Whoosh Bang!

"Towels, clothes?" she asked.

"Towels. No, I guess clothes. I was thinking of calling for some food and have to be dressed - better, both of us."

They hung up their towels and returned to the bedroom. As she was about to leave, she asked where the carton for the rubbers was.

"Under the pillow with the others."

Snickering, Barbara found it as he started to get dressed, and then straightened up the sheet on the bed, tucking it in, and then feeling the wet spot with another snicker. He snickered and then nodded when she glanced at him with a smirk. Then without a word she was off, snickering again as she went up the stairs naked.

In the room where she had changed, she smiled at herself in the mirror, looking at herself face-on and then in profile, and then face-on again, her hands sliding up under her breasts and then arousing her nipples as she smiled again with a soft "um-hmm," and looked at them in profile again. She put the carton in her purse and got her hairbrush and tried to do something with her hair. Finally, she began to get dressed, forgoing her bra. As she put it in her bag, she remembered that her bikini was still in the family room, and snickered again. She was still smiling to herself when she returned to the ground floor and went to look for it, but he had picked up the other towels and her bikini. She went back towards the bedroom and heard water running and found him rinsing their things in the washbasin.

"Thanks. I could have done that."

"I beat you to it. You can leave it here, if you want."

"What for?"

"Hm-hmm! Good question. ... Oh, I've got to go to church tomorrow morning. Everybody does around here, nine-thirty family service. Got to be seen by the other parish members, especially since the family is away."

"Oh, ... like that?"

"Probably, if you mean what I do."

"Uh, ... would you prefer me to go home?"

"Oh no, but I'll have to try not to blush during the general confession."

"Hmm, Catholic? I know something about that; I am. Just don't let yourself think about it."

"Episcopalian - about the same liturgy. ... Not think about it, after having breakfast with you?"

"Just breakfast?"

"I'm already trying not to think about it."

By now he had finished wringing out their things and hung them up in the bathroom and smirked at her after his last comment. She smirked in response, and they left the bathroom. On the way through the bedroom, he asked:

"Another beer?"

She nodded with a smile, and they went to the kitchen.

After they had had a drink of their beers, He asked:

What would you like to eat? We can have Chinese food delivered; pizzas, of course, and Kentucky Fried. Oh, maybe they don't deliver, but they have take-away food that I could pick up. Or I could pick up something at the supermarket: frozen dinners - better - frozen something else and steaks or chops. That is about all I can cook."

"No frozen dinners. Maybe I can cook something, but I don't feel so domestic at the moment."

"Next time - next time you're here."

She smiled at him and snorted, replying:

"Yeah, maybe I will feel more domestic without having to wonder what obvious questions to ask. This morning, before I came, I was really just thinking that it was nice to know that I could wear my bikini."

"Sometimes it's best not to think too far ahead. I wasn't either - either - just looking forward to your company. The nicest things are surprises. So what do we want to eat?"

"Chinese, since they deliver, and I like spicy food."

"Me too. Good idea. ... What shall we do about tomorrow?"

"Oh? ... Hmm? ... I bought some food for the weekend that won't keep forever - hamburger patties. Maybe we shouldn't plan for dinner tomorrow, sort of taper off."

"You are thoughtful. Right. If I want anything, I can go out, like I have been some evenings recently. Chinese, I'll find the number."

They drank again, deeply, and smiled about their agreement about more than just their choice of food. He found the phone number and suggested that she call and decide their orders, but then remarked:

"I'm too well known around here, I better do it."

"Whatever you want to chose: pork, beef, duck, curry, sweet and sour, anything."

He called, smiling at her while he waited, and then concentrated on the conversation. She nodded to his choices, and nodded again, when he asked if he could reheat something to eat on Sunday. It seemed that he could, and he heard when it would be delivered. He hung up and commented:

"Like I said, too well known; she kept repeating my name. It'll be a while, three quarters of an hour - busy place. What do we want to drink with the meal? Wine instead of more beer?"

"That would be nice, but nothing special, kind of wasted on spicy Chinese food - and on me."

"Probably not on you, if you know that much about it, but you're right. California red wine."

"Dry."

"Of course. You do know something about it."

