Milepost 432 to the border. How depressing.
It wasn't the first time I had made this drive, visiting Lexie. I did not often have the opportunity, though. Frequently I would find myself back in the city when not traveling coast to coast, and every now and then I would get some time off. With the break in the frigid weather and a lull in projects at work, now seemed as good a time as any.
And I won't lie. I just got out of a long-term relationship, and Lexie has always been very easy on the eyes. The chance to ogle her guilt-free was too tempting to pass up, and the fact that she didn't mind me doing so made it all the more exciting. Now if only we could stash that pesky husband somewhere....
Really, though, I make the drive because she's a great friend and was a blast to hang out with. You know the type, crazy redhead out to set the world on fire. She has since mellowed; I suppose settling down and bearing some children can tame even the heartiest of women.
I spent the remainder of the drive recalling some of our previous indiscretions: wacky house parties, streaking down Jericho Road, and more recently, the exchange of suggestive pictures or tale of a particularly fulfilling sexual encounter. The memory recall was certainly more entertaining than the endless rows of corn outside of my sedan. However, that familiar swelling and subsequent tightening of my jeans had me hoping that I'd have the occasional few minutes in the bathroom to myself during the visit. Flirty talk and chats of the "good old days" were sure to be on the menu.
I arrived well into the evening. It was a whole day trip, but it fortunately did not require an overnight stay. The front lights were on, and I heard the door open as I walked up. Clearly, I was being expected.
I grinned broadly as I saw Lexie's smiling face behind the door, her other hand resting on her waist, just above her hip tilted askew. As had always been the case with her after long absence, I was caught breathless by the sight of her. Time seemed to have no effect on this woman, and pictures never did her justice. She was a classic beauty in the girl-next-door vein, with simple but striking features. Curvy in all the right places too, and always with that well-tousled reddish auburn mane of hers.
It was such a pleasure to see her that I wasted no time in walking up and embracing her in a big hug. She giggled at my enthusiasm.
"I thought you'd never get here!" She playfully slapped my shoulder after pulling back from our embrace.
I chortled. "Oh yeah, I took my time getting up here. All that farmland is just exciting you know."
She closed the door behind us as I attempted to survey the surroundings. She had moved into a new place since I last visited. The lights were somewhat dimmed, so I had difficulty seeing the more distant features, but I could make out a couch, an entertainment center adorned with a television, and what looked to be the entrance to the kitchen.
It was then that I noticed it was very quiet. It wasn't so late that the kids would be in bed. I turned to Lexie and inquired, but for all I know what came out of my mouth could have been a recipe for banana bread as I took in the sight of her. I don't know if it was the indoor lighting or my eyes had adjusted to the dusk, but I finally noticed what she was wearing.
If you were to run through a "What Turns Me On," checklist, you could have ticked "All of the above" on this woman's attire. From head to toe it was, multiple earrings, eyeliner, deep red lipstick to punctuate otherwise light makeup, painted nails, and a black choker adorned with a small silver charm. And that was just the accessories.
She also had on a satiny black tank with a plunging neckline (how did I not notice this right away?) exposing impressive cleavage. Once I could pull my gaze away from alabaster-skinned tops of breasts--it took some effort--I noticed she was also wearing tight, stretchy, capri-length
yoga pants. Her legs were adorned further by a couple of anklets, and she was, of course, barefoot.
Lexie was pushing all of my buttons. At once. The question was, why? She patiently looked up at me with pursed, full lips and pressed the palms of her hands at her sides to the door as I finished my survey of her. The message was clear: You're
not leaving
.