I've been walking to work for the past few months. It's a two mile walk and it allows for some quiet time, exercise, plus it's that much gas I'm not burning. I love it.
About a mile into my walk is one of my favorite parts. At this halfway point of my stroll, I get to lay my eyes on a cute housewife in a small brick house on my left. It's your stereotypical young family house, with a white mini-van, tricycles, and toy cars in the driveway. For some reason, most mornings the woman of the house was outside getting something out of the van, watering plants, or odd things.
She is a petite, cute woman, probably in her early thirties... and built like it. Guys know exactly what I mean by this. She's not built like a highschooler anymore. She has a nice curve to her hips and ass, with just a hair of pudge in the stomach. (I'll admit guys, I'm a sucker for this. I like to be able to see the curve of the very bottom of a stomach just barely through a shirt). Her straight, sandy blonde hair reached just past her shoulders.
I had to do all I could not to stare. Who wants to be the creep walking down the road ogling everyone? Fantasies flashed through my mind of a young, lonely housewife looking for a guy to show her a good time. Right... while movies may portray women that way, it's not the way women are wired. They aren't just walking around the house looking for sex. So, fantasize as I might, I knew that's all it would stay: a fantasy. So I continued to look forward to that leg of my journey, knowing all I'd ever get to do is look... until last week.
Cresting the hill and seeing her house, I was really hoping I'd get to see her outside this morning. Approaching, however, I was disappointed. The van was in the driveway, but the object of my gaze was nowhere to be seen. As I passed the driveway, I heard the storm door shudder like it does when the door behind it is opened. I turned to look, and she was standing in the doorway. She was smiling (the first time I'd seen her smile). It made her look younger, and happier. Not only was she smiling but she was waving at me. I waved back, then turned and kept walking.
What was that all about? We've never met. She doesn't know me. Why would she go out of her way to come greet me. I walked another half block and stopped. My heart was pounding. It's an invitation. It has to be. But women just don't do this. With my heart pounding, I made my decision. I was going to go knock on her door.
The half block back to her house seemed like a mile. You know how your mind can go crazy with different reactions I could get. On one extreme, I was sure she'd open the door completely naked. On the other, I just knew I was going to get a shocked expression and a slap across the face.
Naturally, I got something in the middle. I knocked on the storm door lightly... nervously. What am I doing? There's no way this will work. When she opened the door, a huge smile beamed across her face, then vanished into an embarrassed smirk.
"Hi there" was all I could get out. What do you say in a moment like this?
"Oh hi... um..." she replied, "do you want to come in?"
In my nervousness, my country upbringing came out. "Yes ma'am," I replied. It was my turn to be embarrassed. She was older than me, but it couldn't have been more than 3 or 4 years older than my 27. Does she want me to call her ma'am, or is that weird?
It made her smile. Whether it was the politeness, or the obvious nervousness behind it, it helped break the ice. "I just brewed coffee, do you want some?"
I gave her a warm smile back. There's nothing like coffee to settle down my nerves. "Thank you, I'd love a cup of coffee." She smiled back and turned to go into the kitchen just to our right.
At this point, my eyes finally got to drift. It was May, and the weather was getting warmer, and she was dressed like it. She was in a loose, but form fitting dress that went down right past her knees. It was a modest dress, white with navy blue horizontal stripes, but it couldn't hide the great curves that she had. Walking into her kitchen gave me a great view of her from behind; her hips swinging back and forth as she walked.
I sat nervously at the little breakfast table as she poured a couple of cups of coffee. She put them down between us and sat down. "Oh gosh," she said, "I didn't even think about cream and sugar. I drink mine black and often forget others like it otherwise."
I laughed, "I do the same thing. I also like mine black, so we're all good."
Then came the silence. We looked at each other... then away. What do we talk about?