spent most of his time hiding in his room watching movies, surfing the net, and playing video games. Then Dad met someone new and I was really on my own.

I was probably my own worse enemy because I sort of kind of liked feeling sorry for myself. It gave me the excuse not to have to engage with the real world, take chances, or put myself out there. I dragged myself to school, barely passed my classes, and did little to make myself known or noticed, except to get picked on by the tough guys and other jerks that saw me as an easy mark. I didn't care about my wardrobe, I wore my hair long and messy, and I suffered from a bad case of acne that made me feel even more self-conscious about myself.

I hung out with a couple of other geeks and losers who had their own issues and baggage to deal with so I wasn't totally alone even though I felt like the loneliest guy in Hillsboro. I was invisible to the girls and ignored by the more popular guys but I accepted the deal without much complaint.

My father allowed me to wallow in my self-pity as long as I didn't flunk out of school and I did the chores around the house. I had become a pretty good cook and although I was too miserable and unmotivated to get a job I did think that maybe food services was something that might be in my future.

My uneventfully dismal Senior year came to a merciful end. I barely cared about all the graduation excitement and events and the only reason I participated in the actual ceremony was because the Vice Principal wouldn't let me skip it. I didn't go to the graduation party, instead hanging out with some of my geek friends for an all night computer game-a-thon.

With high school thankfully over, I looked forward to hiding out for the summer despite my father's frequent nagging about me getting a job. I just didn't have the energy to deal with dealing with people on any level and a job would force me to interact with a boss and other co-workers. I was content on being a socially awkward reject hiding in the safety of my own house and not having to worry about how I was perceived by others until I started Blue County Community College in the fall (a deal I struck with my father in order to stay in the house).

My father worked ten to twelve hours a day as a business executive, he travelled some, plus he was seeing Daisy, another career-addicted personality who didn't know how to relate to me so I had my space, independence, and privacy. When Dad was home I'd occasionally make an appearance from my room to hang out with him for a while. On this particular night, we were watching the Red Sox. The old man was relaxing in his easy chair and I was sprawled out on the couch.

"I think I found a job for you," my father announced out of the blue.

"A job?" I asked with surprise.

"Mrs. Smith is coming home from rehab and she's going to need help," my father explained.

"Mrs. Smith?" I asked, horrified by the idea. "You're kidding, right?"

"I talked to her sister who's been here for almost a month," my father said. "She needs to get back to her life back in Missouri. She's got a husband and kids and she can't stay here forever."

"What about Bonnie?" I asked. "It's her mother."

"She's deployed and can't get back," My father told me.

"Isn't there homecare or something?" I asked.

"Yes, you!" My father laughed. "Look, she can get herself to the toilet and do her own self-care. She just needs help with the other stuff."

"Jesus, Dad!" I groaned. "I'm not a frigin' nurse or a maid."

"You are now," he said. "Come on. She was good to us when your mom died. We can return the favor."

How could I argue with that?

The Smith family lived across the street for as long as I could remember. Bonnie was four years older but she refused to get to know me on any level which I resented considering our mothers were friends and we were neighbors. Mrs. Smith was nice to me, especially after my mom died. She was divorced by then, Mr. Smith moving out when I was around ten so it was just her and Bonnie until Bonnie left for the Air Force after high school.

I was the one who found my mother on the floor when I came home from school freshman year and I ran across the street in a panic to get Mrs. Smith who immediately took charge and called 911. She also drove me to the hospital behind the ambulance where we stood vigil until my mother passed away later than night.

It took the cops a few weeks to solve the case, but a couple of drop outs from Green College had been breaking into area houses they knew were empty during the day to steal stuff for their drug habit. My mother had come home from work early not feeling well and she surprised them. One of the burglars panicked and knocked her down the stairs trying to run out of the place, fracturing her skull and breaking her neck. He eventually got seven years for involuntary manslaughter.

Mrs. Smith was very kind to me and my father in the aftermath of the surreal, unimaginable and difficult tragedy. She cooked us meals, she ran interference with the people coming and going from the house, she followed up with us after the wake and funeral, and she made sure I got through the rest of the school year without going off the deep end.

Strangely, Bonnie, who was a senior when Mom died, seemed annoyed and bothered by her mother's involvement in my life. I remember her making sarcastic remarks and even complaining to her mother if I was in their house – as if it was my fault my mother had died.

I'm not sure if I would have gotten through such grief and sadness if Mrs. Smith hadn't been so involved during those difficult first few months and how could I deny her now when she was in need?

Mrs. Smith must be around forty now (I remember her telling my Mom that she had Bonnie young) but she's a good looking woman for her age not that I ever paid particular notice. To be honest, it was Bonnie that I was attracted to which made it hurt all the more when she rejected me from the start. Even though Bonnie treated me like shit and could be a stuck up bitch, I was still smitten with her – which pretty much demonstrates how pathetically messed up I really am!

Mrs. Smith had been involved in a horrible automobile accident the previous month which resulted in a serious concussion, a collapsed lung, a broken collar bone, some broken ribs, damaged ligaments, sprained muscles, and some internal injuries. My father and I visited her in the hospital a few times early on (even though I hated hospitals) but once it was obvious she wasn't going to die I kind of forgot about her and went back to my life of loneliness as hopelessly self-centered and uncaring as that sounds!

