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She was Married I was a widower losing my wife five years earlier. D was always very friendly and touchy feely but she was a little depressed for a long while and after asking what was wrong at least a dozen time she finally told me one day in the parking lot. She said her husband was totally ignoring her after their daughter left for college and they work different shifts she was lonely. I told her if she wanted she could call me anytime if she wanted to talk and if she wanted to go to the diner after work I would go I didn't like to eat alone anyway. Then after a few months of this I got a call D car won't start she at the the Park she would go there to smoker her pot in her car she would not smoke at home and it was cold out. So I get my tool box. Claire teases me, striking a pose in the doorway. She is fully clothed, still wearing her two-piece suit of skirt and jacket – it is the beige-gold one in soft summer-weight shantung fabric, with a two-button tulip jacket that enhances her curves and emphasises her narrow waist, and a pencil skirt tapering to a little above her knees, zip-fastened at the hip and with a slashed back vent. Underneath the jacket is an Italian pintuck white shirt, tightly-tailored and unbuttoned at the throat, and her lingerie is pale yellow and decorated with little bows – I know, because I watched her slip on the bra and panties this morning! On this late summer day, she has not bothered with tights or stockings at all, and a few inches of her shapely tanned legs are on view, between the hem of her skirt and her dark brown leather boots. She knows how much I like that look – ah, sweet heaven, I have always loved getting fucked by a puss in boots! Claire wears little jewellery – a pair of neat.
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