Early afternoon. Not too crowded in the lobby. As they walk together, Pauly is wondering if this is real or something she has conjured up in her head. Clara is certainly real, prettier than the photo she sent, more exciting in three dimensions. Curvaceous. Smiling. The eyes bright and seeming happy. But the uncertainty must be there, a mirror of Pauly's own uncertainty. Two lives on a sudden new course, even if only for a weekend.
Or longer. Only for a weekend? Pauly hungers for it to be more than that, but Clara seems disinterested. A lark, Clara said. They'd have a lark and that's all. She wants no dangers in her life.
Pauly wants more. She's tired of evenings and nights and mornings alone. Nothing but the walls and a half-dead cat to watch her pleasure herself. She's tired of lying alone in the dark and listening to the traffic outside. She's tired of unrealized fantasies.
As they stand at the elevator, each holding a small suitcase, Pauly looks down at Clara's legs. Heels and stockings. Clara hinted she would in a letter last week. She's a sexual woman. Their eyes meet. Clara smiles. Pauly smiles back. They haven't talked much. They'll have all the time they need to talk. These moments, for Pauly at least, are becoming more and more intense. The sexual tension is palpable. But she's determined to be restrained. She wants each moment to be electric. She's determined to somehow change the beat of time, extend each moment until the anticipation of the next moment becomes unbearable.
Finally, the elevator arrives. Clara enters before Pauly and Pauly looks at Clara's round hips, her full calves, her ankles, the high heels. The door slides shut and they are alone for the first time. They look at each other and smile. Then a kiss. Pauly kisses Clara's forehead first, then her lips. A tender kiss. Then Pauly pulls back. "Let me touch you," she says.
Clara frowns, seems uncertain.
"No, just this," Pauly says. She gently rubs the back of her hand across the curve of Clara's left breast. Just that. Hardly pressing the full breast through Clara's jacket and blouse. Clara blushes.
Pauly wants to kiss her again, but the elevator door suddenly opens and it's their floor. They exit the elevator and hold hands as they walk down the long corridor to their room. In a few moments they are inside, the door closed, their bags on the floor, their arms around each other for the first real contact, mouth against mouth, the kiss consuming them, lasting, a brief respite, then another kiss. It's marvelous. Clara's mouth has a sweet taste. The scent of her hair, her perfume, excites Pauly. She wants to caress Clara, stroke her breasts, but she does nothing. Not yet. They separate and start chattering about the room, the weather, their plans for the weekend. And during it all the sexual tension between them is like a stretched rubber band about to snap.
* * *
A few minutes later, while alone in the bathroom, Pauly thinks of leading Clara out of the room, taking her to a coffee shop somewhere, anything to allow enough time to calm down, calm them both down. Or maybe the point would be to extend this maddening tension, a tension with its own delicious effect. Will the sexual actuality be as intense as this anticipation of it? But when Pauly returns to the room and finds Clara standing at the window, any thought of leaving at this moment seems impossible, even absurd. They are here. They are here in this room alone, together alone for the very first time after all the weeks of longing, and it seems absurd to abandon the moment without something, some action, some contact, something. What should it be?
Clara has large breasts. She told Pauly she has large breasts and the proof is certainly evident. As they kiss, Pauly slowly unbutton Clara's jacket. Clara stiffens a moment, but then she relaxes again. Pauly pulls her mouth away and their eyes lock as Pauly slowly slides both hands over Clara's breasts and covers as much of them as a she can with her palms, gently caressing them through Clara's blouse and bra. Clara's face is flushed. This is their first real physical intimacy. Still holding Clara's breasts, Pauly says, "We have a choice."
"Yes?"
"We can choose to continue teasing each other, even leave this room awhile, or stop the teasing and mess up the bed before dinner. Which would you like?"
"I don't know. How about you?"
"I think we ought to compromise."
Clara smiles. "Compromise? How do we do that?"
"Just a few moments of compromise. If you sit in that easy chair and pull up your skirt, I'd like to run my tongue over you."
Clara blushes. "You want to make me crazy. You're mad."
"Yes, mad for you."
Clara blushes again and smiles. "All right, have your way with me." She walks to the easy chair and she sits down.
Pauly follows and drops to her knees before Clara. Pauly helps Clara with her skirt, helps her get it up past her thighs, past the tops of her stockings. Pauly is astounded to find Clara is without panties, and when she looks up at Clara's face, Clara smiles down at her. "Why not?" Clara says. "I have as much right as you do to be a little crazy."