My father introduced me to Mrs. Smith's sister the next day. I hated meeting new people and I barely looked her in the eye but she was obviously relieved and happy to see me.

"Tom, this is Polly Anderson, Mrs. Smith's sister," my father said.

She looked to be a few years younger than her sister, with black hair instead of Mrs. Smith's brown, but they both had the same round faces and slender frames.

"I can't thank you enough for helping us out, Tom," Mrs. Anderson told me as she vigorously shook my hand. "I really need to get home to my family."

Mrs. Anderson showed me the bed that had been set up in the living room so Mrs. Smith wouldn't need to climb the stairs. Luckily, there was a full bathroom on the first floor.

"I rolled up all the loose rugs and other obstacles and I don't think Jerri will have any trouble getting around," Mrs. Anderson said. "I'll be getting the dog home from the kennel this afternoon just after I bring Jerri home."

My job was to walk the dog in the morning and evening and to do any chores Mrs. Smith needed done, including cleaning, cooking, laundry, lawn work, and shopping. It was not my forte but I would be given a budget and full use of Mrs. Smith's car (she had been a friend's car when the accident occurred).

"Do you think you'll be able to handle that Tom?" Mrs. Anderson asked.

"Sure," I mumbled.

I may have been an anti-social outcast but I was capable of doing simple chores for god sakes.

"Okay, why don't you come back at seven tonight and we'll go through the final list," Mrs. Anderson suggested. "I'll be leaving first thing tomorrow morning."

I returned to the Smith house as asked that evening to welcome Mrs. Smith home. She was camped out in her bed in the living room looking pretty good for a woman who had been in a serious automobile accident. Jonas, the black lab who had once been Bonnie's dog, greeted me with a lick of the hand and a wag of the tail. He was clearly happy to be home and reunited with his master.

"I hope you don't consider me a helpless old cripple, Tom," Mrs. Smith said with a smile.

"Not at all," I replied, probably too seriously.

Mrs. Smith was one of the few people I felt comfortable with and I could actually smile at her without feeling self-conscious. Most girls made me nervous and Bonnie looked disgusted whenever I looked at her so I tended to avoid eye contact with any female.

"I'll try not to be a bother," Mrs. Smith assured me with a self-deprecating smirk.

The three of us went over the routine and expectations. I gave Mrs. Smith my cell phone number (not that I got a lot of calls) and Mrs. Anderson gave me the basic schedule for me to follow. It was obvious that she spent a lot of time drafting it up and that she expected me to take it seriously, although Mrs. Smith hardly seemed concerned with any of it.

"As long as I have the remote and my library book I'll be fine," Mrs. Smith said cheerfully and I could tell she was going to be an easy patient!

I walked the dog, picking out an easy and safe route through the neighborhood to include the field behind the Robinson place. There was a scooper, leash and other necessities on the back porch and the dog food was kept in a barrel in the kitchen.

I fell into an easy routine. I was up at 7:30 so I could be at the Smith's house by eight for Jonas' morning walk and constitutional. I made Mrs. Smith her coffee and usually got her a Danish, muffin, donut or some fruit for breakfast.

Mrs. Smith could get herself to the bathroom in the hall without my help but it hurt to walk on her sore ankles, she was still short of breath, she suffered from post-concussion symptoms, and she had dizzy spells. She was only supposed to use the bathroom when somebody was in the house and I was to monitor the pill tray full of medicines she took too.

Lunch was usually a delivered meals-on-wheels and dinner was something I whipped up in the later afternoon. Then there was Jonas' nightly stroll and I was free to go home after that as long as Mrs. Smith didn't need anything else. I did whatever Mrs. Smith asked of me. She was very polite and unassuming, embarrassed to have to ask me for anything.

When I first started the responsibility, I assumed I'd just pop in three times a day and do what I needed to do but I found myself hanging around for longer periods of time whenever I was in the house. I might watch a movie with Mrs. Smith or read to her if her head was hurting and she couldn't concentrate on the written page. We played cribbage or some other card game. And she'd talk to me, just about the only person in my life that took the time or cared enough to ask me how I was doing or what I was thinking or how I was feeling.

I knew that Mrs. Smith was a nice lady but now that I was spending extended quality time with her I was really getting to know her and like her. She had a fun sense of humor, she was well read and educated, she had interesting opinions, and best of all she seemed to like me. She didn't look at my acne like I had leprosy, she didn't bully me or make fun of me, and she was genuinely interested in what I had to say.

Most people didn't pay attention to me on the rare occasions when I spoke so Mrs. Smith's friendship was refreshing and appreciated. We didn't even have to talk when we were together. I liked hanging out with Mrs. Smith because I realized it was a lot better than sitting in my room alone. I even got her interested in a couple of my computer video games!

There were a few embarrassing moments. Doing the laundry was awkward, especially when I had to wash her undergarments. Making her bed was kind of weird too. I'd help her to the couch and she'd sit there watching me as I stripped the sheets off of her bed and replace them with new ones.

