Shortly before leaving state for graduate school, I became involved in a situation that most would call "having your cake and eating it too."
Not long after starting a contract for computer support services for the regional office of a global oil company, one particular brunette repeatedly caught my eye. This happened not only because of the dearth of women that worked in this building, but also because of how exotically attractive she was. Because my job involved a lot of personal interaction with people throughout the building, it wasn't long before my journeys in the large office building brought me within her proximity and allowed me to get to know her on a more personal level. After the initial introductions and questions of whom she was involved with and what she does in her leisure, she later related to me that she felt she was stuck in a loveless marriage.
"I don't want to start over again. I've already been through a divorce and I don't want to go through another, and no guy out there would want to get involved with a woman with four kids," she bemoaned.
As she stood profiled in front of me filing some drilling records, I masked my shock while studying her form. It's miraculous that four children could be birthed from that figure. In low-hung jeans that sat snug beneath gently peaked hip bones, and a stretchy lace top that contrasted her long flat torso against her full fleshy breasts; I felt permanent memory images being burned into my synapses. Her breasts, showing the ripeness of womanly maturity, jiggled slightly as she closed one file drawer and opened another.
With just the right mixture of flattery and feigned sincerity: "How can you already have had four? You can't be more than 26."
It was intentional. I took just enough time to stare at her breasts and glance up into her eyes that she would know what I was looking at. Her pupils danced about as she studied me. Her mouth, in a fit of slight trepidation, twisted about at the corners and opened to take in a slight breath before settling into a conspiring smile.
"That's so sweet," and a pause. "I'm actually 32."
"Mmm, damn," I snapped. I knew where I wanted to take this, but I didn't want to make it obvious. The greatest pleasure in illicit affairs is all the cat-and-mouse interaction at first. There seems to be such parallel between the thin line one walks as you sexually stimulate a woman and the thin line of flirting, especially in the potentially hazardous environment of work. Much like chess move iterations that have to be mapped out and reassessed on-the-fly, flirting carries the threat of severe consequences if you attempt brute force. You have to "drink in" all the various signals and subtleties of body language. It's never just the eyes, or the hands, or the lips, or the body posture; it's all of it. It's watching how the tongue plays in the mouth or across the lips. It's seeing how the pupils will dilate, the breathing will become irregular, and the hands will fidget at the forgotten promise on their finger. It's the toil of emotions that comes to the surface of a woman as she vacillates between the desire to have her senses come alive and her sensibilities maintained. Rationality tells her that she shouldn't throw away her marriage, but sensuality wants to feel like a sexual goddess again.
She looks at me, expecting another statement to follow. I let my own eyes dance over her glossy black chin-length hair, her full flush lips, her olive skin. She quickly wets her lips; she is nervous and uncertain of my intentional silence.
"How do you find the time to work out?"
She gives the standard self-deprecating statement that she's not in shape or her ass is too fat. I ignore it. She knows what she still has, despite the years and wear on her body from childbearing.
"The age on your driver's license and what your body is telling me are two different things. I'll say that much," I tell her in a lowered tone, my eyes still locked on hers.
She chuckles as she sits down, and turns in her seat towards her monitor. After a pause and a push of a few strands of hair behind her ear, she breathes a thank-you. I feel my intentions have been communicated. All it takes is time for her to resolve the inner conflict and clarification on my part of what exactly I want. In time, she will know that I don't want to wreck her marriage. On the contrary, I wish to fill in the missing pieces. She is a woman reaching her sexual peak. She wants to feel that rush of excitement one last time before the hot flashes signal the end of that femininity. She wants to feel wanted while she still feels desirable. In an altruistic way, I want that for her as well. I want her marriage to a man that loves her and supports her children to last.
Sensing an optimum time to change the topic before she becomes frightened, I ask her about what she does for the company, about her children, about her previous marriage. Not long after, she counters by inquiring about my current relational status, my previous marriage, and what I do for the company.
"Happily divorced," I tell her.
"Are you dating anyone?"
"Not at this time." 'She's got a single friend,' it quickly occurs to me.
"I've got a friend that I'd like you to meet."
"Oh really?"
"She's really cute and she's a lot of fun. I think you'd like her; we're built a lot alike."
Now that was very interesting. That not only solidified my belief that she knows she is hot, but also that she acknowledges the fact that I find her desirable.
"So...she's got an ass like a swimsuit model with breasts you wish you could wrap your hands around as well?"
She smiled wryly. "Well..."
"So what makes you think I'll like her again?", I ask flatly.
She gasped as her eyebrows went up. She almost sputtered.
"I'm kidding."