They exchanged smiles, and he remarked: "No bra," and found a bottle of wine in a cabinet under the counter in the kitchen. As he opened it, he asked:

"What do you do when you aren't sunbathing?"

"Around here, not much really. The intern program is good, including a sort of general course on banking that has some reading and homework. Last night, most of the interns went to a bar and restaurant together, so I went along."

"Not much has changed: 'Thank God it's Friday.' We did that as interns, and then later some of the new employees, but not the most serious ones. Fine for interns."

"Yeah, I think someone used that expression. Shall I set the table?"

"Sure, in the dining room, since we have clothes on. You'll find silver in the middle drawer of the sideboard."

He followed her and found placemats and glasses and plates, and they set the table in silence.

"Finish our beers?" he suggested, and they returned to the kitchen and did so. He took the bottle of wine and returned to the dining room with it, she following him.

"And in college, at home?"

"What do I do? Study, swim a little, hope someone will ask me out Friday or Saturday. ... Well, since Easter, that hasn't been a problem," and she smiled a little wryly.

"Not now, I hope?"

"Hm-hmm! Different world. No, we're not really going steady, just ..."

"Just good friends, ... doing what comes naturally?"

"Something like that, comfortable, convenient. ... Hmm! But never as good as ..., but I didn't know it could be that good."

"It isn't always."

"Um-hmm. They, really only two, ... oh, and him - not the 'scare' - but I wanted to forget him, even though we did it a couple of times. They all think it's over when they come."

"I did too, until ..., well, ... I learned."

"My good luck!"

"Mine, too."

"Actually, a couple of times, it was almost better just petting."

"Makes sense, easier for him to concentrate on you, knowing what he was doing wasn't dependent on his being able to, himself."

"Hm-hmm! Yeah, something like that. You're right, but not as good as you did it."

"As we did it."

She nodded at his correction and they smiled at each other again.

"And what do you do - when you're not sunbathing?"

"Work too much -but I like it - Rotary Club, church finance committee, fraternity alumni association - how you found me."

"Thanks for doing that."

"I never enjoyed it more," and he smiled warmly, his eyes taking her in.

She felt her nipples respond, knowing he could see them. With a smile, she attempted a curtsey and said: "Thank you."

"Thank you, not that I can tell anyone that's why they should join the alumni board."

They both chuckled and exchanged smiles that were more smirks.

"Oh, I collect things, too. Hm-hmm! No stamp collection or etchings, and no need to invite you in to show you: little Japanese ivory carvings, 'netsukes'."

"What are they?"

"I'll show you."

He led her into his den and opened a drawer under the bookshelves. She saw two or three dozen compact carved ivory pieces, all laid out on velvet. He handed her one, pointing out the little holes in it, and explained that they were for a cord attached to a container used instead of pockets in traditional Japanese men's clothing; that the netsuke was tucked under the sash to hold it. As he explained, that was why they were always a compact figure, although often very individual, sometimes scurrilous: masks, animals, humans, virtually anything. He only collected ones carved in ivory, and explained that like all collectables, the artistry, age and possibly known artist made them rarer. With modest pride, he showed her his favorite pieces until the doorbell announced that their food had arrived. As he turned to go, he added:

"Oh, there are netsuke with sexual themes, 'shunga' they're called, some more subtle, others pretty explicit, but I resist collecting them."

Barbara nodded with a chuckle, and he went to the door and collected and paid for the food. She waited to hear the door close before joining him, and they carried the food to the table. While she opened the containers, he poured the wine, and they sat down.

"Oh, napkins," he remarked and stood back up and got his from a drawer next to the one with the silver, took out a paper napkin, but then put it back and got a cloth one for her, returning to the table and handing it to her as he said:

"You'll be back. Oh, chopsticks?"

She nodded, and he hurried to the kitchen and returned with two pairs. They helped themselves to rice and the various dishes. As she was about to pick up her chopsticks, he raised his wine glass and said rather formally:

"To a nice meal. It's nice to have company for a change," and with a smile waited for her to find her glass. She raised it and replied:

"Thank you. It's nice to be here, and thank you for an especially nice day."

