Miss Florence Ch. 01

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I’ve attempted to write this story from the perspective of the woman who’s affections are being sought after. I’m not sure if I succeeded or not, I guess the numbers will tell as people read and vote. If you’re into unrealistic sized dicks and mammoth sized tits, or don’t like happy endings, you won’t like this story.

The main character is fashioned after my late aunt. I’ve modernized it, the sex scenes and conversations are of course imagined, but the story is not. She did work in a bank forever, meet and marry the young manager very similarly to how the story is written.

Miss Florence part one

I was very aware of Tom Stinsen, (bank manager), standing behind me as we discussed details on a customer statement. His hand lightly touching the small of my back was hardly unnoticeable. He wasn’t being lewd or provocative in any way, he was looking past me on my left, pointing to this and that with his left hand. When we were finished he merely thanked me and went his way.

My name is Florence, I’m 54 and have been at the bank since I was fresh out of high school at the tender age of 18. I’ve spent 36 years at the same place, hard to fathom. I started as a teller, worked my way into a loan officer position in my 30’s thinking I was climbing the ladder of success. It lasted about 5 years when I opted to be a teller again. I wasn’t comfortable in an office, I wanted to be where I could interact with people again. Most of whom I’d known the better portion of my life.

I’ve never been married, I am what is commonly referred to as a spinster. I was the youngest of 7 children, mother birthed me at the age of 47. I was what is now known as an “oops” baby, back then it was just an inconvenience to have another so late in life. Pa died when I was in my 20’s, I lived at home with mom until she died just after my 30th birthday. It was only after mom died that I got my driver’s license at the age of 31. The house mother and I lived in was meager, but it was left to me and I take good care of it. I walk to work rain or shine, always have, I only use the car if it’s below zero. Seeing me walk the 3 blocks to and from the bank each day has become something everyone in town can almost set their clocks to.

I watched Tom walking toward his office at the front of the bank with it’s huge glass windows and rich woodwork. He was dashing to say the least, at least 6′ tall. The bank had been built in 1903 after fire had gutted the town in the winter of ’01. The bank was one of the first new buildings to be built with brick, and it had stood the tests of time sufficiently. As I watched Tom walk in his office I found myself wondering if he had just flirted with me. He’s a very touchy feely guy, not in a bad sense, he simply makes contact with me as he speaks. A touch of my forearm, a soft hand on the edge of my shoulder, simple non-threatening gestures, yet sensuous in a way. And his smile, always that infectious smile.

Come to think of it, I have never seen Tom touch any other woman as he had just done with me, his hand on the small of her back.

My mind began to ponder, “Might he be flirting with me? Why would he? I’m 54, he’s 35, I’m sure he has lots of gals his age whom he beds on a regular basis. He sure is handsome, I’ll give him that.”

Having never been married I know little about the field of sex beyond what I’ve read, the crap Glenda tells me about and the occasional steamy movie I have seen. I’ve reached the conclusion that if one has to be slammed against a wall or the back of an apartment door to kiss, followed by ripping each other’s clothes off, I’m just fine without it. Even then they don’t kiss, it’s as though they’re trying to devour one another’s face. The scene I think is the most ridiculous is sweeping everything from the kitchen island, glassware and all, to throw your partner on the counter and screw them. I have one question, who gets to clean that mess and replace the glassware?

Within an hour Tom was beside me again, asking about a spreadsheet he needed. Pulling away a half foot he looked me over, not leering, he cocked one eye and said, “Is that a new dress? You make it look good Florence.” With that he picked up the report and walked back to his office, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.

I was still wide eyed when Glenda, the only other older gal in the place walked over to me.

“I think that boy has the hots for you. Better hang onto your nickers, as cute as he is I’ll bet he can coax a girl out of them quickly.”

“Glenda, what are you talking about? That’s foolishness, he’s just a nice boy.”

“Just nice boys don’t find a reason to ask you every question he needs an answer to, just a nice boy wouldn’t look at you like a puppy at a slipper. I’ve been married 41 years and I’m telling you Flo, that ‘just a nice boy’ would love to see your panties laying on the floor and you naked on his bed.”

As red as my face turned I was glad there were no dogs around, they’d have mistaken me for a fire hydrant. I had dated a few guys through the years, but none pendik escort of them had gotten beyond a few feels of my breasts through my blouse. When it became apparent I wasn’t going to put out, they would dump me. That had been over 20 years ago though. I must have had a far-away look in my eyes, Glenda brought me back to the present.

