“I think I am supposed to be the one focussed on your chest,” he said, daring a slight joke. His voice so soft it was nearly a whisper.
“Do you want to see my breasts?” she asked. The youthful innocence in her voice caused him actual, physical pain.
“Mmm. Very much.”
She pushed him back until he was pressed against the refrigerator. He looked quickly, found his wine glass, and turned his focus back to her.
As he watched she tugged slowly at the spaghetti straps that had held the little romper up, slipped them off her shoulders, and down her arms. The romper fell free from her chest and then she rocked from ass cheek to ass cheek pulling the little outfit off her hips. At her knees, free of the kitchen counter it fell to the floor all on its own. She arched her back. Her bra was one of those little ones that only half covers a woman’s breast. One nipple was peeking out from the creamy yellow lace. She reached between her breasts, released the clasp, and shrugged her shoulders shaking herself free.
She smiled at him, leaned back onto the island, and posed.
He smiled back at her and took a sip of his wine.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Wrong? Nothing!”
“You are an awfully long ways away.”
“I’m right here.”
“Yeah, but it seems like you should be right here,” she said. He wasn’t sure if the movement of her hand along her perfect thigh was meant to indicate here or not.
“I am… a little intimidated.”
Her smile softened. “I can get dressed again.”
He thought about it. It would be best if she did. He thought of the woman in San Antonio. He had tried once to call her on a Friday night only to be sent immediately to voicemail. He thought of her out with friends, or worse, out with a friend, and turned his focus back to the creamy soft flesh laid in in front of him.
She leaned forward when he moved to her, and they kissed again as his hands moved over the flawless skin. He explored her hips, her ribs, and finally her breasts. He ran a hand down her spine until he reached the laced waist of tiny panties. Their kisses grew deeper and longer until they were gasping for breath, their tongues touching lightly.
Kissing caused him again to think of his wife. He thought of the times he had approached her, hungering for her, wanting her, wrapping his arms around her. They were married, where could she go. He thought about kissing her. It was always brief, emotionless. “I’m sorry, honey. You are just not a very good kisser. I love you anyway.” she had told him decades ago. He moved from the girl’s lips to her neck. She cooed. She had leaned back onto her arms, stretched behind her back like a beach chair. He moved slowly down her neck to her collarbone, her chest, and finally a tiny erect nipple. She sighed.
“Oh, Alan.” she had moaned over the phone. They didn’t talk a lot and when they did it was always of the most practical matters. He didn’t remember exactly what she had said to trigger the question, but he had asked her if she was seeing someone. As if she pulled a script from a back pocket she had released a canned speech, probably practiced a thousand times in her head. “You don’t need to ask me that. I know why you are asking. You have met someone, or you have fucked someone, and you need to get it off your conscience. No, I haven’t. I told you from the start this was never about me wanting to have sex with someone else. I get it. You are a man. You are going to fuck the first little thing that comes along and smiles at you. I’m not going to stop you. It’s different for women though. I don’t NEED to spread my seed. You are the last man I have slept with.” The speech played in his head, and he suddenly felt bad for the girl who had just wrapped her skinny little legs around his hips. He hated to think this was all happening because she was the first little thing to smile back at him.