The ride home was hell that day – just like the day itself had been. Summers were always hot and humid and this one had been no exception. In fact, it had barely begun. The setting sun had been in my eyes most of my drive, and I was getting the edgy feeling of a headache coming on. When I got home, I was "in a mood," as you used to say – the kind where I wanted nothing but silence, to get rid of my bra and shoes, and have a cold beer, in that order. After I pulled in the driveway and got out of the car, I got the mail, and went in the house. I thought I was the first one home – I guess I didn't see your truck pulled around the back of the house.
I kicked off my shoes just inside the front door, and threw my briefcase on the chair. A couple of buttons on the blouse undone, and I could take off my bra, which I did, sailing it toward the chair that held my briefcase. Missed. . . oh, well. It was so damn hot. The vent in the floor partway down the hall was pumping some blissfully cold air, so I straddled it, sending an icy blast up my skirt. I hardly ever wore pantyhose, choosing stockings instead – less confining and much cooler. I pulled my still partially buttoned blouse out of my waistband, and held it out by the hem to see if I could get some of the cool air up there too. That's how you found me when you came around the corner with the bottles of beer in your hands. I guess you had heard me drive up.
You offered me a beer, and when I took it from your hand, you pinched my nipple through the thin silk of my blouse, the cold from your fingers and eroticism of the moment making it stiffen suddenly. You lightly rubbed the cold bottle you were holding across my other nipple, and your face broke into the wondering grin I had seen so many times before when my nipple instantly responded. I couldn't help but grin with you – and you raised your beer in the gesture of a wordless toast. I didn't know what we were toasting, but the beer was cold, and I never could resist your smile.
