This was written as an entry into a Writer's Challenge on another site. The assignment was to write a story that referenced a black-and-white picture of a young woman sitting on a bench in some kind of hallway or concourse. She is dressed in a little black dress and "fuck-me" shoes, and has her long dark hair in a pony tail. She seems to be looking at an older man who has walked by with a woman about his age. The man appears to be looking back over his shoulder at the younger woman.
I hope you enjoy.
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I'll turn forty in a few months. I'm not old, I know, but I'm stagnant. My wife and I have been together for a while, but our marriage is more of a habit than a romance, at this point. Oh, it's not all bad. Cindy's a good woman. We have a comfortable life, the careers we always wanted, and enough vacation time and disposable income to allow for some travel, something we both enjoy.
Cindy and I love our house, our lifestyle, our common interests, just about everything about our life together. We just don't love each other. The only way we seem to be completely happy is if we're sharing another woman. Cindy insists she's bi, not gay, but she only seems to glow if we have a woman in our lives. Not just in bed, either. She develops a real closeness with these women, almost seems to fall in love with them. But then she loses interest. After twelve years of marriage, I believe that Cindy just can't sustain lasting relationships. She'd probably discard me, too, but our arrangement works too well for her to give it up.
Me? Sometimes I question my capacity to love. I grew up as the only child of a pair of rather cold, guarded parents. I felt respect, pride, and concern for my well-being from them, but nothing that could ever really be called affection.
I did well in school, went in the service, survived, went to college, and eventually became a university professor. I met Cindy in grad school. We clicked. Even though we were in different majors, we shared a lot of interests academically. She wanted to be a biology professor, and I was studying archeology. When we both got job offers from the same school, we decided to get a house together. The sex was good, so we convinced ourselves we were in love and got married. We're both fond of each other, and my life would be very different without her, but I don't think either of us feels the intense love some couples do. Oh well.
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Liz was a junior archeology major. We were on a Native American dig in Arizona five summers ago. I hadn't meant for anything to happen. Sure, I liked her. She was an excellent student, a hard worker, and, I couldn't help but notice, hot as hell.
I think I passed the point of no return in my thoughts about her the day we all got a little overheated. I knew when I woke up just before dawn that it would be literally hot as hell that day. At breakfast, I suggested to the kids that we take the day off because of the heat, but they all said they wanted to work (probably afraid of losing brownie-points), so off we went. I had reminded everyone to pack a lot of water, and insisted on a ten-minute break every hour in the shade of a rock outcropping along the nearby creek.
Liz was dressed in the usual loose khaki shirt and slacks everyone wore on these things. Several times over the past few days, I thought I got a brief flash of nipple when her shirt gapped. I was pretty certain she didn't wear a bra. She didn't really need one, not because her breasts were too small, but because she was so fit. At night in the camp, she always changed into little cut-off jean shorts and a t-shirt, and when the night air got chilly, it became obvious that her chest was cold.
Despite my warning, Liz went to work with her usual enthusiasm, pushing heavy wheelbarrow loads of dirt to the sifter, combing for artifacts, and removing the waste soil at her usual rapid pace. It was on our third break of the morning, about eleven o'clock, when I asked all the kids how much longer we should work. Normally, we took our lunch break around one in the afternoon, and stayed in the shade until three, writing up notes and making plans for the rest of the day. I was miserable, and some of the kids were looking pretty drained, so I suggested we quit for the day.
No one wanted to be the first to agree, so I decided to take a vote. We went around the group, and ended with Liz. She looked at me and said, "Doc, I'm guess I'm the tie-breaker. Normally, I would say we should stop wasting time and get back to work, but it's just too damn hot. So, I vote we go swimming."
The creek was safe. That's where we bathed, but we always went alone or with a same-gender partner. That was simply a matter of respect for each other's modesty. I suspected some of the kids went for late-night coed swims, but, being about fifteen years older than most of them and being their professor, I never asked about it or considered joining in.
Liz looked around the group and asked, "So, it's decided? We're done digging for the day?"
I nodded. "We're off work for the day."
"Good!" she said, happily. She got up, walked to the edge of the creek, and pulled off her boots and socks. The hat came next, and then she untied her pony tail and combed her long dark hair out with her fingers. Turning to us, she called, "Am I going to be the only one? The water looks great." Right there in front of us, she unbuttoned her shirt. Stroking her hair forward over her chest, she shrugged the shirt off. No bra. Then she took her pants off and stood there, wearing just a pair of tiny black panties. God, she was perfect.
Turning back to the water, Liz pulled her panties off and bent over at the waist to add them to the pile of clothes at her feet. That was when I made a few decisions. First, I was going swimming. Second, I wasn't going to worry about sporting a boner. If anyone couldn't understand why a thirty-five-year old professor would get hard looking at that twenty-year old ass, well, I wasn't sure an explanation was possible. Third, and most importantly, I decided I wanted to fuck Liz.
We all eventually got naked and waded into the creek. You have to be fit if you're doing an archeological dig. This was an academic exercise, but we worked like the ditch-diggers we were. The girls were all cute, and it was obvious that all us guys appreciated that, but my eyes saw little except Liz. I was right about her. Her breasts were that wonderful size that makes them fill a shirt, or your hands or mouth, perfectly. The areolas were round, about the size of a quarter, with succulent little nipples standing proudly on them, hardened by the cool water. The nearly black hair which beautified her head was completely absent from the rest of her body, allowing me a clear view of the tasty-looking outer lips of her pussy.
It wasn't until we started playing Marco Polo that I was really glad I was standing in chest-deep water. Liz was "it" and came wading in my direction, blindfolded by a kerchief someone gave her. Her outstretched hand touched my belly first. "Gotcha!" she yelled.
"Wait, Liz, don't take off your blindfold," one of the guys called. "Do you know who it is?"
"No," Liz said. "Although it's obviously not you, John. I can hear you behind me. Hmmm, well let's see what I can figure out." She reached up and touched my shoulder. "Taller than me. That doesn't tell me much, since I think I'm the shortest one here. Her hand trailed down over my chest. "Male," she laughed. Her hands went to my hips. "Nice butt."
Her one hand came up to my face, touching, exploring my features. Her other hand stayed on my hip and buttock, stroking lightly. I hadn't been completely hard before, but that was changing. Liz was standing close enough to me that I knew my cock was going to come up to touch her tight little belly in a few seconds. When she felt the contact, her hand came around and slid slowly up my length.
Liz whispered, "Oooh, what's up, Doc?" while continuing to touch my face with the hand that was visible to the others. "Don't say anything, and keep a poker face," she murmured as she gently fondled my scalp with one hand and my balls with the other.
She turned away and called in the direction John was standing, "I can't figure out who this is, dammit! It could be Rick, or Jerry, or maybe Mac, but I think he's too short to be Mac. How much longer do I have to figure it out?"
"Hurry up, or someone's going to dunk you," John laughed.
