She lifted the pillow from her eyes, and the morning light found her calculating the time from the brightness in the room. As her mind cleared and her eyes adjusted, yes, probably about 7:30, she found him next to her and watching her with his eyes wide open and a smile on his face that silently spoke many things at once. His hand lay palm-down on her soft belly. She could feel its weight and warmth, comforting, not disquieting. With their eyes locked, she rolled toward him, their lips met and mouths opened, and she reached between his legs, aware of her left breast landing on top of her right breast as she rolled. He loved the scent of her sex mixed with the lingering traces of her perfume. She wasn’t sure yet what to do with him, but she was certain that he was as ready, if not also as eager, as he’d been last night. They’d feasted of each other almost all night.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. They weren’t teenagers, not counted in years. Yet, that was exactly how she felt. The few men who she had allowed intimate knowledge always seemed too many to her; she chided herself for errors and lapses in judgment. Yet here she was, as she’d been as a junior in high school exploring the first of such delights. The difference was that she was ready this time and it really was a delight.
They’d agreed to meet for lunch, a seemingly random opportunity for friends to share a meal. He knew of his feelings for her, never expressed, but also never far from the surface. It turned out that the mutuality of these longings was stronger than either had imagined.
Upon leaving the restaurant, they were chatting about something that neither could remember, and he gently pushed her against a stone wall. They were both suddenly 30 years younger.
He held her arms, not by force, but with the strength, confidence, and control of a good dance partner. She let him lead, but followed spiritedly, not meekly, also like a good dance partner. As he swept the hair from around her face, her eyes closed and he pressed his mouth onto hers. Her tongue tasted cilantro and tomato. She’d hardly noticed what he ordered or ate only a few minutes earlier. From this contact, she now knew clearly. He was numb to taste, other than from the fire that grew within him. With her eyes closed, and his mouth on hers, her hands held and his body pressing into hers, she was 17 again. This time, it wasn’t fear or regret. She knew that she would deliver herself to him. He knew now that he would press to take her. His own memory was to a slightly later period, maybe age 25 or 26, a poor decision to join with another that had foreclosed all others for a long period. They hadn’t even known each other before 18 months ago. In their unwitting courtship, this couple had found youth again.
After a lingering kiss, they walked holding hands, silent now for the first time in the past couple of hours. He said nothing as they passed her vehicle in the carpark and continued walking. She didn’t even glance as they passed. This seemed something that they both needed.
He didn’t live in the city, but he had an apartment in a tall building nearby. It’s why she had suggested that restaurant as a meeting point, although she hadn’t consciously intended to pursue her pleasures, and his, as they had that afternoon, evening, and most of the night.
In the elevator alone, as the floor designations beeped, they were in each other’s arms again. She felt him against her, and it aroused her. His hands tossed and stroked her head and hair as his mouth moved from her lips to her chin and neck. She felt a warmth on the skin exposed at her chest, suggestive, but not overly revealing. He felt her hips pressing back against him and her right leg reach out and curl around him. Time stood still.
The elevator beeped, again, again. Time began. The doors opened, and they stepped into the hallway. She was aware of her readiness. He was also.
As he unlocked the door and pushed it open, she stepped through it without question or looking back. He enjoyed the view of her hips in motion beneath her blue dress, and he contemplated what might follow. As the door swung shut on its spring hinge, her jacket was off, and her shoes were also. She lay on the couch one leg over the back, the other extended straight down and a bit off the edge of the seat, and he wasted no time in kneeling next to her.
Without either of them touching, they talked briefly about their situations, commitments. They both knew that, at this point, there was likely to be no repeat of this encounter as more than friends. He grew silent, and nodded, then dropped his head near hers, their foreheads touching slightly. She unbuckled his belt. His head didn’t move. Finally, she tugged his belt free of its loops and his pants, and he lifted his head to look at her and reached up the outside of her right leg to her hip and under her dress. His hand was on the waistband of her black lace panty. Of course, she had chosen this dress and under things for him. Still a fantasy to be realized and a man-woman attraction not yet explicitly confirmed, she had chosen every aspect of her appearance that morning with him in mind. She’d looked in the mirror and wondered if she was old and unlovable to a new man in her life. Ultimately, she decided that it didn’t matter because nothing was going to happen anyway.
He pulled her panties from her hips and she brought her legs together lifting them slightly. The both heard this perhaps most intimate of garments hit the floor near the sofa, and she unzipped his pants, sliding her hand inside.
He’d chosen a dark-pattern pair of silk boxers for her this morning, also convinced that she would never see them. He offered her a glass of wine. She asked for water, and he rose and went to the kitchen. A clank, of the cupboard door, the sound of plumbing, and running water, and he was back. Now she was wearing only the black lace bra that matched he panties that she no longer wore. He marveled at her form and his own marvelous fortune, trying not to stare. She wasn’t the least bit self conscious, as he handed her the glass, and she rolled to her side. He slid his hand behind her back as they kissed, and he undid her bra.
For a moment, she thought of a meeting scheduled for Tuesday morning. As he pulled first his sweater then his shirt over his head, she forgot about the meeting and took a sip of the cold water, aware of the beads of water on the outside of the tall glass.
He stood over her, his chest more firm than she had imagined it. She had always found a man’s chest, to be an area of supreme interest. Would his nipples be more or less sensitive than hers? Would he be hairy and masculine enough to make things interesting, without looking like a wooly mammoth? She couldn’t help but stare at the firmness of his pectoral muscles. Her husband’s chest had long since gotten old from too much food and too little physical activity. Again, she thought of high school. Odd how these thoughts kept coming back to her today. She hadn’t thought of anything like this in years.
He shook his loose pants free at his feet, and she reached up to tug the waistband of his boxers. They again spoke of this being out of the ordinary, an exception for both of their lives. They seemed to have clear agreement, as he lifted her body from the couch, his arms under her shoulders and the backs of her knees, and she put her arms around his neck. They shared the warmth of each other’s skin.
As he placed her on the bed, neither bothered to push down or peel back the covers. That could wait. First gentle caress and touch, then his fingers found her wetness and hers his stiffness. There was a tenderness to their touch, a respect for each other’s needs and wants. They played and kissed until late afternoon, before she demanded that he take her fully, and their passions carried them forward. For a brief time, they fumbled a bit, as if they had forgotten lessons and experiences of early adulthood. Then, finally, he was upon her, and they rolled together testing their boundaries and limits. He surprised her. She surprised herself. Never come morning.