This is part three of a seven-part novella; it should stand alone, but beginning at the beginning is the recommended pattern. I'm posting all the chapters at the same time so you shouldn't have to wait long for the rest. A
Literotica
Box Set for the summer.
The original idea for this work came following a discussion at the authors' hangout about frustrations with the black-and-white depictions of adultery in the section-which-cannot-be-named. So thanks to all who chipped in to that debate.
As usual, comments, criticism and support welcomed.
*****
John's phone rang about five minutes after Yvonne had left his house to prepare for the date at the restaurant.
'I don't have anything to wear.'
'Sounds like my evening's getting better and better then.'
He laughed alone. There was silence at the other end.
'I'm wearing a suit, no tie. It's pretty smart, but they're not pompous about clothing. What about the outfit you were going to wear out with the girls?'
'Good plan.'
The line went dead. He looked at it quizzically and then replaced the receiver, grinning. He hadn't been out on a date - not that this
was
a date he reminded himself - for ever. He had forgotten how seriously women took their appearances.
Yvonne was having a mild panic. She stuck her tongue out at the phone. Blokes were useless, she confirmed to herself. Absolutely no idea. She picked up her phone again to call her best friend Caroline for advice on clothes and make up. Then she realised, Caroline was in no fit state for conversation. Dehydration can do that to you. She let out a frustrated grunt and checked the time. She only had three hours to make herself presentable. She shrieked and ran upstairs to run a bath.
Smart move. The warmth of the water and the caress of the bubbles made by her favourite unguents were instantly calming. She started on a mental list. No time for a hairdresser, I'll just have to wash and blow dry it. Since becoming a mother her once weekly visits to the salon had fallen off. Her last cut had been about a month ago, but it was going to have to do. The only new dresses she'd bought in the past five years had both been for friends' weddings; one of those would probably do. And she'd bought a five-pack of black tights, but only worn two pairs: check. Cosmetics. She panicked for a couple of seconds. The last time she'd gone full-slap she'd discovered that the contents of her vanity case were all dry and crumbling. Then she remembered she'd restocked: phew.
Her fingers told her her pussy needed a shave. As a natural blonde, with fine hair, the stubble was pretty much invisible to the eye. She'd done her legs like she always did in the bath. Should she continue?
'Why not? It's my birthday.'
She smiled as she set to work. The perfumed steam from the bath was a scent she associated with sex. It was part of her and Paul's ritual on the increasingly rare occasions one or both of them was not too knackered after getting the lads to sleep. She tried to stop herself calculating how long it had actually been as she drew the fresh lady-razor across the delicate skin. It had been too long. She made a mental note to text Paul and tell him to come home before they went to pick up the boys.
'Not bad. Not bad at all.'
She nodded at her grinning reflection as she stood virtually naked before the full-length mirror. She was only wearing a lacy thong. The one she'd bought as a treat for Paul on Valentine's Day. She cupped her firm breasts; the bra that went with it was now too big thanks to the running. It had been a long time since she's examined herself so closely. And she liked what she saw. Firm muscles; she rubbed at her stomach to help the absorption of a patch of the body moisturiser she'd slathered all over herself.
'Missed a bit.'
She smiled. It was what the boys always said when she cleaned the windows. John had taught them as a tease, and like most small kids, once they'd started something it was impossible to get them to stop. She twisted to examine her bottom, grinning more broadly as she enjoyed the firmness of her buttocks when she found another patch of the lotion which was still glistening. She turned to the wardrobe to decide what to wear.
John was more relaxed in his preparations. He showered and after a brief rub of his chin decided on a second shave. He had a choice of one aftershave; so that was easy. His single suit was still in the wrapper the dry cleaners had put on it just before Xmas the previous year. The belly he had started developing in his late forties had disappeared once he took up cycling, so he was about the same size now as he had been in his twenties. The pink shirt he'd bought way back went nicely with the grey of the suit so he decided to give that another outing. Quick polish of the old shoes and that was him done. He decided on a stroll round the garden to see if there were enough suitable late flowers for a bouquet.
He drew up outside Yvonne's at five-forty-five. He had a long enough memory to know that women preparing for an evening out generally needed a gentle reminder that it was time to go without the added pressure of their escort worrying about turning up late. He knew that Jean-Paul was doing him a massive favour and didn't want to inconvenience him by stretching the arrival time. When Yvonne opened the door he was instantly rendered speechless. She stared at him wondering why he didn't return her greeting; he just gawped. She was stunning.
'Is everything OK? You look a bit shocked.'
'For you.'
He thrust the bunch of fresh cut flowers he had wrapped in front of him like a shield. Yvonne took them from him and bent forward to kiss his cheek. He drank in her perfume and closed his eyes. A look of concern crossed her face.
'You're gorgeous.'
John knew he sounded like a tongue-tied adolescent but they were the only words he could get out. Yvonne was wearing a tight-fitting, green dress which shimmered and shone with her every movement. The short, slightly-flared skirt seemed to undulate as she hovered around him and the tight, low-cut bodice exposed half her breasts which stood out firm and plump and captured his gaze. He was already speculating as to how it was they were prevented from simply popping out. If her dress sparkled, her hair gleamed. He found himself glancing up at the ceiling to check whether Paul had somehow installed theatrical lighting since his last visit. He hadn't.
'Thank you. You scrub up pretty well yourself.'
Yvonne blushed and took him by the arm towards the kitchen. John sat and just followed her every move as she found a vase and put the blooms in water. He thought he caught a glimpse of stocking-tops as she stretched.
'Is this dress OK? I wasn't sure it was appropriate. I've dropped a couple of sizes since I started running. None of my newer stuff fits anymore.'
She turned to face him and smoother her hands down her body causing ripples and eddies which almost hypnotised him. John stumbled over words as he tried to start a sentence so coughed and began again.
'You're gorgeous.'
Yvonne laughed. He noticed she had a string of matching green stones around her throat as she threw her head back. He drug his fingernails into his palms and metaphorically shook himself. Come on, he chided himself, you're more than a grown man. Stop acting like a child. It's her night, and the last thing she'll want in an old pervert dribbling all over his food as he stares at her tits.
'It's perfect. I'm just a little speechless because I haven't seen you in any kind of dress before. I knew you were pretty, of course. You look good in everything you wear. Tonight, well you're a vision: the hair, your make up, everything.'
He smiled. He went for manly, but just hoped it was on the polite side of slobbering. He slapped his palms against his thighs. It was time to leave. If he didn't move now there was a fair chance he'd never want to. Yvonne was blushing again. She liked the dress. It was a relic from her single days; she'd been wearing it the night she and Paul met. That was probably the only reason she kept it. She'd only thought of it after trying on virtually everything else she owned. It was clear from John's reaction it had been a good decision.
'That was the two-minute version. I can do ten, thirty or the deluxe two-hour performance if you feel you need flattery shovelled on. Let's go. You can decide in the car.'
John stood smiling and watched as she gathered a small matching bag on a gilt chain and threw a shawl around her shoulders. She stopped him with a light touch on his elbow as he started towards the door. She was holding out a thin wad of notes.
'I wanted to give you this.'
'What is it?'
'It's forty pounds. I told you I had some cash in the house. It's a contribution.'
He waved it away and started to laugh.
