Sarah's car was already in the driveway when I got home. I picked up my purse, stepped out into the warm late summer air, and took a deep breath. The smell of green filled the air, and I smiled. I took the steps to the porch two at a time, enjoying the feeling of my long, silk skirt sliding over my stockings.
"Hey, baby," I called, breezing through the front door. As I dropped my keys and purse on the escritoire in the foyer, she came out of the kitchen, smiling. I watched her walk toward me. Her hair was twisted up in a chignon, and she was still wearing her work clothes: wool slacks, with a sheer linen blouse over a camisole of the same color. She wrapped her arms around me, and I around her, laying my head against her shoulder and breathing deeply the scent of her... the lavender soap she used, the traces of perfume applied hours ago, the scent of a woman who has worked all day on her feet.
"How are you?" she asked.
I smiled, not looking up, just enjoying the sensation of holding her. "Better now," I answered, as I often did. She kissed the top of my head, and then I did look up, relaxing my hold on her. I looked into her eyes, marveling at their pale blue color. I liked to think of them as being the color of ice long-frozen. I raised my hand, and ran my fingertips over her cheekbone, delighting in the contrast between my golden skin and her pale complexion. I reached up and undid her bun, letting her wavy hair tumble free. The fifty shades of blonde delighted me, and I ran my fingers through the long, silky length. "Do you have to work tomorrow?"
She shook her head. "Not this week," she answered. She slid her hands down from my waist to my butt and squeezed, pulling me more tightly against her. I answered by cupping her left breast in my hand, and squeezing gently.
"We should go out," I suggested, "Before we get so involved in what we're doing that the time gets away from us."
"I don't want to get dressed up," she protested. She started gathering my skirt in her hand, bringing the hem up.
"So get dressed down," I suggested. "We'll go someplace low-brow. I'll dress slutty for you."
Her eyes lit up, and she smiled. "Okay," she said. "You go get dressed, I'll go take a shower."
I kissed her. "What if I want to shower with you?" I asked.
"I thought you wanted to go out," she said, and returned the kiss.
"Fair point," I said, and laughed. "All right, deal."
In the bedroom I stripped efficiently, dropping my clothes in the hamper. When I was naked I paused, looking at myself in the full-length mirror. Sometimes, I felt self-conscious about being with her. I was a decade older, and I was starting to see strands of silver in my once uniformly raven-black hair. My heavy breasts, once high and firm, were starting to ride lower on my chest. And where she wore a size four dress, despite being the taller of us, I wore a fourteen.
"She loves you," I reminded my reflection, and then I smiled, thinking of the wonder of that simple fact. I turned to my wardrobe, thinking. "Slutty outfit," I reminded myself. I pulled out my purple micromesh t-shirt, slid it over my head without a bra. I turned to consider myself in the mirror. I liked the effect, but it wasn't quite complete... I went to the vanity, opened my makeup box, and pulled out the rouge. I rubbed a little into each areola and nipple, and considered the effect. It made my nipples more prominent under the mesh, and I smiled. I hesitated a moment. At some point tonight, she'd have me on my back. I applied a touch of rouge to my nether lips, enhancing the invitation they offered her.
I pulled my overall shorts out of the wardrobe, and stepped into them. I was just fastening the straps as she came in from the shower, wrapped in a towel. "Very nice," she said, looking me over. "And suitably slutty." I blushed slightly, and she grinned, pointing at the bed. "Sit," she suggested, "Unless you've changed your mind about going out?"
She let the towel fall, and I thought seriously about giving up on leaving the house. But I bit my lip, and sat on the edge of the bed. There is something special about watching your lover dress, I thought, not for the first time. She went to her wardrobe, and pulled out the lingerie I'd bought her for my birthday, the blue lacy boyshort panties and demi-cup bra. She stepped into the panties, watching me in the mirror.
I squirmed a little. My first sexual feelings as an adolescent had been awakened by the lingerie models in the Sears catalog, and she knew this; knew about my fondness for lingerie, knew about my fondness for seeing her in lingerie. She fastened the bra, lifted her breasts individually, settling them in the bra's cups, I felt heat between my thighs. Her breasts were not as large as mine, but they were beautifully shaped, and her nipples were huge... and sensitive, as I knew well.
She pulled a plain white tee out of her wardrobe, and slipped it on. She'd had it since she was an adolescent, and it was slightly tight, and slightly ratty. The thin fabric let the blue lacy bra show through. She posed in front of the mirror, hands on hips, and then turned slowly to face me. "Are you sure you want to go out?"
