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Terror in the Dark.

"What?" Diane wiped her hands nervously on her napkin. "You're staring!"

"You're very beautiful."

She screwed up her face in jest. "C'mon, you're just teasing me. Everyone probably thinks I'm old enough to be your mother."

"I doubt that very much," I replied. "Speaking of that, did you bring that picture of your son along with you?"

Her face brightened up. "As a matter of fact, I did." She dug into her purse and came out with a wallet sized photograph of a slightly younger version of herself holding a preschool aged biracial boy. "This is Emil."

I looked at the picture and then looked back at Diane. Yep, same woman all right. It was true! The sexy white lady across the table from me had borne a black baby a few years back. Okay, here it goes. "Diane, have you thought any more about what I asked you about in my emails?"

She flushed. "Ohh! That was unexpected."

"Forgive me for rushing things. But, I've thought about little else since I began corresponding with you."

There was a short pause. Then she whispered, "Me too."

This time I know my face reflected my surprise. "Really?"

She nodded and then looked down into her water glass. "I don't quite know what to say to all of this, but I can't say I'm not...flattered, Tim. I'm just so...flustered."

"That's allowed."

"I'm glad. I'm really going to have to check with my doctor, you know. Women over forty at risk and all that..."

"There's an easier solution you know." I thought I'd take a chance and watch her reaction. "All we have to do is fuck every night and see if my seed catches."

"Tim!" Diane's face went beet red, and her jaw dropped. "People all around us could be listening."

"Not likely..." I reached out and took her hand across the table. I wondered if she'd protest. But she left her hand in the clutches of my own. "Are you enjoying your salad, Diane?"

"What?" She pulled her hand away and began to cut her lettuce leaves into tiny bites. "You are something else, you know that?"

The rest of dinner was as unforgettable as what had gone before. "So can we see your apartment tonight?"

Diane looked into my eyes for a few minutes and then answered. "I think I'd rather see yours."

This time I was caught by surprise. "My place?"

"If you don't mind..." She looked down at her plate again. "I mean the Heights are much closer to the restaurant than my apartment."

"Uhh...my duplex kind of looks like a bachelor's crib, is the mess gonna bother you?"

She shook her head. "No."

I raised my eyebrows. "Okay then, my place it is." I wrote down my address on a paper coaster and slid it to her. "I want you to follow me home in your car, but if you lose me, here's the address."

***

I learned something important when I took Diane back to my duplex in the Heights. Something I hadn't expected. Since girls my age and younger tend to wear bikini panties and thongs, I am used to seeing those tiny strips of cloth covering a woman's loins. Especially after a formal date.

Diane wore black panties fully appropriate for a woman her age and her size. You know how panties fit on those retro centerfold shots from the fifties and sixties? I don't think she'd planned on being in a situation to have me scrutinize them so closely. On the other hand, it had been a while since I'd gotten any woman stripped down to where I could examine the way her panties fit on her hips, abdomen, and pubic mound. Turns out it had been even longer since Diane found herself in the same position with a man.

As I said before, the place looks pretty much like a poor man's bachelor pad. D__cor is early Salvation Army and curbside pick-up. I'm afraid all I've got in my bedroom is a twin bed. However, Diane agreed that even a twin bed would provide more than enough room for what we had in mind.

I helped Diane out of her black dress, her strapless bra, and peeled off her black panties in a short time.

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