There were a few times when I had to help Mrs. Smith to the bathroom when she was having a particularly dizzy day. Once she called for me when she was in the bathroom and I had this horrible fear that I'd open the door and find her sitting on the commode with her pants down or lying on the floor butt naked or something. Luckily, she was standing and decent, but she needed help back to her bed.

It was summer and Mrs. Smith didn't like running the air conditioner when she didn't have to so I'd open the windows although we kept the room shaded because the sun hurt her eyes and gave her headaches. Often times Mrs. Smith would be wearing a tee shirt and Gym shorts or light pajama bottoms. Once in a while she'd have a halter top on and I couldn't help but sneak a glimpse of her cleavage, even though she wasn't all that full in the chest. I was afraid she would think me a pervert and accuse me of being a sick little bastard but if she ever caught on to my subtle glances she didn't let on. Would I be all the more pathetic if I became smitten with a forty year old woman, not to mention the mother of my previous secret crush?

I worried that I would somehow screw up in front of Mrs. Smith and embarrass myself. That I'd say or do something that would remind her that I was a loser so I worked hard on not being a goof or a fool in her presence. I thought before I said anything and I tempered my opinion when I offered it so I wouldn't come across as a moron. Sometimes I would doubt myself or second guess what I said but Mrs. Smith never seemed to be offended, insulted, disgusted, or bored with what I had to say.

My father was pleasantly surprised that I had adapted so well to my new job. He didn't have to worry about coming home and finding me hanging from the shower rod as I think he sometimes pictured me doing in the past. I had gone to a therapist for a while after my mother died and I was found to be suffering from depression and PTSD (since I was the one who found my mother) and while I felt my life really did suck I wouldn't have considered myself suicidal at any point even if others had.

It was actually turning out to be an okay summer after all. I looked forward to seeing Mrs. Smith, doing my chores, and carrying out any tasks asked of me. I had become quite domesticated and even cultured and educated all because of Mrs. Smith!

I came into the house one morning to get Jonas for a walk when I found Mrs. Smith sitting on the edge of her bed, leaning over. She was wearing a loose top and I could pretty much see right down her shirt but I tried not to look.

"You okay, Mrs. Smith?" I asked with concern as I rushed to her side.

"Just dizzy, damn it," she grumbled, frustrated by her ongoing health challenges.

"Why don't you sit back?" I suggested.

She groaned but she did what I asked, falling back on the mattress. "I keep thinking maybe I'm getting better but then I have a morning like this and I wonder if I'll ever be right again," she sighed.

"It's just going to take time," I said sitting on the edge of the bed and glancing at her.

I noticed that her shirt had slipped down enough to reveal the top of one of her breasts, almost to her nipple line. I looked away trying not to blush and Mrs. Smith must have figured out what was going on because she pushed her shirt up to make sure she was covered. Neither of us said anything for a long moment.

"I hope you're right," Mrs. Smith finally said, choosing to ignore her previous partial exposure.

"I'm sure I am," I croaked, suddenly trembling with unexpected nervousness.

"Why don't you have a girlfriend, Tom?" Mrs. Smith wanted to know.

I shrugged, embarrassed and humiliated by her unexpected and awkward question. I sighed, realizing she knew I was a loser.

"You're such a nice guy," Mrs. Smith told me. "Any girl would be lucky to be with you."

"Bonnie didn't even like me!" I blurted out but then I covered my mouth with my hand when I realized what I had revealed.

Mrs. Smith laughed and patted my leg. "Bonnie didn't have the greatest taste in guys, Tom," she pointed out. "She wasn't the most likeable girl herself."

"I liked her," I sighed.

"I know," Mrs. Smith said with understanding. "But you know better now."

"I guess," I mumbled.

"You need to work on your self-confidence," Mrs. Smith advised. "You're getting too old to be afraid of your own shadow."

"Its girls' shadows I'm most afraid of," I confessed.

"Are you afraid of me?" She tested.

"You're not a girl," I replied.

She gave me a frown. "Oh?"

I turned red. "You know what I mean. You're….Mrs. Smith."

"Yes, I am," she agreed. She stared at me for another long moment. "Do you want to kiss me, Tom?" She asked softly.

Now I was as red faced as a tomato. Was it a trick question? A Catch-22 question? An 'I'm calling your father (or the cops)' question? Would it be morally wrong to tell her the truth? Had Mrs. Smith become delusional because of her dizziness? Had she taken too much of her medication and that's why she asked such an inappropriate question? What would happen if I fell prey to my (and her?) temptation?

"I should go walk Jonas," I said.

"He's fine," Mrs. Smith assured me.

"Oh," I said nervously.

"Do you want to kiss me, Tom?" Mrs. Smith asked again.

I turned and looked into her dark blue eyes and I swallowed hard.

"I'll take that as a yes," she smiled as she sat up, leaned in and pressed her lips to mine.

I didn't know if I should have laughed or cried, fallen on her or ran away, thrown up or peed in my pants. It sure did feel good though! She was soft and she smelled nice and her breath tickled my lip as she continued to kiss me.

"Mrs. Smith…."

