A Slow Unwinding

"Alright, love, I'll be there in about five minutes." John closed his cell phone and pulled out of the parking garage.

Behind him in the car, piled up on the back seat, was an absurd amount of luggage for a single week vacationing on the North Fork. It had all been carefully packed that morning by Sara, his girlfriend of four years, who now awaited him outside the front entryway of the New Rochelle High School, where she had just moments ago finished yet another grueling, difficult school year teaching algebra to the ungrateful miscreants of Westchester County.

John had big plans for this vacation. Four years is a long time to be in a relationship, and though he and Sara were not married they had been together long enough so that passion, and therefore sex, now took a way-back seat to bills, careers, and the seemingly endless chores and errands that now filled the weekend days that were once spent as one long, carefree bout of foreplay. Make no doubt about it—John was deadest on making this week all about getting laid. His goal was to get Sara away from the job that seemed to stress her so, away from the troubles and worries that had seemed to make generally grumpy as of late, and try to get let go a little bit for once.

He grimaced at the thought. Sara had made this plan substantially more complicated by inviting their old college friends, Marc and Theresa, to share the tiny, two-bedroom cottage that John had rented many months ago. Sara had certainly had a point—the astronomical weekly price was certainly more palatable when split in half, and they had always had a blast when traveling with Marc and Theresa. To be honest, John had to admit that Marc and Theresa were way cooler and hipper than he and Sara, and though they had been married since college they were still the first to crank the party up a notch, and the first to disappear and then make it loud and clear to those around them—with emphasis on "loud"—that they had managed to maintain in permanence the libido of a horny teenager.

So sure, it would be fun, but still not what John had in mind. Certainly, with another couple around, there would be no room for the kind of spontaneous, naked-on-the-dining-room-table sex with Sara that he had been fantasizing about—and masturbating to—since he first booked the cottage in January.

He pulled into the long circular drive in front of the school, trying to find Sara. The scene was crazier than usual, with students and parents and teachers all buzzing about with the excitement that comes with the last day of school. He couldn't tell who seemed more jubilant, the students or the teachers.

He spotted Sara and pulled over to the side of the driveway. Despite the fact that she had her brow furrowed in a stern, stressful way that had become quite familiar to him, she still looked fabulous. Sara was petite, with a very fair face and blonde hair that lightly curled around her neck. Both John and Sara had began a rigorous exercise regime in December in attempt to escape the funk of winter, and it taken paid serious dividends for Sara; her legs were taut and firm, and her ass nearly perfect, wonderfully round but hard and tight at the same time. Her blue blouse stressed every so lightly at her breasts, which though small were a textbook example of the meaning if "perky." John felt that familiar tightness in his groin—there was nothing quite like Sara in her teacher clothes to get him hot.

She spotted him pull aside and walked over to him, opening the door and nearly leaping into the car. "Hey hon," she said, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek." "Let's get out of here fast. I don't want to even think about this place for the next three months." They had not even pulled back onto the street before she betrayed what she had said, launching into the familiar recount of the day's gripes, grudges and annoyances, which lasted the fifteen minutes it took to reach the highway and begin the three-hour drive in earnest. He did his best to nod sympathetically and to offer the occasional "Really?" or "That's terrible," just to make clear he was listening, at least in theory.

When they hit the highway he tried to make a break in the conversation. "Well, love, you can put that all out of your mind, because we are on vacation!" He slapped her left leg gently for emphasis. He shot her a glance that was cautiously suggestive and placed his hand on her thigh, sliding it no more than a half-inch under the hem of her skirt. "I promise to do my best to give you something else to think about this week..." He slid his hand up another half inch.

Sara gave them that forced, half smile that he had seen so many times, and then took his hand and locked her fingers in his, resting it on her lap. "We should call Theresa and see if they're on the road."

"Good idea, hon," he said, flashing his own forced, half smile. He took his hand back, reaching into the console for his cell and handing into his cell phone to Sara. "It's all you, babe." He felt the tightness in his groin slip away, and he looked down the highway, anticipating the many hours of all comfortable silence that would take them to the cottage, and to the scene of grand expectations that had already begun to deflate.