I just stood there blinking when the door opened and it wasn't Gloria.
"She'll be here in a minute," the girl said, already turning to head for the room's far exit. "Close that behind you."
Holy shit. She said she had a daughter, but she never said she was this hot.
"Wait, wait ..."
She turned, rolling her eyes, one hand on the knob of the interior door between the main house and this refurbished garage.
"What."
She had her mother's blue eyes, but colder, and long, straight, red hair several shades darker than Gloria's. Those eyes pulled mine away from her exquisitely curved body in its jean shorts and tee. I didn't want her to think I was a pig.
Except I realized, under her harsh blue stare, that I had nothing ready to tell her.
"Look," she said before my brain could produce words, "I don't want anything to do with ...
this
."
Her gaze indicated the cozy little boudoir with a sweep, but didn't pause long enough to settle on anything.
"So if it's okay with you, I'm going to go now."
The revulsion in her tone - not just for me, but for what the room represented - finally gave me something to say. "She's a good person, you know. You don't have to approve of what she does, but she's a good person."
The auburn eyebrows lowered. "Fuck you. Of course I know she's a good person."
Then with a yank of the doorknob she spun and disappeared into the house.
I went to the corner loveseat and sat down, face burning. Why had I said anything? Why hadn't I just let her escape the moment she first turned away?
Because you
are
a pig,
I thought. I'd seen that gorgeous hair, those long pale legs, the way her bottom firmly rounded out her daisy-dukes - and I hadn't wanted that vision to get away. I yearned to interact with such a thing of beauty, and of course to see more of her front with its fresh young face and soft breasts mounded up beneath the cottony whiteness of her shirt.
It wasn't enough to just stare at her ass as she left, you had to be a jerk and try to get more.
Sound came in through the closed inner door, a raised voice: "... telling them about me now? ... hole acted ... knew something about me ..."
A softer noise followed, too low to hear the words, but undoubtedly Gloria's voice.
Then, "... don't give a shit how long ... fucking this guy ... my goddamn privacy!"
After a couple more indecipherable words from Gloria there came a pause, followed by the slam of a door somewhere at the far end of the house.
Then another pause.
When the knob turned, Gloria stood there in the black silk kimono robe she almost always wore for me. She had no makeup on, and after the contrast of her daughter's youthful face, she looked lined and tired, even more than normal.
She smiled at me, though. Weakly, but with all her usual sincerity.
"I'm sorry about that," she said, moving in and pulling the door to behind her. "I really -"
"No. Fuck, that was totally my fault." I stood up scowling and steaming at myself. "If I'd thought two seconds, I'd have known she wouldn't want to talk to me. It was rude, and I shouldn't have opened my mouth. I'd ask you to apologize for me except then I'd just be intruding into her life again and making you the messenger."
Her smile deepened and she met me in the center of the room, pressing her face to my shoulder as we embraced. The silk of the kimono and the silk of her flesh underneath sent some of the tension flowing out of me. Her hands pulled tighter at me than normal, and we held each other longer before letting go. I took the time to breathe in the fragrance of her hair, that rich, healthy smell marketing guys wish they could put in commercials to sell more shampoo.
"I dropped a glass and then cut myself cleaning it up," she explained, showing me the band-aid across the base of her right thumb as her hand rose to shift a scarlet wave of hair from her forehead. "If it had been pretty much anyone else, I would have just let them wait outside, but she was right there and I knew it was you and -"
"Don't worry about it."
I had her hands in mine now, and she had her face tilted up to take me in with those blue eyes.
"So." She swung our hands out and in. "What do you want to do?"
The loveseat had been very comfortable, and I couldn't get enough of how she looked in that robe. I nodded over one shoulder. "Have a glass of wine?"
She smiled and released my hands, trailing her fingers out of mine and sashaying backwards toward the standing bamboo screen in the far corner of the room. "Sure."
Settling myself back into the cushions, I listened to her rummage in the little micro-fridge she kept hidden behind the screen with her computer desk.
"How's your week been?" I asked.
"Okay," she said, with a sigh that admitted it wasn't true. I heard a cork, then wine glugging into one glass and another. "Not the best week I've ever had, I guess."