She smiled as she broke the kiss off. "You can go walk Jonas now, Tom," she told me as she sat back on the bed.

"Uh…okay," I mumbled as I stumbled off the bed and called for the dog.

I was probably as dizzy as Mrs. Smith as I walked Jonas around the neighborhood. I couldn't believe she had actually done that even though in the back of my mind I hoped she would as wrong as I knew it was. Who would have thought that my first ever kiss would come from the lips of a forty year old woman (not to mention Bonnie Smith's mom!)? I wondered what some of those know-it-all-higher than mighty girls from school would think if they knew. Would they be jealous? Envious? Would they see me in a new way?

Mrs. Smith didn't say anything about the kiss when I got back from walking the dog. I got her some coffee and a Danish and I cleaned up the kitchen and mailed some bills for her all the while feeling strangely buoyed and pleased about what had taken place between us, even if we didn't speak about it.

Two days later, I came into Mrs. Smith house after walking Jonas that morning and I found Mrs. Smith sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed in a bathrobe.

"I think I want to take a bath today instead of a shower, Tom," she announced once I was done feeding the dog.

"Oh, okay," I said.

"Could you run the bath for me?" She asked.

"Sure," I replied.

I went into the bathroom and took the shower chair she had been using when she showered out of the tub and ran the water for her, even dumping some scented oil bath beads I saw on the vanity into the water for her while making sure the water was plenty hot enough for her.

"All set," I reported when I returned to the living room from the bathroom preparations.

"I'm feeling a little light headed this morning, Tom," Mrs. Smith informed me. "Could you help me into the bathroom, please?"

"Okay," I said, feeling slightly strange as I helped her off the bed and walked with her across the room and into the hall.

"Okay?" I said, planning to leave her off at the door to the bathroom.

"You'd better come in with me, Tom," Mrs. Smith advised. "I'd hate to fall."

I swallowed nervously but did what I was told, escorting Mrs. Smith into the bathroom. I wondered if she was actually naked underneath the robe! Mrs. Smith pressed against me and I realized that she was unfastening the tie around her waist. The robe opened and I could see her breasts pop out and as the robe opened further I saw her brown pubic hair between her legs. I knew I should have looked away but I couldn't – it was the first time I'd seen a naked woman in real life.

"Take my robe please, Tom," Mrs. Smith instructed.

I lifted it off her shoulders from behind and pulled it from her body, exposing her surprisingly firm round rear as I took the robe away. There were still some bruises along her torso from the accident, plus some scars on her shoulder and along her side where it looked like an incision had been made. Her breasts sagged slightly but they seemed to be pert. I folded the robe across my arm while Mrs. Smith held on to my other arm to steady herself as she carefully stepped into the tub totally naked.

"Ah, just right, thanks," Mrs. Smith said when she felt the water temperature.

I stole once last glance before she slowly sank into the water.

"Sit on the toilet seat, Tom," Mrs. Smith told me.

I did, peering at her as the top of her breasts stuck out of the water before she slipped down so the water line was up to her neck.

"I'm too old to be modest, Tom," Mrs. Smith told me.

"It's okay," I said, trying not to blush.

"No it's not," she replied, giving me the eye. "But I thought you deserved a little bonus for all you're doing for me."

I looked down at the tiled floor, too embarrassed to say anything. Was I really that pathetic that a middle aged woman had to exhibition herself to give me a cheap thrill?

"We should probably keep this between just the two of us," Mrs. Smith advised.

"Probably," I agreed.

She smiled. "You don't have to be embarrassed, Tom."

"But I am anyway," I confessed.

"Yes, you'd rather look at some young thing, I suppose," Mrs. Smith sighed.

"Oh, no, it's not that!" I said, feeling foolish. "You're very beautiful."

"I'm forty," she reminded me.

"You don't look it," I said.

"Thank you," she said with a pleased grin.

"And thank you," I whispered.

"For what?" She asked with interest.

"For making me feel like I'm worth it," I said, my voice choking.

"Worth it?" She asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Worth taking the chance on a scandal," I explained. "I could just imagine what would happen if my father or your sister walked in right about now."

"Or Bonnie for that matter," Mrs. Smith agreed.

I shuttered at that thought. Bonnie already despised me – she would really hate me if she knew I had seen her other in the nude.

"I'm just as lonely as you are, Tom," Mrs. Smith revealed.

I couldn't imagine why. She was attractive and likeable, she was a successful real estate agent, and I know she had dated since her divorce eight years ago. I'd seen men coming to the house to take her out and I remember bumping into her on the arm of some guy when my father made me go out to dinner with him and Daisy one night.

"And I've noticed the way you've been looking at me," she added.

I looked away, horrified at being caught. Most women can spot a pervert a mile away.

"It's okay," Mrs. Smith smiled, picking up on my guilty embarrassment. "Believe me, I'm flattered."

"Maybe I should go," I said nervously.

"Oh, you should definitely go," Mrs. Smith agreed. "But please don't."

I looked at her with confusion.

"We can help each other, Tom," she said.

"We can?" I asked.