“Look at you, you’re in some kind of a daydream, and I’ll bet there’s a tingling between your legs you haven’t felt for a long time. Who knows Flo, maybe he’s into older women.”

I’d had enough inuendo, after all, I am a take charge woman, have been all my life, it was time to address the issue head on. During my break I knocked on Tom’s open door, “do you have a few minutes?”

“Tom, I need to get something clear in my head, please let me finish and then I’d like to know your opinion. You’ve been here almost two years, it seems that over the past several months you have averted a lot of attention toward me. I’ve noticed you touch me a lot, not menacingly, touches of my arm, my shoulder, the small of my back. You compliment me about things others don’t. Tom, are you flirting with me?”

With a big grin on his face he responded, “Why Florence, that would violate the banks harassment policy and I would never do that. I happen to think you’re a pretty lady, you dress impeccably,you’re smart as a whip, and I enjoy the periodic conversations we have in the break room. (he then smiled huge) Though I’m violating company policy Florence, yes, I’m flirting with you as much as you let me.”

If I could have shit a brick I would have. No man had ever been so bold, and still so sweet at the same time. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could Tom interrupted.

“Do you ever eat at the Freighthouse Café? Being single I tend to eat there often, food is good, service decent, it’s clean and the prices are reasonable.”

I was still trying to process him telling me he was flirting with me and he asks if I eat at the café?

“Um, yes, I’ve eaten there. Why?”

“Would you like to have supper with me tonight. It’s not a fancy place so it won’t be like a date thing. Just supper together, two single work associates having a meal.”

“Well I might have to do something, I don’t know.”

“What would you have to do Florence? You live alone with a cat, you order pizza on Tuesdays and Chinese every Thursday. It’s Friday, you have no plans, so meet me for fish fry.”

“How would you know all that?”

“Mmmm, I’ve been interested in you for quite a while. Not in a stalking way, just asking questions of folks trying to learn more about you. A couple of times I walked a block or so behind you so I knew where you lived.”

“I don’t know. Will it just be a fish fry? Or will I have to beat you off later as you try to molest me?”

I realized he was being a smartass as he chuckled, “You could just let me molest you without beating me if you’d like. Seriously Florence, I would never do such a thing, it’s not within my character.”

After pondering his face a short while, “Okay, I’ll meet you for fish fry, but we’re going dutch, I’ll pay for my meal.”

I was attending to my drawer as I cashed out at days end. Glenda slipped in beside me.

“I noticed you went into Tom’s office. What was that all about?”

“I’m meeting him for fish fry at the Freighthouse. We’re going dutch, it’s all on the up and up, no funny business.”

Glenda smirked, “Well honey, make sure you wear some sexy nickers in case they end up coming off.”

“My God Glenda, you’re a pervert. My panties are staying on, end of subject.”

As Glenda walked away she looked over her shoulder smiling, “I’m just sayin.”

It was 4:45, I was wondering what I should wear. I wanted to wear something he hadn’t seen, something striking. Should I wear stockings or go bare legged. What about Glenda’s admonishment to wear sexy underwear. Wait, I don’t really have any sexy underwear.

I grabbed hold of my wandering mind. “You’re going for a fish fry, not a damn orgy. Who the hell cares what he might like, wear what you like.”

Fifteen minutes later I was out of the shower, dried and sliding silk stockings up my legs, held in place by a white garter belt. I don’t own anything but full briefs, but some of them are lacy and see through, that will have to pass for sexy tonight. I chose the white lace pair, then grabbed the matching bra.

Now I needed to pick out a dress. Let’s see, it’s still warm enough I could get away with the aqua colored sun dress, the one with the big dark blue flowers, I’d never worn that one to work. Add a light shawl with it and I’ll be set. I studied myself in the mirror. At 54 I’m no longer a spring chick, at the same time I’m not a dog either. My shoulder length auburn hair is still thick, although there were some streaks of grey. My hair has always been long, I have never cut it any shorter than it is now.

I’m not much of a makeup girl. I put on just a touch to enhance my high cheek bones and soften my eyes. One of the nicest compliments maltepe escort I’ve ever received was from a guy who told me I have bedroom eyes. Looking over my body in the mirror I was relatively pleased, not heavy, not skinny, an average older woman. My breasts are still firm, there’s very little sag, a solid 34C. My tummy isn’t flat anymore, it has that gentle little roundness that appears from nowhere around 45, never to go away.