They drank, looking in each other's eyes, agreeing with a soft "um-hmm" as they set their glasses down. He was pleased that she could use chopsticks so well and explained that he learned from an aunt who had lived in Japan before the war, "who gave me two netsukes, starting my interest in them." She explained that a Chinese girl at college had taught her how, and they chuckled together about how some people seemed to have such difficulty using them, and then laughed when hers promptly slipped past each other, flipping a piece of curried pork across her plate.

The meal continued in that light vein with sips of wine. Eventually they agreed that they could leave some for a snack the next day and started to clear the table. Suddenly he glanced at his watch and said that he wanted to watch the seven-thirty news, explaining apologetically that it was a necessity of his work. She offered to finish cleaning up, and he went off with his glass, calling back that she should bring the wine when she was finished.

Barbara acquainted herself with the kitchen, finding containers for the leftovers and where the garbage went; finding the dishwasher and rinsing the plates before putting them in it. When he heard her test the garbage disposal in the sink, he called that she shouldn't do too much, but she cleaned up everything she could, chuckling to herself as she washed her hands and murmured to herself: "Starting to feel domestic."

She took her glass and the wine bottle to the family room, cringing at the scene from Vietnam on the color TV that seemed more frightful than in black and white. He noticed and said:

"Sorry about that," and patted the sofa next to him. Then Walter Cronkite appeared again, also apologizing for the graphic film. She sat down. He patted her knee reassuringly. She held up the bottle, and he nodded, and she poured the rest of the wine in their glasses.

When the program ended, he turned off the TV, explaining that nothing important had happened during the day, that he sometimes had to watch the other news program to get confirmation or a different view. He sat back down and picked up his glass, waiting for her to, and then they drank - more than the sips they had taken during the meal.

"Where did the time go?" he asked: "I missed an hour or two somewhere."

"Me too. I don't know. Maybe we spent more time in the sun than it seemed."

"Maybe, but it didn't seem like it, even considering that time flies in good company."

"Um-hmm, it sure does. ... You don't really want to figure it out?"

"Hm-umm."

He put his arm loosely around her shoulders, and she relaxed against it as she rested her hand on his thigh. They took a sip from their glasses, and enjoyed a comfortable silence together, eventually taking another sip, but neither of them saying anything.

After several minutes, she snorted and said:

"Good thing my parents thought I didn't need a telephone in the apartment."

"Hm-hmm! Um-hmm. ... You want to call them?"

"And have them ask what I did all day?! ... No, they don't expect to hear from me on weekends, call me briefly at work."

"You're right."

She rubbed his thigh in response, and they had another sip of wine, and then were silent again, his arm less loosely around her shoulders.

After a very long minute or two, she snorted again:

"This is kind of funny, sitting here, knowing exactly what we're going to do - well, I think we do.

"Um-hmm, kind of funny," and his hand rubbed the side of her shoulder.

"Oh, ... we don't have to. ... I mean ..., if church ..., you know. We don't have to."

"You think we couldn't?"

"No. ... I could still go home - back to the apartment."

"I don't want that."

"Me neither. ... Funny, we all rhyme 'me' and 'nei', but up North say: 'Neither do I,' and rhyme 'nei' with 'I'."

"Um-hmm."

She rubbed his thigh again, and he rubbed her shoulder, and they had another sip of wine, and she rubbed his thigh again, and he held her a little closer. "Um-hmm," she agreed softly, and then they were silent again, very comfortably so, and now more confident that one or the other was going to say something in a minute or two.

This time he snorted and asked:

"You know exactly what we're going to do?"

"I think so. ... We talked about that. Hm-hmm," and she rubbed his thigh again.

"Hm-hmm. Yeah, kind of funny."

"I never slept with anyone all night. That will be nice, ... not having to set the alarm for five minutes to twelve."

"Hm-hmm! Never did that."

They had another sip of wine, obviously the next to last one, and exchanged almost inaudible um-hmms, and then were silent again. This time the pause wasn't as long, but didn't end with a new remark. Barbara's hand left his thigh and reached across and pulled his hand from her shoulder down onto her breast, his fingers immediately holding it, but not seeking her already erect nipple in his palm.

"Um-hmm," he agreed, and she squeezed his hand, pressing it to her, and the tips of his fingers alternated pressure on the bottom of her breast.