"We can help each other with our loneliness," she explained. "Just until the summer ends," she added with emphasis. "I should be better by then and you'll be a big college man."

"I doubt I'll even be noticed," I sighed.

"That's why we need to work on your self-confidence," Mrs. Smith said. "It's time you start living your life, Tom. Forget about Bonnie and all those other small minded girls you grew up with. High school is over. It's time you start being a man and appreciating all you have to offer. I know you'll find a nice young woman when you get to BCCC."

"You're the only one who believes in me," I sighed.

"Your mom believed in you, Tom," Mrs. Smith reminded me.

"I really miss her," I confessed, hoping I wouldn't start to cry.

"I know," Mrs. Smith said gently. "Could you get me a towel, Tom?" she asked, as she slowly stood in the tub.

I left the toilet seat and grabbed a towel from the wall rack, handing it to the naked Mrs. Smith as I watched the water drip down her wonderful body. Mrs. Smith dried herself as I watched and then she motioned for my arm again and I helped her out of the tub with her now wrapped in the towel.

When Mrs. Smith was out of the tub, she pull herself close to me, leaned in and she kissed me. "You're going to be okay, Tom," she informed me knowingly.

"I hope so," I sighed, feeling years of defeat and disappointment rising to my emotional surface.

"I want to be okay too," Mrs. Smith told me. "I'm tired of being injured, of being dizzy, of suffering from post concussion syndrome, of being house bound, of being an invalid."

"You're not an invalid," I said as I handed her the robe I had put on the hook on the back of the bathroom door.

Mrs. Smith let the towel fall to the floor and I helped her cover her nakedness with the robe.

"Believe me, I feel like an invalid," Mrs. Smith sighed, sounding tired.

I walked her out of the bathroom and back to the living room. Once she was comfortably in her bed, I cleaned up the bathroom and did some other chores. When I returned to the living room, Mrs. Smith was napping so I took a seat on the couch that had been pushed against the wall and watched her sleep.

I had seen Mrs. Smith in the nude and it made me feel special. Older. More experienced and mature. Trusted. Maybe even wanted?

We didn't talk about the bath or what I had seen. I continued with the daily routines and chores for the next few days and one afternoon I was sitting on the couch again while Mrs. Smith sat on her bed reading a book.

"I was thinking maybe I could start taking walks outside," Mrs. Smith said, glancing up from her book. "Just down the walk maybe to see how I do."

The doctor had been by a few times and she told Mrs. Smith that time was the only thing left that would help her post-concussion syndromes. It could last days, weeks or months – everybody was different.

"Doesn't the sun still hurt your eyes and give you headaches?" I asked.

We had been keeping the shades down and curtains drawn on sunny days to avoid some of the symptoms Mrs. Smith had been experiencing.

She groaned. "It's a small price to pay to try to be normal for five minutes," she said.

"Maybe we should wait for a cloudy day," I suggested.

Mrs. Smith closed the book in frustration. "I can't tell you how much this sucks," she complained.

"I'm sorry," I offered lamely.

"You must be getting bored with all of this, huh Tom?" Mrs. Smith asked, looking at me.

"Actually, it's been a really terrific summer," I said.

Mrs. Smith laughed but then she shook her head sadly. "You really need to get out, Tommy. Meet somebody you like."

"I like you," I said.

"Oh?" She asked with interest. "What exactly do you like about me?"

I swallowed with embarrassment, feeling awkward about being asked.

"Well?" Mrs. Smith asked when I didn't answer.

"I like your smile," I admitted.

"What else?"

I shrugged. "I think you're smart and funny and interesting and kind and sensitive, and I think you're a nice person," I rambled.

Mrs. Smith rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks, Tom," she said, sounding offended.

"What?" I asked, concerned that maybe I had hurt her feelings.

"Do you think I'm attractive?" Mrs. Smith wanted to know.

"Of course," I mumbled, looking away sheepishly.

"And what do you think of my broken down body?" She asked.

I gulped. "I...I...I think you're the sexist woman I've ever seen," I said.

"Why, thank you Tom," Mrs. Smith said earnestly. "Even with all my battle wounds from the accident?"

"It defines your character," I said softly.

She seemed genuinely surprised and impressed by my response. "Why, thank you again, Tom," she said with sincerity. "That makes me feel…better."

She was sitting on the bed above the covers, wearing her usual gym shorts and today she was wearing a yellow tee shirt with some sort of faded design on it. She placed her hand on her chest. "I just want to feel like a woman again," she said quietly.

I nodded with understanding and she looked at me almost pleadingly.

"Come here, Tom," she said.

I left the couch and went to the bed and she pulled me into her arms, kissing me, and then she gazed into my eyes before she started kissing me much more passionately. We both knew that this moment had been building ever since the first time she kissed me and that day of her bath. I actually kissed her back, having dreamed and fantasized about this opportunity for a very long time and I was surprised that I wasn't running out the front door in fear and panic.

Mrs. Smith pulled my tee-shirt off over my head and I dared to grab the bottom of her shirt, amazed that I was being so assertive and even aggressive but Mrs. Smith had done wonders for my confidence.

"Gently," Mrs. Smith cautioned, as she raised her arms. "I'm still sore."

