Curt Aldrich
Hot widow, no panties
CHAPTER ONE
Jennifer was silting in her living room staring blankly at a late-afternoon soap opera on TV when the newspaper truck pulled up across the street and dumped two large bundles of fresh newspapers at the curbside. The young truck driver, with muscles bulging under his T-shirt, looked so much like George, her recently deceased husband, that she jumped up off the couch to take a closer look. The young driver spotted her and gave a smile and a wave. Jennifer gave him a half-hearted wave back and sank back down on the couch. She didn't look up again from the TV until she was sure the truck had left.
Although the soap opera didn't interest her, she watched it anyway for something to do to keep her mind occupied. In fact, ever since the accident and George's death, she'd been doing little else than watch TV – the good-morning shows when she got up, the game shows all morning long, soap operas all afternoon. In the evenings she watched whatever was on, falling asleep in front of the TV and crawling to bed sometime during the night.
It had been six months since she'd received the call informing her that a crane had fallen on her husband at his construction job, killing him instantly, and she was still unable to believe it. She kept expecting George to pop in the door at any moment and tell her it had been a joke.
Bin it was no joke. George was dead. Jennifer was alone. She wondered if she was going to spend the rest of her life in front of a TV set, staring blankly at it.
The quarter-million dollars in life insurance benefits she'd received as a result of George's death were a mixed blessing. With the money wisely invested and earning dividends, she was set financially for the rest of her life. She'd never have to work to support herself.
But maybe it would have been better if George had left her nothing and she'd have been forced to go out and get a job. A job would have been good for her, would have taken her mind off the loss of her husband and given her less time to brood. How could she motivate herself to go out and find work though, when her quarter-million was earning her more money than the knew what to do with? So she sat home, watched TV, and brooded over the loss of George, wondering if she'd ever be happy again.
Across the street the two paperboys had arrived and were stuffing newspapers in their paper-sacks. They were both shirtless, and wearing skin-tight jeans. Both boys had dark tans and bushy, disheveled hair. The boy that delivered her own paper, Gary, was barefoot. The boys laughed as they worked, and their loud voices carded through Jennifer's front window. In a way, the boys reminded her of George, sweaty, hard-working, good-natured, and sexy.
Jennifer and George had both been seniors in high school when they'd met, and only months later, soon after June graduation, they'd been married. When they'd first met, Jennifer had been a virgin, but George had taken care of that situation at a drive-in movie a few nights later.
The moment Jennifer had felt George's big cock inside her, she'd become hooked on him and had realized that she'd never be happy unless she could marry him and spend the rest of her life with him. For the ten years of their marriage, Jennifer and George had fucked at least once a day without fail. Jennifer had lived for their fucking. She'd lived for the feel of George's hot cock grinding in her pussy. How could she ever be happy again without George?