"I've been wanting that, waiting for that," she murmured and emptied her glass. He squeezed her breast and emptied his glass and set it down and whispered: "Me too."

It had grown darker in the room. He reached out his free hand, and she gave him her glass. He set it aside. Her hand returned to his thigh as she turned her face up to him, and he drew her shoulders around, and they kissed, a little more than just affectionately, just confirmation that it was just the start. They nodded and got up. He said that he had to close the sliding doors. She took the glasses and bottle to the kitchen.

They met on the way to the bedroom. She started to unbutton her blouse, and he, his shirt. She immediately went to the bathroom in the last light of dusk, kicking off her sandals and panties while on the toilet, and then wiping herself again with his washcloth. In her open blouse, with her sandals and panties in her hand, she returned to the bedroom, finding him in just his underpants. They exchanged quick smiles as he went towards the bathroom. She dropped her shoes on the thick carpeting and her panties on the chair and stepped out of her skirt, hanging it over the back of the chair before she slipped off her blouse and hung it over her skirt, hearing him flush the toilet.

She got on the bed, lying on her side just past the middle of it with her lower arm outstretched. A few seconds later, he returned, now just a dark movement in the dark room, approaching the bed and then almost in slow motion getting on it, as she raised her other arm towards him, lying down between her arms, sliding his over her back. She raised her head from the pillow, and his other arm slid under it.

"Hi," he murmured as their knees touched. "Hi," she murmured in return as they gently embraced each other. Their lips met, just nibbling, their noses overlapping with their heads both resting on the pillow. Then the tips of their tongues met. Her knee urged him to let her slide her thigh between his, and did, and they drew their bodies closer together, his full cock pressing touching her. Their lips were still only pressed together as their tongues explored as much as they could in that position. His cock wanted to move, and they let it rise and held it between them again, and then let it have its way again. She raised her head over his, and their mouths opened, their tongues almost leisurely exploring further. Then she drew her lower foot back and pressed herself towards him, and he rolled back, drawing her shoulders over him.

There was nothing leisurely about the way they kissed now, their tongues eagerly, aggressively moving. His thigh rose up between hers, and she spread them to let it slide further, rolling her hips down when it was almost vertical. His hand found her breast, and then his other one slid down to her bottom, massaging it, encouraging her to rock her hips, to rub her pussy on his thigh.

She retrieved her tongue from his mouth and murmured:

"I want to, ... like I said."

He nodded, and she began to turn around. Kneeling next to him, she found his cock in the dark and lowered her head, finding its head with her mouth, kissing it and then licking, her tongue exploring his little slit and then around its head, humming as it circled it, and then she lowered her head further and let it slip into her mouth, exploring further, in its groove, chuckling in her throat when it twitched. He urged her to raise her leg and straddle her, stuffing the other pillow under his head as she did. He grasped her hips and drew her to him. Her knees slid a little, and she flattened herself on him and then gave an aroused, appreciative "Uhnn!" when his mouth found her and quick nod of her head, and then nodded it more slowly on his cock, experimenting with taking it deeper and with sucking, interrupted by her reflexive responses to what he was doing, giving an appreciative hum when she felt his fingers slide in above his nose and another quick nod of approval when they found her asshole. Her own fingers reciprocated, and he nodded, too.

But after a few moments like that, she raised her head and murmured:

"It's too good, too much all at once. I want to do it just by myself, at least this first time. Hm-hmm! This first 'next time.' Okay?"

"Of course," he replied and helped guide her knee back over himself.

As she turned around and got between his legs, she said brightly:

Oh, it's good! I like it, and feeling you twitch in my mouth, knowing it's being good. Hm-hmm! And I want to lick you the other way, on the other side. I know that's especially good, ... there - lots of sticky hands."

He chuckled, and she did, and his cock twitched, and she giggled and held it so that it couldn't when she licked it there again.

"Oooh! You're so right."

"As if you didn't already know, but you can tell me what else is good, or how to keep from 'overdoing it,' if that's what you want."

"For a while, at least."

She already had his cock back in her mouth and nodded, and then was again enjoying experimenting with sucking his cock. Her other hand found his balls, his sack still slack after the pause. She chuckled in her throat each time his cock twitched, but tried not to overdo it, chuckling again when his sack tightened in her hand.