I slowly pulled the shirt off over her head and then I stared at her bra. She took my hand and lifted it to her breast. I cupped it through the bra and she moaned in response.

"Tom..." She sighed with want.

"Please," I begged, kissing her hard on the mouth.

She slid her hand down to my waist and tugged on the elastic band of my shorts. My eyes went wide as she forced her hand down the front of my shorts and I jumped when I felt her find my hardened penis.

"It's okay," she assured me.

"Maybe we should stop," I worried as I wiggled from her touch.

"Of course we should stop," she groaned. "But we aren't, are we?"

"No," I agreed, knowing my time had finally come. If I turned down Mrs. Smith, when would I ever get such a chance again? She was the only one who wanted me.

I pulled her shorts down along with her panties and she spread her legs apart as she fell back on the mattress, pulling me down with her. She guided my penis toward her opening and I was inside her before I even knew what was happening. Mrs. Smith smiled as she let out a happy whimper while wrapping her legs around my back.

"Just push in and out," she directed. "Find a rhythm."

I had no idea what I was doing, of course but she was sensitive and understanding and gentle, giving me tips and urging me on as she hugged me close and I clumsily thrust myself into her. I wanted to cry as she rocked me back and forth and I moved myself within her, worried that I was doing it all wrong and not satisfying her, a woman of age and experience.

It happened suddenly, before she was ready for sure, as I stiffened and then felt myself give. I screamed as I released myself into her and I felt her tighten too but I knew I hadn't satisfied her to the level she deserved.

"I'm sorry," I moaned when I was done, careful not to fall on her knowing she was sore from the accident. I sort of rolled on my side but she rolled with me and kept herself pressed against me.

"It's okay, Tom," she said with patient understanding. "I know that was your first time. You'll get better, don't worry."

I sucked in a deep breath and tried not to cry as my shrinking dink slipped out of her, along with some of my semen that dripped out too.

"I'm such a loser," I sobbed.

"No you're not," Mrs. Smith assured me knowingly. "You're sweet and loveable and gentle and giving. Don't be ashamed about anything. It's okay."

She kissed me on my forehead and hugged me and I wondered how strange it must have looked with the two of us lying side by side in her bed, naked with me a poor excuse of a lover.

I don't know how long I cried in Mrs. Smith's arms or how long she held me, sometimes with my head on her bare breast as she stroked my hair and rubbed my neck. I was crying for myself and all my years of loneliness and pain, I was crying for my dead mother, and I was crying because I couldn't satisfy poor Mrs. Smith. How typical that I would turn out to be such a rotten lover given my pathetic history when it came to girls. I'm sure Bonnie would have laughed at me (except the part of me being with her mother, of course!).

When I was finally able to emotionally pull myself together and stop the tears from falling, I rolled off the bed, found my discarded clothes and got dressed, embarrassed and ashamed that Mrs. Smith had seen me naked when I turned out to be such a disappointment. Mrs. Smith didn't seem to be in any hurry to cover herself. She fell back on the bed still naked and she opened her legs for me to see as I stood at the side of the bed, still brushing tears off my cheeks.

"I'm still here for you, Tom," Mrs. Smith told me. "You'll have another chance, don't worry."

"I don't deserve you," I sighed, admiring her womanly beauty.

"No, it is I who doesn't deserve you," she replied, before she rolled over and carefully got off the bed to get dressed herself.

I cooked Mrs. Smith an extra special meal for dinner that night, sort of as an apology for my ineptness as her failed lover. I could barely look her in the eye when she came into the kitchen to eat the meal.

"What did you make?" She asked with a warm smile. "It smells delicious."

"Just some American Chop Suey," I replied.

"Well, thank you," Mrs. Smith replied as she carefully took a seat at the table.

I served up a plate for her and one for me too. I often stayed and ate dinner with Mrs. Smith so she wouldn't have to eat alone and then I'd bring the left overs home for my father although he was staying at Daisy's more often now that I was occupied.

We didn't talk much as we ate. I'm sure Mrs. Smith was regretting trying to have sex with me and that she was trying to figure out ways to get rid of me now that she had seduced me and discovered I was a pathetic loser. As for me, I was humiliated and I just wanted to crawl off and die somewhere.

I was pretty bummed out during the next few days. I couldn't shake the shame of being a horrible lover and I was embarrassed just being around Mrs. Smith. I did my chores, walked the dog, and did what was asked of me, but I found myself avoiding Mrs. Smith and coming up with excuses not to hang out with her like I usually did.

Mrs. Smith let me silently suffer in my self-pity for a few days, but then one afternoon when I was cooking supper she sneaked up behind me without me realizing she was there and she pulled my shorts down my legs, exposing my naked ass to her. I turned in surprise and I looked at her with wide eyes while defensively covering my penis with my two hands.

"Mrs. Smith," I said. "What are you doing?"

"It's time for you to learn a few things, Tom," she said, dropping to her knees.

She put her hands on my thighs and I fell back against the counter when I felt her removing my hands from my penis and then her tongue licked the tip of my penis.

"Mrs. Smith!" I shouted. "Jesus!"