She came back out carrying two goblets of deep burgundy. "But it's getting better now."
Handing me my glass, she settled on the other end of the loveseat, one leg tucked up under her, the shimmering black robe gapping open down the front to reveal her sternum and the inner curves of her breasts. I felt heat in my stomach without even sipping the wine.
"How about yours?"
"Also getting better now," I said, reaching out with my glass to touch its rim to hers. We both drank, she a few more swallows than I. Her free hand made its way up my arm where it rested along the back of the sofa, fingers teasing at the hair there, then smoothing the hem of my shirtsleeve.
"Why can't everything be this easy?" she asked, her eyes seeking the answer in my face.
I shrugged. "Some things just fit nicely and other things just don't."
Gloria's eyes darted back toward the door into the house. Then she nodded in acknowledgment and took another long sip of wine.
"Are you all right?"
She laughed and leaned her torso forward, bringing her palm up to my cheek and giving me a clear view of her down-hanging breasts through the widening gap of her robe.
"Oh, Denny, you're always so concerned. I'm fine. And in just a few minutes, I'm going to be fantastic." She tweaked a flame-red eyebrow up with that last bit, and surging forces inside me washed away my sense of worry over her mood.
I leaned forward too and put my mouth on hers. Despite the wine and a hint of toothpaste or mouthwash behind it, I could taste that she was smoking again. But the clutch of her hand at my collar kept me from thinking about it too hard. Her tongue played a game of hide and seek with mine and her lips sealed my mouth with a heat that almost seared.
She was breathing hard when we pulled apart. All the weariness had left her face - her eyes shone lucent and intense.
"You'd better come up with some really good conversation or else take me to bed," she said.
"I've already screwed up at least one attempt at conversation today."
She knocked back the last of her wine, set the glass on the floor and rose to her feet, pulling me after her by the shirtfront. I managed to get my glass to the end table, still half-full, as she expertly unfastened my belt. By the time I got out of my shirt, Gloria had my pants and boxers down, then held each of my shoes firmly in turn to help me step out of them. The sash of her robe had come free while my shirt blocked my view, and now she flipped the kimono open and around her shoulders by its lapels to let the silky fabric flow from her arms to the floor.
I could only marvel at her as she knelt there before me, hands on thighs, eyes locked on my face. This woman might have been a hard-worn thirty-five or well preserved in her mid-forties. I had never asked her, but her college-age daughter and the fact that I'd been coming to see her for over ten years suggested it was more on the latter end. Her breasts gave downward a little more than when I'd first nervously entered this room. Her tummy swelled out farther, and her thighs had gained an inch or two. But she wasn't yet fat or droopy. And the creases at the corners of her eyes, and the bags under them, hadn't gotten so deep that she couldn't hide them with a little makeup when she wanted to look younger. She had a spattering of freckles at the bridge of her nose, a few more between and edging out across her breasts.
She looked so real like this. So completely sexual. And so glad to be with me.
Her right hand lifted from her thigh, her eyes broke from mine, and with a simple, easy motion her grip surrounded my shaft and her lips parted and rode softly up and around my tip. I'd been hard from the moment she took hold of my belt buckle; now I burgeoned to that incredible stiffness you can only appreciate before sex begins, when all your vitality seems concentrated into hardening that beam. Gloria's blue eyes closed. Nothing moved but her tongue, caressing the belly of my glans. Her breathing remained quick and shallow. A low moan vibrated out of her throat and through my penis.
Pulling back, she looked up at me and milked my cock with her hand, one stroke only.
"What do you want?" she breathed.
"Anything," I said. "Everything."
She shot her head forward, sucking me all the way in and flattening her fingers against my belly. I felt her lips work insistently at the root of my cock, felt her esophagus constricting the far end, felt her tongue and her drawn-in cheeks all in between. Then she yanked away with a gasp, leaving a strand of saliva hanging between her mouth and my pulsing, teased cock. Her grip pumped tight along my spit-slick length as she returned her stare to my face.
Twice more, the same way: all the way down, hold, hold, hold, all the way off, popping her lips on the release.
