Lee Duchesne

Summer Romance

Friends welcome his return to the old town
after two years away—they celebrate
his presence in this house, sitting around
while he toasts his success and praises fate

for making sure the gang’s still here for him.
One woman friend stops by, who hasn’t yet
gone through with her divorce: she doesn’t seem
too keen on sneaking out to fuck him but

she smiles at their exchange of pleasantries.
She soon leaves for another obligation.
He mingles with the group until he sees
a stare: a stranger, in slight agitation

to be caught ogling, tries to look discreet.
Her dress is gaudy and her figure’s plump,
but he’s amused and finds it kind of sweet
that at around age fifty such a frump

would signal her attraction for a man
fifteen years younger. He sends one more glance
her way, then sits with her, in hopes he can
without much effort get into her pants.

She’s charmed by his intelligence and wit,
she eyes the striking contours of his face.
The party’s winding down but they stay put
till hardly anyone’s left in the place.

When he leans close she’s ready for his kiss.
He’ll drive her home, he says to her delight.
Down to her toes she’s quivering with bliss
to hear his wish to hold her through the night.

They go to her apartment across town
and sit a minute with a glass of wine,
then quickly toss their clothes off and lie down.
He’s in a frenzy as he puts his fine

lips on her skin, his fingers in her folds.
She’s ready, but she can’t help wondering
what his intentions are, if in his bold-
ness he just craves a lay, or if this thing

has much to do with who she is inside.
But pressed along by her own pelvic heat,
she needs him, so it barely stains her pride
to offer him the gift of female meat.

What really draws him to her is the glow
in her brown eyes. Her body’s not a prize:
it’s mainly flab, except her legs, which show
some firmness—with his head between her thighs

he feels a squeeze that powers up his lust.
He’s moved at how intensely her embrace
conveys concern for him. Maybe he just
senses her neediness: her homely face,

though kind, is uninviting, and her tits
hang to the sides. But if her heart and soul
are what she brings to this, no wonder it’s
a blessing to slurp nectar from her hole.

It’s special, he believes, to share a bed
with such a lady, middle-aged yet eager.
Besides, he’s more than happy he can add
her to his conquests, which are far from meager.

Throughout the balmy August night they fuck—
he’s tender with her, sensually skilled.
She thrusts her hips to take his hefty cock
deep in her cunt. She couldn’t be more thrilled

when he suggests something that secretly
for years she’s yearned for, anal intercourse.
Only in dreams has she known so much glee.
She sees the dawn’s first light: what will the course

of this day bring? He shuts his pretty eyes.
She’s in his arms, but now his manly power
begins to make her feel immobilized.
She manages to doze maybe an hour

before his snoring goes into high gear.
But still his face looks helpless as he sleeps:
she strokes his chest, surprised at the idea
he’s not much older than her son, who keeps

up healthy habits and who’d never jump
into the sack with some old broad, nor picture
his mother in the role of gray-haired tramp.
What would her daughter think? There’d be a lecture,

repayment for maternal reprimands.
She ponders what she’s done: she feels a mix
of raunch and rhapsody. His slender hands
twitch as he stirs—his smile’s a joyous fix

for her regrets. His touch warms up her sides—
his dick’s hard so she reaches for a condom.
At his request she turns her back: he slides
it up her ass, which brings on heaven’s kingdom.

They dress without a word. She puts on water
for coffee and once more he’s suave: he shows
an interest in her job, asks if her daughter
and son stay in close touch with her. She knows

it’s dumb to think a man you had no shame
to get stark naked for, especially
if riding his big rod was your chief aim,
will ever offer more. Regardless, she

can’t stop herself from wishing he would spend
the day with her. When she starts to believe
luck might be granting her a special friend,
he stands and says it’s time for him to leave.

He guesses she has hopes, but he has plans.
He doesn’t hurry as he drives back through
the neighborhoods, glad he’s in town again,
contented from last night, yet wanting to

meet other women while he’s here, maybe
less used-up ones. He manages to reach
his married friend: he gets her to agree
to that quick fuck, though she makes clear one breach

is all for now. Over the next few nights
he casts out grins and stares, without success.
He tries to tell himself that it’s not right
to spend this visit just in search of sex:

there’s more in his old town to do and see.
But playing hometown tourist gets him peeved.
He could call up the matron: isn’t she
the more than modest fortune he’s received?

She’s skeptical at hearing him say how
she’s on his mind, how much he really cares.
Not knowing why, she says she’s free right now.
When he arrives her heart flies through the air.

They roll in bed for hours. It wears her out,
but getting fucked in both holes is sweet nurture.
All through the week she sets aside her doubt
and lets him stay most nights, till his departure.

Despite his promise there’s no call. She leaves
a message but with no reply. She’s torn.
She wonders if her children would believe
that Mom loves doing things she’s seen in porn.

Two months go by. Repeatedly she says
to herself she’s forgotten him for sure,
except maybe how great in bed he was,
a detail worth amusement, nothing more.

He texts hello. She’s set for this: he’s wrong,
she types, to think she’ll speak to him again.
But what if, he replies, he’ll be along
at Christmastime? She says he’s welcome then.


Lee Duchesne, International Person of Mystery, is a writer who spends time in several cities in the US and Europe. Under different names, Duchesne writes poetry, fiction, and essays, has made experimental films, and every so often loves to write a piece that lays bare both the joy and frustration of erotic life.

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