It had been a week since Jennifer had been fired from her work and word spread of her indiscretion that got her expelled from school, and now fired. She hadn't been out of the house and hadn't seen much of the downstairs or living room in that time either. We had talked, but neither brought up the kiss. We smiled, but seemed to move like two objects orbiting each other. Afraid that any contact would forever change our paths around the sun.
It was a Thursday evening when I arrived home from work. I heard movement in the kitchen and went to see if Jennifer was feeling any better about her situation. She was standing at the counter pouring hot water from the coffee pot into a cup with a tea bag hung over the side. She began to idly stir the cup. There was nothing special, no extra movement, no extra flair, just slow, economical movements. And yet, I was enraptured. I had to speak, to pull myself from the spell.
"Boo!"
She turned slowly, "Was I supposed to jump?" she asked. "Because, your car was a dead giveaway that you were home. You really need to get that exhaust fixed."
"Well, damn. So I guess I can't surprise you with a night on the town either?"
She thought for a moment, "Yeah, you can. I need to see something other than these four walls. Thank you. Let me go change quickly."
"Nope," I said, taking in a quick look. She was wearing purple flowered flip flops that allowed me to look up her legs, beginning at her toes. They were a nice soft tan accentuating slender, but powerfully shaped, long sexy legs. She had a pair of her tight form fitting black volleyball shorts that allowed one to admire the curves of her ass, and follow them until they disappeared under her yellow University T-shirt. She had her (natural - I guessed) blonde hair pulled into a top knotted ponytail on the backside of her head. If she only had her reading glasses on, oh, if only. But I was going to be damn glad to show this young woman a good time despite the fact that she did not have them on, "you look absolutely perfect for where we are going to go. Grab a pair of socks, and I'll meet you in the car."
I stopped in the open doorway, "And don't you change a lick of clothing."
She giggled and shot up the stairs.
I drove aimlessly for a bit, slowing, and then acting like I was pulling into a hardware store first, then an ironworks factory. Each time I pulled quickly away I got a slug in the arm. Finally I relented and pulled into a bowling alley. She looked at me, unsure if I was honestly going to go in this time. When I pulled into a parking space and got out and walked around to open her door, she looked at me, shook her head, and smiled.
Once inside, I asked Joe, and old friend who worked here after retiring from the same shithole I worked for, for the shoes and the lane I requested. We walked to the far right side of the bowling alley, thankful it was not yet league season. I picked up the phone, ordered a pitcher of beer, a family basket of chicken tenders and crispy fries.
We took our time looking through the lane's offering of bowling balls. She settled on a metallic pink fourteen pound ball. I found an old donated ball with the initials RHL on a sixteen pound Brunswick Black Beauty. After the first roll down the lane I found it to have been perfectly weighted to curve beautifully from the far right of the lane to the 1-3 hole. I wouldn't have to exert myself much to have fun.
I had Jennifer sit back as I removed her flip flops and slowly put her socks on and massaged her feet. By the time both feet were covered, her eyes were closed and she had slumped into the chair. I gingerly slipped each shoe on and tied them. I stood, leaned over her, and slipped my hands under her armpits and lifted her to her feet. She slouched forward, and fell into me feigning sleep. I hugged her, and quickly slid my hands to her ass and pinched a handful of each cheek hard.
"OW! Damn it! Okay, okay, lets bowl!" she said moving up onto the lane and picking up her ball. "You're going to pay for that one!" she said as she turned and wiggled her tight little ass, and then shot forward sliding expertly as the ball slid awkwardly like a knuckleball, before breaking and hitting the 1-2 hole for a Brooklyn strike. Unfortunately I did not see it as I was still staring at Jennifer's ass. "Hey old man," she said with two fingers pointing out at me on her upside down hand. She then motioned them upwards to her eyes, "Up here, up here."
I laughed, and said, "When they wiggle as nicely as your ass, then I am there baby. You bet."
"Oh, My, God . . . its your turn."
We drank, we talked, and we bowled. Our food arrived and I paid for it and then we talked, ate, and bowled. Before we knew it we were on our second pitcher, and the food was gone. I had lost the first game 198 to 125 and while I did not blame the beer, I did blame those wonderfully tight shorts, but I did not give a damn. My consolation prize was this lovely young lady draping herself across my lap, kissing me madly.
When we passed each other moving off of and onto the lane for each of our turns, any touch, however slight was electrifying. Whether it was a the touch of the back of our hands, fingers to an elbow, or a quick peck on the cheek, sexual electricity was filling the air. I was struggling to keep from getting hard. I was getting uncomfortable and she was enjoying every damn minute of it.
As we began the tenth frame of the second game we heard voice call out, "Hey Baby! How much did the old man pay for ya? We'll double it!"
I spun focusing on the man who said it as I came to a stop.
"Mike, no, forget about it please!"
I closed the distance quickly. As I closed in I could see I was giving up more than fifty pounds and a good six inches in height. About ten feet out I growled, "FUCKING APOLOGIZE NOW!"
"Are you joking old man?"
Five feet to go, "You better swing first you tall pile of shit!"
One foot . . . He swung, I ducked, stomped on the instep of his left foot with my heel, and swung upward from my crouched position into his balls. He dropped to his knees, eyes instantly watering. I stood over him, "FUCKING APOLOGIZE!" I growled inches from his ear.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled.
