What a day! It seemed like I was the only one with a brain in the whole fucking place. Every little problem became mine and the fact that I had my own work to do didn't seem to matter. I walked into the apartment, took off my jacket and dropped my briefcase on the floor.
I heard music in the bedroom: soft pop. "Angie left the radio on, again," I muttered to myself as I moved down the hallway to the bedroom. Reaching the door, I was stopped dead in my tracks.
Angie was lying on the bed, propped up on a pile of what must be every pillow in the house. Her oriental satin robe lay open, revealing her body underneath. I leaned against the door frame, my shitty day vanishing at the same rate as the rising of my cock.
Angie is beautiful. When I look at her, I see the 14 year-old girl with whom I fell in love over 30 years ago. Her hair is a soft brown. If I look closely enough, I can spot the odd grey hair, but not at this distance. It is pulled back into a sloppy bun, the way she puts in up for a bath that has nothing to do with getting clean. Her eyes, a soft green-blue, are smoldering. They burn a hole into me, clear to my core. Around them, the slightest laugh lines, reminding me that we are not the kids we were when we met. There is a lifetime of living in those eyes and I feel a slight pang when I realize how much of it I have missed. Her full lips frame beautiful, if not perfect teeth. They are lips that were made for kissing and currently decorate her beautiful face with a Cheshire grin.