Today was the big day, the day of 'The Move'. A day that Mark never expected to happen this soon, let alone at all. Today, was the move of his Mother-In-Law!
In itself not the most exciting, glamorous or stimulating of events, however, he had already committed to helping many months before. When the wheels of solicitors and estate agents were turning ever more slowly, or so it appeared from the outside looking in.
On the plus side, the Sun had turned out in full force, its bright beams of light flooding down warmly. The other plus being the sister in law, always easy on the eye with a dress sense to match; typically baggy blue jeans that barely clung to her hips, always planning their route back to the floor from where they'd been raised earlier that day. More than willing and eager to drop below the panty line offering up a glimpse of white cotton.
It always seemed to be white cotton whenever he'd sneak a glance, surely her whole wardrobe didn't consist of plain white cotton? It seemed to be at opposites to her bright bubbly personality, a sharp contrast if you will to this outgoing, chirpy young woman.
The top almost always seemed to be a short sleeved t-shirt, usually splashed with colour as if highlighting the fact that white cotton didn't quite have it all its own way.
As their car pulled up to what was going to be the new house after today, he could see that she'd already arrived. She sauntered over to the car, waving her greeting whilst mouthing "Hi" to us.
A quick check from Mark appeared to confirm that today's attire was pretty standard fair, not about to set any records or attract huge flocks of new fans, but enough to satisfy a well trained observer such as he.
"Heya, how's it going?" she asked as Mark and his wife stepped out of the car, pushing the doors to gently so as not to alert the new neighbours to their presence, as if fearing that upon hearing the noise they would shamble and shuffle over. Imagining arms laden with gifts of fruit and jams and what not, welcoming another new soul into 'The Neighbourhood'.
He mumbled his well worn and typical line of "Good thanks, you?" as the two sisters hugged their greetings, arms wrapping high around the shoulder line and squeezing, before pulling back enough to afford a quick peck on the cheek.
"Do we have much to do?" he asked, popping the boot of the car so he could reach the tools he had promised to bring along. Hefting the bag onto his left shoulder before pushing the boot shut.
"Well the removal people have been and gone," came the warm reply. "Everything's been put in the living room, so we can clear out the bedrooms before moving the beds and clothing in."
"Let's get to it then," Mark beamed. "No time to waste."
He walked past her on the way to the back door, catching a slight waft of her perfume; light and flowery today, a very pleasant aroma he thought inhaling deeply, savouring the moment.
Mark pushed open the back door which led through into a small hallway. Glancing around he could see that the living room and kitchen were off to the left, the bedrooms to the right. The magnolia painted walls seemed almost a must these days, you simply had to use this colour if you were selling up and moving on.
His body seeming to make a bee-line towards the right, the subconscious for some reason either knew better, or had its own hidden agenda. One that he would hopefully be advised on later.
"If you head off to the right," came the voice from behind. "We can start in the bedrooms if you like?"
What is about words and lines that can be interpreted multiple ways? More to the point, why is it when these phrases are uttered we always pick the more exciting, yet ultimately less likely version to run through in our heads?
Mark of course had already made the association, to be honest the racing thoughts running loops around his mind were a couple of laps ahead. Without any conscious effort or will his mind had already leapt from being in a bedroom he'd never seen before today, to kneeling in front of his sister in law, hands having already made the commitment to un-pop the buttons on the jeans, proceeding to help them in their preordained quest to end up as a denim puddle around her feet.
Inhaling deeply again he imagined a vague scent of musky aroma, sending a frisson of excitement through his groin, his cock leaping at the thought, pulse starting to race as his heart pumped blood to all those areas it considered were most in need.
A hand resting on his shoulder shook Mark from his delightful daydream, just as he was getting ready to press his face into the soft, warm white cotton, nostrils flared in anticipation of heaven.
"Hey, you still here?" she asked.
"Yep, yep...yes indeed," Mark coughed nervously. "Just taking it all in, working out where to start," he lied. Looking away and heading for the first bedroom to escape to, give his heart time to slow down, reduce the thudding sensation coursing through his body.
"If you start over there, remove the pictures and other hangings, I'll clean the skirting board."
She skipped off in the direction of the kitchen, seeking her bucket and sponge which had earlier been left by the sink in anticipation of her first task.
Mark slipped the tool bag from his left shoulder and lowered it slowly onto the carpet. The carpet was a pale blue, darker than the blue satiny walls of the bedroom, a nice contrast though. This carpet was staying it had been agreed, it was still plush enough that your feet sank into it ever so slightly as you walked over it. You could imagine standing there, looking down at your bare feet whilst you spread your toes wide, before scrunching them up tight feeling the wool slip and glide between your toes.
She was back already, standing in the doorway, bucket in one hand and dripping sponge in the other.
"Right," she said. "I'll start in this corner, hopefully I'll be out of your way." she grinned, before turning round and bending slowly at the waist to put the bucket on the floor. Short top raising sufficiently to already reveal an inch or 2 of white cotton panty. It was going to be a long afternoon he realised.
Mark considered that the easiest way of surviving the afternoon intact would be to start at the opposite wall, facing away from the inevitable distraction he had glimpsed earlier. This worked for about 5 minutes!
He'd forgotten how chatty she was, how naturally curious and seemingly genuinely interested in what he considered to be the mundane aspects his life.
"How's work?" she asked enquiringly.
He'd always felt it a little bit rude to talk to people with your back to them, so automatically turned in the direction of the voice. The sight that caught his eye was of her resting on her haunches, back to him with the occasional stretch and lean to rub the sponge along the grimy, formerly glossy white painted boards. A white that in its heyday probably matched her underwear.
The sight was mesmerising, making it difficult to tear his gaze away.
Whilst resting on her heels, the white cotton was plainly in view, about an inch. When she stretched up to reach the boards the knickers pulled down to release the first view of the crack dividing her golden tanned cheeks. He figured he could easily answer her questions whilst admiring the view, if she turned around he could simply carry this motion through to him turning and facing the wall, carrying on with the work of unscrewing the shelf units.
Mark had never known if it was the same for women. Assumed it was but never felt confident to broach the subject with his female friends. For a bloke, once your arousal state goes beyond a certain point, that's it until you choose do something about it. Once it's been triggered, you can kiss logical thought and reasoning goodbye.