My waist is narrow and flows into my hips, I have a nice soft ass and shapely legs. I’m only 5’7″, so there is a lot of stuff packed into this frame. I grabbed my white pumps, it was time to start walking to the diner. The diner was a few blocks past the bank and I was there right at 6. Tom was in a booth and waved at me. An older couple commented on my dress, while another older couple wondered what I was doing out on a Friday evening.

“I’m having a fish fry with my colleague from the bank. You folks have a good evening.” Nearly everyone in the place greeted me as I walked by.

The fish was good, I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been out for a Friday fish fry. We each had a piece of pie and chatted over a cup of coffee. When it came time to leave Tom asked if he could walk me home. What? This was new territory for me.

“Okay, but no muckin about, and you aren’t coming in for coffee, tea, or me. Got it?”

Tom snorted, “Where the hell did that come from, I’ve never heard that line before.”

We were both laughing, it was the first time I’d laughed all evening. “I’ll tell you on the way home.” We paid our tabs and left.

On the sidewalk I began to explain, “Years ago there was a southern gal who somehow found her way to our town and got a job at the Freighthouse as a waitress. Word was she was pretty loose, if you get my drift, going out with several men, married and single. The scuttlebutt was she used that line to get them interested. When they sat down she would say, ‘What’ll it be boys, coffee, tea, or me?’ Needless to say, the housewives and girlfriends soon ran her skinny ass out of town. The punchline stayed.”

At the house I was about to say goodnight when Tom asked if we could sit on the porch swing and talk a bit longer.

In full spinster mode I blurted, “I have pepper spray in my purse and I’ll use it.”

Sitting on the swing he told me of his studies in finance and marketing, how he had applied for his present position and was amazed he’d been chosen. Chit chat in general.

“Florence, how is it that a pretty lady like you isn’t married with a brood of kids and grandkids? I would think you had suitors lined up as a young lady.”

“Never happened Tom. There were a few along the way, they all wanted more than I was willing to give before marriage and they bolted. As I look back, I probably should have done it differently, not been so set in my ways. So here I am a spinster at 54. It is what it is, I have no regrets. I would like to have known love before I died, and maybe I will, but it doesn’t look that way. I’m going to retire next May on my 55th birthday, who knows, maybe I’ll meet a nice guy after that.”

Thunder could be heard rumbling in the distance, Tom reckoned he’d better head for his car before the rain hit. We said our good nights and he departed. Stepping inside I thought to myself.

“He’s nice, polite, didn’t try any funny business or say anything suggestive. I would probably go on a real date if he asked, fat chance of that happening though. Why would a 35 year old dreamboat like him want to be seen with a spinster like me?”

At the bank things were normal. The next Friday at noon Tom, me, and three other gals were having lunch in the break room. I mentioned driving to Jeffersonville on Saturday and dreaded the 70 mile one way trek.

Tom spoke up, “I need to go there as well, some things I want from Costco, care to ride along? It’s a long drive alone, I wouldn’t mind some adult conversation.”

With enough cajoling and bantering from the other ladies I finally agreed to ride with Tom. He would pick me up at 7:30. We could grab a breakfast sandwich and coffee at Mickey D’s on the way.

Tom was five minutes early. I bounced out of the house heading toward the car. I’d worn my mid-rise jeans, something new to me and entirely outside my comfort zone, they weren’t so tight they pinched, but they were snug enough to accentuate my ass. Good thing my white pull over top tucked into my jeans or my panties would have been showing. I made a mental note to get some of those shorter panties, like a bikini.

I had a light coat over my arm, white sneaks and my hair pulled back in a ponytail with a red ribbon. Tom was on my side of the pickup opening the door for me. I thought I noticed a slight bulge in his pants, then quickly discounted the notion. Although, it did take him an inordinate amount of time to get around the truck and into his seat.

The drive was friendly. We talked about different things, how I’d never learned to drive until mother had died, how of my seven siblings there was kartal escort only me and one older brother alive. I mentioned I didn’t expect him to live much longer at 83. Nieces, nephews, kids, family life, all the things you talk about to obliviate the silence. I was particularly impressed with his choice of vehicle, an older Toyota Tundra pickup. I figured he’d have some flashy whatever with a fast motor.

