At forty-six, I found myself at loose ends for the first time since junior high. My teaching career had fallen victim to the ruthless budgetary concerns that had virtually done away with tenure in my university, and I had finally carved myself a niche teaching in a small community college.
I bought a charming old house and began to fix it up myself, but it was lonely, and I had no real vision for the future. One beautiful evening in early summer I was lounging in my backyard with a mug of Guinness, contemplating the stars. There was a full moon, and I was thinking it was the perfect night for the appearance of one of the lusty goddesses of classical mythology.
Then she appeared, out of the back door of my neighbor’s house. I’d never seen her before, and I thought for a minute I was having a vision—or maybe a hallucination. She was stunning—tall, blonde and gorgeous, with a flawless body. Her modest swimsuit displayed all her charms in piquant fashion. She must have been half my age, but my heart was captured in a moment. I watched in awe as she prepared to dive into the pool, the fabric of her suit working its way between the cheeks of her ass in a way that made me shudder from head to toe and take note of my throbbing erection.
No young woman had ever affected me like this, and I’d had hundreds in my classrooms. We hadn’t exchanged a word, but she had me in her snare. I had to learn more about her. I simply stared as she arose from the water like Aphrodite from the sea foam. When she lay back on the lounge chair and began to rub herself absentmindedly, it was almost more than I could bear. Later that night, after I had masturbated restlessly, she met me in my dreams, inspiring the first wet dream I’d had in twenty years.
The next day I spotted a gossipy friend from down the block who told me that she was a graduate student in Classics, house-sitting for her parents while they were in Europe for the summer. That explained why I had never seen her before. I had to get to know her—and in the biblical sense as well as just being introduced. I wasn’t sure how, but trust the trained intellect to formulate a plan.
I kept in good shape, running and working out at the gym, so there wasn’t an ounce of fat on my six-foot frame. I was deeply tanned from working outdoors painting the house and landscaping my yard. She could hardly have found a more powerful contrast to her dewy blonde looks in this dark, intense professor. If we made love there would surely be fireworks.
I slipped into a pair of nylon shorts with no underwear, letting my impressive equipment move freely. A tight T-shirt emphasized my muscular chest and arms, and I prepared my patio to grill some steaks. I hoped my young beauty would put in another appearance and I could entice her to dine with me.
My ploy worked. In fact, it was she who spoke first, her warm voice caressing me. Her name was Clio, after the Muse of history, and Greek history was, of course, my subject. She was enchanted that I not only knew the derivation of her name, but that my field was so close to her own. She joined me for the simple meal I had prepared, and our minds struck sparks off each other as, apparently, did our mutual physical attraction.
After dinner she invited me for a swim and I accepted, my nylon shorts making acceptable trunks. She dove in, cleaving the water that glowed in the twilight, and before I could react, she had tossed aside her suit, splashing about like a Nereid on holiday.
She beckoned to me to join her, and I dove in and swam over. She reached out for me and we kissed deeply. My hands went to her breasts, squeezing those perfect young mounds that called me to worship them. I lowered my head and felt her shiver as I kissed and licked them, feeling her nipples harden against my lips.
My cock was tenting my ridiculous shorts, so I yanked them off. Naked, my erection bobbed lewdly in the water, and Clio reached for it, bending down to envelop my shaft between her perfect breasts. Her head dipped, and I felt the tip of my manhood disappear into her hot, sweet mouth. I clutched at her blonde hair and cried out as she blew me expertly.
She pulled away, knowing I was very close, and rested her bottom against the edge of the pool, leaning back invitingly, legs open. I came to her shakily. My cock had grown enormous. She could have had any handsome young stud she wanted, but it seemed she craved the experience I could offer. I took her in my arms again, poised at her entrance. She smiled and whispered, “Who needs Adonis when she can have Olympian Jove?” That did it. I shuddered and plunged my full length into her in a stroke that seemed to last an eternity.
She clung to me and gasped as she got used to my size. Her hands grasped my ass cheeks and drew me farther in, reluctantly letting me withdraw only to renew my ravishment. We started a rhythm, perfectly matching tempo, and I didn’t even hesitate when I felt her come the first time. Wave after wave shook her splendid body until I, too, tensed and poured my seed, and my soul, into her. A look of complete rapture illuminated her face, and I kissed her eyelids softly.
Our summer nights were filled with good conversation and intellectual sparring, interspersed with sex that only the gods of Olympus could have equaled. The night before she had to return to the university for the fall term, I took her out to an elegant restaurant for dinner. Afterward we sat in the moonlight and made love on the grass of my backyard, with all the poignancy of lovers who may not meet again.
In the afterglow I took courage and delved into the pocket of my cast-off trousers, coming up with a small box—a box to which I had entrusted my hopes for a vibrant future. Kneeling naked before her, I asked softly, “Little goddess of history, would you be the muse of my future? Clio, will you be my wife?”
She lay there silent for a second that seemed to last millennia, and my heart seemed to stop, caught between hope and fear. Then she spoke in that same lovely voice that had first warmed me three months before. “Oh yes, Henry! With all my heart.”
I slid the ring onto her finger and kissed her palm, too moved for words. Kisses supplied my meaning, however, and we made love again in the moonlight, confident of a shining future.
—Mr. H.M., Spring Lake, New Jersey