Years ago I joined a local writer's support group and was encouraged to try my hand at erotica. This story was one of my first attempts. I remember their reviews being quite positive but I thought I'd submit it to Literotica to see how it holds up to today's critics.
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It was almost 10 a.m. by the time I was awake enough to get moving. I could see it was going to be another beautiful Sunday morning and I stretched lazily, my eyes puffy and squinting against the sunlight flooding into the bedroom. I reached across the rumpled sheets, searching unsuccessfully for Brian's warm body. Not finding him there, I staggered down the hall to the bathroom, wondering how long he'd been up. Adjusting the water as hot as I could stand it, I stepped into the shower and let the steam bring me slowly awake. As I turned the water off, he yelled into the bathroom.
"Hey Sleepyhead. If you get your sweet little butt moving, I'll do the honor of fixing your breakfast."
What a treat! Brian knows how I love being spoiled in the mornings. After getting him off to work with a hot breakfast every day, being pampered on the weekend is one of my favorite little indulgences.
I quickly sprinkled on baby powder, grabbed his old sweats that were lying on the counter and stepped into them. They were big and baggy on me but comfortable and I loved their softness and the way they felt against my naked skin. Whenever I put them on, I secretly enjoy a little rush by not wearing anything underneath.
I could hear Brian banging around the kitchen, singing in that affecting, off-key way of his. He was opening and slamming cupboards with his usual bull-in-the-china-closet finesse. I smiled happily as I listened. As I was drying my hair and pulling it into a ponytail, I heard him mutter.
"Damn."
"What's the matter, Hon?" I came into the kitchen and gave him a peck on his scratchy cheek.
"There's no Mrs. Garvey's mix. I was going to make my special scones." He looked like a little boy who had lost his favorite toy.
I pulled down a box of Bisquick and handed it to him. "Use this, it's almost as good."
His frown quickly reminded me of the pride he took in his special recipes and that, 'No Virginia, 'Bisquick is NOT almost as good.
Not wanting to break his would-be-chef mood, I quickly suggested that we jump in the car and run up to the store. I learned long ago that once he makes up his mind what he wants to cook, there's little use arguing with him.
As we wound up the hill to the store we passed a couple of Garage Sale signs, their bright colors and arrows inviting us to check them out. Being a confirmed yard sale junkie, it almost killed me to drive by them but I didn't say anything. Just before we got to the top of the hill however, we saw a hand-painted Moving Sale sign that I just couldn't resist.
"Come on, Brian, just for a sec," I pleaded.
Signing audibly, he pulled onto the parking strip and I rewarded him with my biggest smile and another kiss.
The house was one of those faded old mansions from the turn of the century. It had the sad, rundown look that usually results from a landlord squeezing maximum profits out of it by over-renting to college kids. It reminded me of the lovely old house I shared 10 years earlier. Sure enough, as we walked up the steps two young, collegiate-looking women greeted us. The porch was covered with the usual junk; heavy on used CDs, speakers, incense burners, and last years' trendy clothes.
"Hey Girlfriend, you look like you could use a new wardrobe," one of the gals laughed as she pointed to my baggy sweats. Her eyes sparkled mischievously and her voice was warm with self-confidence. She winked suggestively and smiled. "Boy, do I have some clothes for you!"
She was dressed in tight white shorts and a tank top that accentuated her dark tan and I was immediately struck by her attractiveness. I had forgotten how ragged I looked and started bantering back and forth about the sweats being my 'good' outfit. She stuck her hand out and pumped mine warmly, holding it a bit longer than I expected.