“Nah, I don’t need flash, it’s overrated and damned expensive to maintain. This old girl has 185,000 on her, runs well, no rust, I follow the manufacturers maintenance schedule, it’s paid for and what else do I need? I have a topper I can throw on the bed if I travel long distance and need to put stuff in the back.”

Shopping at Costco and other venues ate up most of the day, we had gotten a quick bite at the mall food court so by late afternoon we were hungry. Tom asked if I liked Mexican, I’d eaten Mexican a few times, so I said yes, he recommended El Mezcal for supper. After being seated the waiter asked if we’d like before dinner drinks. Tom ordered a virgin strawberry Maragarita. I’d never heard of such a thing, Tom explained it was a margarita without alcohol. I had Tom order one for me as well. It was yummy.

Since he’d been asking questions all day, I decided to ask one. “Tom why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“I’m between girlfriends right now. The one I was dating moved to Florida. I have my heart set on a new one.”

“Moved to Florida? Why did she do that, for her job?”

“No, she moved into a retirement village. I had no interest in moving to Florida, so I stayed.”

What was he talking about, he must have seen the confusion on my face.

“I only date older women. Miriam and I had been together three years before she moved. After I got the bank position I would drive here each Friday evening after closing, we would have our weekend together and I would come home. I know there are widows and older women in our town, but I’ve only met one I would consider dating.”

I was beginning to wonder what I had gotten myself into by asking that question.

Tom continued, “I’m not a gigolo, or a boy toy, or a kept younger man. I’ve had two relationships and each one was exclusive, no cheating, no added partners, no gang bangs, two people who loved and cared for one another.”

After our food arrived the rest of the meal was quiet. A few questions about our respective meals, did I like my food, things like that. The waitress boxed up what we couldn’t eat, we settled our bills and headed home.

In the truck I decided to find out what his agenda was. “Tom why did you tell me all that stuff? Why did I need to know about your love life?”

“Flo, you started it when you asked about a girlfriend. May I call you Flo? I told you because I like you. I like you enough that I’d love to get to know you much better. I can think of nothing I want more than to walk in the door each night, yell honey I’m home, and have your arms wrapped around my neck, your sweet lips kissing me.”

“Tom, I don’t generally cuss, but are you outa your fuckin mind? I’m 54 dipshit, you’re 35, that’s 19 years difference. What the hell kind of drugs are you taking?”

“Miriam was 57 when I met her, and we had a romping good time the three years we were together. Why is what I’ve said so insane to you? Don’t you want to have a man to love you, to dote over you, to make love to you?”

“Tom, I’m a 54 year old virgin. Who the hell wants a 54 year old virgin? I’ll tell you who, nobody.”

“Flo I’ve watched you closely for the last four months. My curiosity began a few months after Miriam moved. I find myself intoxicated by your flower scented perfume, and I absolutely love the apple scent of your hair. I’m moved by your sexy body, your grace as you conduct yourself, your confidence and poise. I think I qualify as someone who’s interested in you, 54 or not, virgin or not, I don’t care.”

“Tom, there’s a Kwik Trip about 5 miles ahead, will you stop in there, the margarita is going through me, I need to pee.”

“Are you upset with me Florence? I didn’t mean to upset you if I have.”

“I’m not upset with you Tom. I’m too far into a state of shock to be upset. Just get me to the convenience store before I pee my pants.”

I saw Tom wandering the candy aisle trying to decide which candy bar he wanted. As he stood there I approached from behind and touched his arm. I softly spoke, “Butterfinger, without fail. You can never go wrong with a Butterfinger.”

He asked if I wanted one, I declined, stating I needed to watch my girlish figure.

About 20 miles from home I decided to probe deeper.

“Is being with an older woman some kind of kinky new thing? Why would you rather be with a woman in her 50’s as opposed to a woman in her 20’s or 30’s? Doesn’t seem natural.”

“And who gets to decide what is or isn’t natural? I’m not talking biologically, I’m talking attractiveness. Why can’t a younger guy be attracted to older women? They’re settled in life, they’re stable, they know what they want, and they’re committed for the most part. No worries about babies, and I have to say, younger women may be more active in bed, but they aren’t better. I’d make love to an older woman of my choosing any day over the average young one.”

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