She shot a look at me that tried to communicate that she was slightly offended. Instead it came across as 'bedroom eyes.'
"Just for clarification, I'm not just all about 'boobs and booty'. I appreciate the whole feminine landscape."
"Landscape? So women are lawns now?"
"You both have bush."
"Oh, stop. You awful."
We both chuckled.
So it went, in the coming weeks, I would dance that precarious line of flirting with subtlety while maintaining my intent that I wanted to experience her mature nakedness. As our mutual flirting became more brazen, I also allowed Mandy to steer me towards her single friend, Kelly.
A week after getting to know Mandy, I met Kelly. Mandy and I had gone to lunch together and kept it professional with an implicit understanding. Mandy drove up to Kelly's office on the way back from lunch, and I walked in to the 5th floor office to a woman that clearly exuded sexuality in a cat-like manner. Her movements were very fluid and her eyes bore a constant look of lustful arousal. Getting to know her only furthered my interest; she spoke nonchalantly of having a "friend with benefits" in order to scratch the necessary itch. Understanding that her strategy was to measure my sexual maturity, I acknowledged with sympathetic understanding how such needs have to be handled. As my connection with Kelly sparked and grew, I closely observed Mandy's reaction to get a clearer understanding of what her intentions were towards me. No resentment was sensed, in fact, she furthered her efforts in nurturing the chemistry between Kelly and I.
After we got back in the car together after having met Kelly, Mandy had me pinned down, interrogating me with questions about what I thought of Kelly.
"I'd like to be able to see her again," I offered. "But I want you still around until I feel that there is any kind of chemistry."
Flashing those eyes of alabaster at me, "Don't you think she's hot?"
I made sure I had taken a thorough survey of Kelly's form before I had left the office. She was tall and leggy - around 5'10" if I had to put a number to it. She was wearing boot-cut, low-slung jeans and a knit top, so there was ample ability to get a 'lay of the land.' I had managed to discover she had a meaty firm set of ass cheeks, nicely muscled legs, a belly button piercing, and a modestly firm midsection that peeked out from under her shirt when she pulled her hair into a ponytail at one time.
Then there were her breasts. Unlike Mandy's, which were prominent in their full roundness and sat at the lower end of her pectoral region, Kelly's were slightly smaller, but sat much higher on her chest. I can see how each woman would be jealous of the other's endowments, comparing them and how they differ. Personally, in their own category, I believed them to be more than adequate.
"Yeah, honey, but she's got nothing on you," I responded.
A pause. It was the response she wanted, but the last one she expected. She was frozen, staring forward as she drove.
I continued. "Kelly may have a fantastic ass and the perkiest boobs I've seen, but I can never resist the dark smoldering desire I have for a true brunette."
I paused for half a breath, "Never."
She licked her lips, with a hint of nervousness.
"I'm a married woman," she stated. It came across more as a reminder to herself rather than to me.
"You misunderstand my intentions, miss."
"I do?" she asked, dropping her tone at the end to indicate disbelief.
"When you said that you two are a lot alike earlier, you couldn't have been further from the truth. Everything about you two is much the opposite - especially how I feel about the two of you."
Without looking away from the road as she started pulling out of the parking lot, "Oh really. And what is that?"
"Simple - I want to fuck Kelly."
The car jerked to a stop and Mandy spun her head to me with her eyes wide open and mouth agape.
"What?!"
More slowly and methodically this time, "I want to fuck Kelly in a dirty, sweaty, raw physical way..."
I paused to look around before my eyes met back with hers with intensity.
"...but you, I don't want to jeopardize your marriage at all. I want to make you feel like a woman again. I want to slowly remove your clothes and run my hands and eyes all over every nuance of your soft skin."
Mandy's eyes danced as she looked into mine. In my peripheral vision, I could see her thighs lightly rubbing together. Her free hand had slipped in under the collar of her shirt and was running feather-like over her collarbone. I could tell this woman had become aroused within two breaths.
"I want to trace my fingers over every part of your body and taste your skin. I want to witness your beautiful mature curves with my own eyes. I'm not going to have you violate your marriage vows, but I will have you feeling like a complete sexual being when the time is right."
Mandy's eyes had begun glazing over and she was nibbling on her lower lip. Her cheeks had already become flushed; it was plain to see even with her dark complexion.
She choked out, in a whisper, "I can't cheat on my husband, he'll find out. I know he will."
"We're not going to have intercourse, Mandy. On that, you have my word. I will have you with me naked though, and I'm telling you this now so you will know what I plan to do."
I turned to face back to the front, "Hey, we better get back. It's almost one."
