Rochelle, my wife, was a beautiful woman in 1992 as she is today 32 years later. She had brown hair and eyes, slim body and perky breasts with perpetually hard nipples. She had a nice ass and kept her bush neat and trim.
She lived in a small apartment building across from the park, on the same floor as Rick. Their first meeting had been casual--a chance encounter outside while smoking cigarettes. But from the moment she laid eyes on him, something inside her ignited. A slow, electric hum spread through her veins whenever he was near, an involuntary response she couldn't ignore.
She caught herself watching for him, lingering by her window when she knew he might step outside. In her mind, she replayed the fantasy over and over--his arms wrapping around her, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that left her breathless. She could almost feel the heat of his body pressing against hers, the weight of his desire mirroring her own.
But longing wasn't enough. She needed to create the moment, to turn the quiet tension between them into something real. How could she make it happen? An invitation, an accident, a perfectly timed coincidence? She had to find a way--some excuse, any excuse--to turn their stolen glances into something far more tangible.
She had a plan. One night she was feeling very naughty and decided to go for it. She took out one of the light bulbs out of the ceiling fixture in her bedroom, and then painted the base of it with clear nail polish so it would not work anymore and would need to be changed. She screwed it back into the fixture. She took out a new bulb from the coat closet shelf and laid it on her nightstand-the bait.
She knocked on his door and he opened it. He was 6' 2" and handsomely built. He had brown hair and eyes like hers, well not exactly like hers. He was wearing sport shorts and a sleeveless workout shirt. She wanted to feel his bisects. She was just short of speechless.
"Did you want to grab a smoke"? He asked.
"Actually, I need help changing a lightbulb in my apartment. I can't reach it," she lied.
She waited for his response. It seemed like minutes but it was actually only a few seconds.
"Sure. I will change it."
It was a scene right out of the beginning of a porn movie, not that she had ever seen one.
They went to her apartment. She had purposely left out a sexy nightgown on the bed, the pink satin one with the white lace. When they entered the bedroom, she pretended to be embarrassed about his seeing the nightgown and quickly threw it in a drawer.
"Sorry. I meant to have put it away."
He smiled.
He changed the lightbulb without noticing the clear nail polish. Or if he did, he did not say anything.
Rochelle was feeling bold.
"Are you dating anyone special"? she asked.
"No. I go out on dates, but no one special. You"?
She paused for a moment, then looked up with a hint of a smile. "The last time I had a dinner date, it resulted in my breaking off things with my boyfriend, I mean my x-boyfriend. Want to take me out and help me make better memories"?
She moved closer to him. She was secretly hoping that he would take her in his arms and passionately kiss her. It did not happen as she had hoped.
"How about dinner Friday"? he asked.
That was in two days. She wasn't sure if she could wait two whole days. He had unknowingly gotten into her head. She couldn't focus on her work. She was like a teenager in love.
Friday, after work, she rushed home and pulled out her sexy red dress. The one with the plunging neckline that showcased her boobs. In fact, if she leaned forward enough, he could almost see her nipples. She debated wearing panties but decided that she should.
She jumped into the shower. Made sure she cleaned every part of her body, especially her pussy, asshole, and under her arms. She covered her body with almond oil.
After her shower, she dried off and wrapped the towel around herself. The top of the towel barely covered her boobs. She wrapped her hair in a second towel so that it would dry faster.
She took off the head towel and started brushing her hair. Her skin was soft from the oil and she had a glowing smile. She grabbed the blow dryer and started drying her hair.
"Curlers"? She thought. Too much. This wasn't her senior prom or her wedding, just a date with a gorgeous man. She did not want to come across desperate; or did she?
She finished getting ready and slipped into the red dress. She sprayed perfume in her cleavage and on her neck. She applied red lip gloss and looked at herself in the mirror. "Wow," is what came into her mind. She looked very fuckable.
It was already six o'clock and she expected him any minute. She fidgeted around while she waited for Rick. She kept checking the time.
Finally, a knock on the door... "Come in Rick."
He was wearing fancy jeans and a dark blue, Bugatti Italian button-down shirt with the two top buttons undone. She fantasized about unbuttoning the rest of the buttons and then placing her hands on his bare chest. She refocused.
"Let me grab my purse." She grabbed her black, clutch purse and slipped on her high heels. She forgo the stockings as she had great legs.
They left the apartment as she turned off the lights and locked the door. She was a little wobbly as she seldom wore such high heels. But the shoes made her taller and had her ass look hotter. Some people referred to those types of shoes as "Come fuck me" shoes.
There were two scenarios running through her head. Scenario one, they go out, drink, he fucks her and then looks at her as a booty-call girl. This was not her first choice, but the end result was sex and sex is what she longed for.
Number two is that she sticks with her regular MO which is to never fuck on the first date. All her long-term relationships had started that way--it was a tried-and-true method that had never failed her.
She had 12 relationships to-date and a few flings, ok, four flings. This doesn't include all the dates she went on when she did not have sex, just kissing.
She was over thinking the date, "How will I know if we have sex whether he will become a boyfriend or just a one-time lover"? Maybe she should stick with kissing and not have sex until the second date.
They drove down the romantic Pacific Coast Highway in his blue Mercedes-Benz 500SL convertible towards Malibu. She had been to the beaches along the highway many times; mostly during the day, but sometimes at night. "That is an expensive car," she thought as she estimated its value north of $80,000.
He was taking her to Moonshadows in Malibu. Located overlooking the beach and offering a fine dining experience to those who could afford it, dinner there isn't just a meal; it's an experience--a slow dance of flavors, fine wine, and stolen glances across the table. And when the night deepens, and the moon casts its silver path across the waves, it feels like time itself has paused, holding space for romance to unfold.
The expensive restaurant; An $80,000 car; how could he afford it? It wasn't within her budget. Afterall, Rochelle was driving a $15,000 5-year-old Honda Accord.
