Twenty-Second Installment in the "Latina" Series of Erotic Tales
December 31, 1999, was an unseasonably warm end to the old millenium. The hot winds that stream down off the mountains to the east had lingered longer into the season than usual, preventing the cooling Pacific Ocean breezes from entering the valley from the west. The cold, damp, miserable storms of El Nino, the terrible-tempered child, were not due to drench and terrorize us for another five weeks.
My Frank and I went shopping that afternoon, to pick up a few last-minute supplies for our little family New Year's Eve party with our son. Nothing too fancy, just some donuts and sparkling cider. And some crackers, chips, avocado dip, and assorted cold-cuts and cheeses. Just stuff to snack on as our 12-year-old son Bobby, my husband Frank, and I watched the world celebrate the millenium on TV. Bobby didn't want to go shopping with us, so he went to a friend's house to play for the afternoon.
Being such a hot day, I wore my extremely-short black micro- miniskirt, the one my Frank had bought me at my insistence, the one I like to wear to signal him when I am good and horny for him--which, of course, is most of the time! This skirt is not quite long enough to hide the tightly-puckered creases where the soft, feminine curve of my butt swoops down to meet the tops of my naturally-dark, smooth, silky, shapely Latin-American legs.
I hadn't often been bold enough to wear this skirt OUTSIDE of the house, but with this heat, I had simply said "fuck it" and wore it anyway. I had deliberately not worn panties underneath. That way, whatever cooling breeze might happen to find its way past the hot mountain winds, would be unobstructed on its path up my skirt to cool off the tiny beads of sweat oozing slowly, seductively down from my ass to the backs of my knees. I just LOVED the deliciously naughty feeling of being naked under such a short skirt, with my Frank at my side. For his part, my loving husband really seemed to be enjoying the view from behind me, as usual. His enjoyment was making my pussy even warmer. Luckily, as we crossed the parking-lot, a momentary stray breeze did find its way up my skirt and straight up into my slit, or I might have gone absolutely insane with the combination of the external heat, and my own growing internal heat of longing for my husband.
As we were shopping, I momentarily forgot how scantily clad I was, as I leaned over the refrigerated dairy case to pick up some packages of Monterey Jack cheese. My skirt flipped up, and if you were looking, you could notice my entire naked ass now. Believe me, my Frank DID notice. Quicker than a flash, he was behind me, his strong, masculine arms lovingly encircling my waist, his fingertips naughtily dancing across my hardening nipples through my favorite purple T-shirt, his tender lips sweetly nuzzling my neck. I hastily smoothed down my miniskirt as far down as I could, which admittedly was not very far.
Even through the denim of his jeans shorts, I could feel his rising bulge start to press against the crack of my panty-less ass, which my thin black micro-miniskirt barely hid from view. I turned my head to my right, pulled his head around to his left, cupped his neck in my open palm, and kissed him, softly and sweetly at first. But after two or three kisses, I started kissing him with a ferociously- passionate hunger as I moaned into his ear, and I thrust my ass backward hard against his front trouser ridge. It took all of my will power to back away and continue shopping now, but I knew that a crowded grocery store on December 31 was neither the time nor place for this display of raw, uninhibited lust.
As we waited in the check-out line, Frank picked up a magazine from the rack, and he began thumbing through it as we waited. He then seemed to be absorbed in one particular article, but as he often reads in super-market checkout lines, I thought nothing of it at the time.
Our 12-year-old, Bobby, seems to have a knack for timing his return home from playing, so as to get out of helping around the house. Frank and I had just finished unloading the groceries from the car, and laying out the snacks for later, when Bobby came clattering noisily up to the house on his skateboard. The TV went on as we started watching New Year's Eve celebrations from around the world. Bobby spread a sleeping bag on the living-room floor and laid down on top of it.
Frank and I sat side-by-side on the living-room couch, he still in his cute, sexy little jeans shorts and me still in my black micro-miniskirt. We both kicked off our shoes and began playing footsie with each other's bare feet. Frank's toes are long and slender, and while I was enjoying the feel of them against my own small, dark toes, I really longed to feel them once more wriggling against my inner walls and my clit, as they had so often done in the past. The weather was still unseasonably warm, but as the sun set, the house cooled off very quickly. By about 8 PM, my bare legs were starting to shiver a little, and Frank's legs were sprouting goose-bumps. So I spread a thin blanket across both our laps. Frank soon took advantage of our legs being hidden under this blanket, to place his hand at the top of my smooth, dark thigh and slowly knead my flesh. I turned to him and smiled wickedly, as I let my open palm rest over the zipper of his shorts. Our son was too engrossed in the TV to even notice our shenanigans, which the blanket hid from his view anyway. As tough as it was to rein-in our stirring passions, we didn't dare let our love play go beyond a little footsie and a little leg rubbing, with our son lying not ten feet away.
So with our hands and legs still making contact under the blanket, Frank and I just watched the celebrations on TV now, occasionally munching on cheese-and-crackers or chips- and-avocado-dip, but secretly longing to munch on EACH OTHER! Bobby disdained the crackers and the chips, and hungrily wolfed down a big chocolate donut instead.
At 11:50, Frank opened a bottle of sparkling apple cider, and poured its contents into three tall, skinny, fluted champagne glasses, in preparation for the midnight toast to the new millenium.