She looked up with a smirk before moving her tongue across the head and I felt myself shudder as she continued to lick me and then she kissed my balls and I groaned with disbelief. I had never before felt such sensations and my knees were buckling from the pleasure as Mrs. Smith's tongue explored my shaft.

"Holy…" I moaned, trying not to fall down. I put my hands on the back of her head for support.

"Relax, Tom," Mrs. Smith told me. "Just enjoy your first blow job. You don't have to do anything, okay?"

She took me in her mouth and began to suck me off while running her tongue up and down my cock at the same time. I was in danger of fainting from the unbelievable stimulation. Once again, I didn't last that long and before I knew it I was crying out and I shot my wad into her mouth even though I couldn't believe any of this was really happening. Mrs. Smith swallowed while looking up at me with wide and telling eyes as she finished me off and then she stood and stared into my eyes.

"Feel better?" She wanted to know.


I couldn't speak. My head was spinning and my legs were rubber. Never in my wildest imagination had I thought something like this would happen to me.

"Remember, Tom, that sex is a two way street," Mrs. Smith told me, putting her hand on my still stiff penis. "There is no such thing as the perfect lover so don't try to be one. Just be yourself and know that your partner can also give you pleasure. You can give and you can receive."

I stared at her, at a loss for words.

"Now that I had my appetizer, what's for dinner?" Mrs. Smith asked as she let go of my penis, stepped back and took a seat at the kitchen table while I pulled my shorts back up.

It was tuna casserole but I still couldn't speak as I got the meal ready. What Mrs. Smith had done to me was beyond description and I was so thankful for her willingness to try to cheer me up and tell me that it was going to be okay that I thought I was going to start crying again.

"What happened to Mr. Smith?" I asked Mrs. Smith once I had served the food and we were eating.

"Don't you worry about Mr. Smith," Mrs. Smith told me.

"I just don't understand why he would leave someone as wonderful as you," I said.

Mrs. Smith smiled. "Why, thank you, Tom," she said. "But I wasn't the perfect wife."

"Was he the perfect husband?"

Mrs. Smith laughed. "Hardly," she admitted. "But I was young when we got married. Not even twenty. He was five years older and I don't think we ever made up for the age gap no matter how much we tried."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"It's okay," she assured me.

"Maybe you wouldn't be so lonely if he had stayed," I said.

"I was lonely even when he was here," Mrs. Smith let me know.

Mrs. Smith's post-concussion symptoms had let up some as the weeks went by and she was finally able to leave the house, tolerate the sun, and take walks, as well as go on errands with me. Her dizziness was much less frequent too and I was beginning to realize that my daily care services would soon be coming to the end as the summer began to wane too. What was it Mrs. Smith had told me in the bathtub that day? That we would both need to move on when September came, but I wasn't sure if I would be able to do that know that she had shown me and given me so much.

Mrs. Smith was beginning to take phone calls from the real estate office and do some work from home. She was less confined to her bed now and I was beginning to feel like I was getting in the way, so I stopped coming over as much, except to walk the dog and make sure dinner was prepared.

"Why don't I make you dinner tonight?" Mrs. Smith told me one morning in late August when I returned from walking Jonas.

"Okay," I agreed, feeling a pit forming in the bottom of my stomach. I instinctively knew the brush off was coming. My services would no longer be needed.

"Why don't you help me move my bed back upstairs and then you can go for today," Mrs. Smith said.

"Okay," I sighed, knowing what the symbolism of moving the bed back upstairs meant.

It only took an hour or so to dismantle the bed, bring it upstairs, reassemble it, and then put the living room back the way it was before Mrs. Smith's accident. I didn't say much during the process and when we were done, Mrs. Smith looked at me and smiled.

"Thanks, Tom," she said, and I knew that was my cue to leave.

I nodded and left the house, not sure what I was supposed to do with myself now that my official job was obviously coming to an end. My house suddenly felt so empty and I couldn't imagine hanging around it all day, so I took a long walk and as I passed Serguci's Italian Restaurant I saw the help wanted sign in the window so I 'inquired within' and found that they were looking for a dishwasher and food prep guy.

I admitted that I didn't have any experience but I was willing to lean and I was surprised when I was offered the job. I could start training on Monday and I'd be working the four to nine shift which would not interfere with my college schedule once classes started. I honestly felt pretty good about myself when I left the restaurant having landed my first real job all on my own!

I dressed up in khaki pants and a polo shirt for my (last?) dinner with Mrs. Smith. I had showered and trimmed my hair in the mirror and I noticed that some of my acne had cleared up, probably because I hadn't been sitting around my room all summer slugging down cokes and eating junk food all day.

I rang Mrs. Smith's doorbell this time, the first time doing that since becoming her caretaker two months earlier. She opened the door and smiled, looking fantastic in a while summer dress that was tight on her body.

"Please come in, Tom," she said warmly, stepping back and letting me enter.

I saw that she had set the dining room table for two, complete with candles. She had made some sort of chicken dish and it was quite good.

"Thank you for all that you did for me," Mrs. Smith said as we quietly ate, neither of us engaged in much conversation.

"You're welcome," I said. "Hey," I added. "I got a job today!"

She was surprised by the announcement and she asked me all about it. I told her how I had always had an interest in cooking and that my experience with her all summer had certainly helped my skills.

"I'm glad, Tom," Mrs. Smith told me. "Good for you. I know you'll do well."

"And college starts soon," I added.

"I hope you enjoy it more than you did high school," Mrs. Smith said.

"Me too," I said, surprised by my own admission. "Actually, I'm kind of looking forward to it."

"That's good," Mrs. Smith beamed. "I really do see a change in you, Tom."

"It's because of you," I said, not afraid to look her in the eyes this time. "You've made me a man."

"You were already a man, Tom," Mrs. Smith told me.

When were done eating the meal, I helped Mrs. Smith clean up and do the dishes. She told me to walk Jonas for her (she didn't say 'one last time' but I knew that's what she meant) so I took him on an extra long walk. He was a good dog and I really enjoyed my time with him too.

When I returned to the house, the lights down stairs were dimmed and there was no sign of Mrs. Smith. I was going to leave the house quietly even though I felt sad that there would be no final goodbye but then I heard her voice from upstairs.

"Tom, could you come here for a minute?"

It was Mrs. Smith calling from the bedroom and for a moment I wondered if I had done something wrong to the bed setting it up or something. I went up the stairs and stepped into the master bedroom to find Mrs. Smith sitting on the foot of the bed in her robe.

I swallowed at the sight – for some reason she looked even sexier in the old robe than she had in the wonderful white dress she wore earlier.

"Would you like to say goodbye, Tom?" Mrs. Smith asked.

"I would," I replied as I stepped into the room.

Mrs. Smith reached down, unfastened the tie and let the robe fall open. I sat next to her at the foot of the bed and this time I kissed her first while I reached my hand into the open robe and took her breast. I felt her nipples harden as I ran my thumb over them.

Mrs. Smith let the robe fall off her shoulders and she said nothing as I leaned and began kissing her breasts while massaging them with my hands although I felt her breaths begin to skip.

"Tom?" She moaned.

"You're wonderful," I whispered with appreciation, gently kissing her on the lips.

"My, you have grown up, haven't you?" She asked, impressed.

I kissed her breasts again. "Can I say goodbye to you the way I'd like to?" I asked.

"You can," she agreed.

I trailed kisses down her body while she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me close to her. I slipped off the bed onto my knees and put my head between her legs.

"Tom!" She said with surprise.

I licked her inner thigh which caused her to spread her legs apart and that's when I rubbed my tongue across her slit. This time it was Mrs. Smith's turn to jump and that's when I slipped my tongue inside her and she flung herself back on the bed with a loud scream.

"Tom..." She whimpered as her body quivered.

I didn't even think about what I was doing or worry if I was doing it right. I wanted to give Mrs. Smith a goodbye we would both remember and I could tell by the way she was squirming on the bed that she was enjoying every moment of my lovemaking.

"Tom..." Her eyes were shut and she had one of her fingers in her mouth as she moved her hand back and forth and moaned as I licked her clit. "Ohhh..."

She kept screaming with pleasure but I wouldn't stop what I was doing even when

she arched her back and hollered as she finally orgasmed after I had failed her before.

I pulled my tongue out and Mrs. Smith stopped squirming on the bed although she hadn't found her breath yet.

"Tom..." she cried, lifting her head enough to see me still between her legs. "Are you ready to try it again?" She asked.

I nodded with understanding as I quickly removed my clothes and this time I triumphantly stood naked in front of her, proud and confident, instead of panicked and fearful like before.

"Tom?" Mrs. Smith asked, sensing my new confidence.

I lay on top of her and had little trouble entering her ever so slowly but it didn't take me long to find my rhythm this time and soon I was thrusting in and out with confidence and authority and I knew that this time it was going to be way different and so much better for the both of us.

Mrs. Smith hugged me as she came, screaming out my name as she thrashed underneath me and I followed her, crying out her name as I spilled myself inside her and caught her orgasm like I was a surfer riding a wave.

I'm not sure how long the two of us rode that wave but it felt like forever before I collapsed on top of her, sweaty and unable to speak.

"Tom!" Mrs. Smith moaned happily. "Oh My god, thank you."

"Have I improved?" I asked and Mrs. Smith burst out in a laughing cry – or was it a crying laugh?

"Greatly, Tom, oh so greatly!"

I smiled with happy relief and deep personal satisfaction as we clung to each other. My softening cock slowly slipped out of her as we continued to hold on to each other knowing we would never be together like this again.

"Thank you," I whispered into her ear.

"You're welcome," she whispered back.

I don't know how long we lay there together like that but eventually I left her bed and dressed.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Smith," I said as she lay sprawled and naked on the bed in some sort of semi-conscious ecstasy.

"Goodbye, Tom," she said knowingly.

I left her house but I didn't feel like I was going to cry this time. In some ways, I wanted to laugh knowing that the misery of my past was finally over. Mrs. Smith showed me that I could be likeable, I could be loveable, I could be wanted, and I that I was a man. I would never forget her for giving me such a wonderful gift.