"...Harold. Harold? Harold, wake up!" said Chelsea, her voice soft, full of resentment.
As if on cue, Harold let out a deep snore. They so rarely were intimate, but tonight, after several bottles of wine, clearly too many for one of them, Harold had crawled on top of her with no foreplay, given it his all for perhaps thirty seconds, and finished in an disappointing flash. Chelsea went to clean herself up, looking forward to her own satisfaction, but to her surprise, saw that he had rolled over and fallen into a deep sleep.
Normally, Chelsea would expect this lazy, selfish behavior and get to sleep to forget the entire thing, but tonight was different. She felt a need for more, to be desired, to be wanted, and it was all because of Alan.
Alan, the fit young man, well, no more than thirty-five in any case, worked at the same company as Harold. Alan, who she only met that same day only because Harold held a BBQ for his work colleagues. Alan, who worked remotely from home and only started at the company two months ago.
Chelsea had started off the day annoyed at Harold, and it only progressed as the day wore on. He had slept in, not helped nearly enough with preparing for guests, for his guests, and when they did arrive, he got into the drink early. She had only barely enough time to shower and get into a nice sundress, one that accentuated her curves. She had always been buxom, but more so in her older years. Still, she enjoyed herself in the sun, a drink in hand and no serious conversation.
When the doorbell sounded, she wondered who it could be. All of Harold's friends and colleagues knew they could come in and join them. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see this young man, or younger than anyone else Harold worked with.
"Hello. Is this Harold's place?" he asked, somewhat shyly.
Chelsea nodded, "Yes, yes it is. Come on in." She led him through the house, through the living room to the backyard. He watched her from behind, loving the view of a buxom woman in a sundress.
Due to the intense summer heat, Alan wore only a loose fitting tank top and running shorts. He did not know many of the people in the backyard, at least, not in person. He spent most of his time shuffling between different groups, getting to know his coworkers, having only moved to the area recently, but still working from home most of the time.
By complete chance, Alan found himself spending quite a bit of time around Chelsea. They happened to move around to different groups almost in tandem. Whether it was the drinks, the heat, or a mix of both, they gradually found themselves engaged in more and more personal conversation. She learned that he was most often working from home, recently moved, and recently single. He in turn learned that she worked only from time to time, mostly volunteering, as she had been a homemaker while the children grew up. Without speaking, she learned that he was interested in her curves, his gaze resting too long on her chest and hips. He in turn saw her laugh and grin whenever the conversation became a little more naughty than was strictly appropriate.
They would move in and out of conversations, and soon the number of people diminished as the day wore on. It was late when most of the guests departed. Harold had gone up to get ready for bed, drunk far beyond what he had expected, leaving Chelsea to say goodnight to the few stragglers. She found herself alone with Alan, as the two tidied up in the kitchen. He had stopped drinking, but she had not, and her flirtatious side had come out.
"So, a handsome young guy like you, and no girlfriend. What's the story there?"
Alan smiled, "Well, I was actually seeing this nice girl. She works over at the rec centre where I use the gym as a trainer."
"Oh! You mean Cindy?" she said, thinking of the petite, lean young woman who sometimes ran the zumba dance classes.
"No, I've met her though, Her name is Alanis."
Chelsea strained to remember the name. "Alanis...Alanis."
"She's a personal trainer, but more into heavy weights. Deadlifts and squats and the like."
An image crystallized in her mind. Yes, there was a woman who was into weight training, but she was not lean, not petite, she was larger, buxom, and--
"Yeh. I'd say you look a lot like her."
She remembered now, and was surprised. "Well, I thought a younger man would prefer the...leaner type. Someone more fit."
Alan smiled, "There is nothing sexier than a full-figured gal." He was not shy about giving compliments, and without giving it much thought, he said, "You look great in that sundress, by the way. It really accentuates your figure."
"Is that so?" she replied. "Well, what is it about my figure you like?"
He smiled at her, at the leading question. He looked down at the hem of her dress, and nodded, "I think I could lose myself for days in thighs as thick as those."
That was all it took. She blushed, and could not believe he had said that. Clearly he had drunk a little more than he thought. "Well, you're awfully direct, aren't you?"
A moment of panic swept over his face, "Oh, I'm sorry! That was going too far?"
She blushed, looking him up and down. "Well, I suppose you've got a nice figure as well," recovering the conversation nicely. "So, you were seeing this girl at the gym?"
"Yep, we were going out for a little while."
"So, why aren't you two together now?"
Alan mussed about, finally saying, "Well, sometimes the chemistry isn't there."
"Didn't you say you like buxom women, like me?" Chelsea said, batting her eyelashes.
"For sure!" Alan said. "It was more about, well, bad chemistry in bed is all."
"Well, I know what that can be like," she said, her voice more annoyed than anything.
From up above, Harold called down, "Come to bed, dear." His words were slurred, and Chelsea grinned. "I guess we'll have to wrap this up, I think my husband might want to get lost in my thighs, as you might put it."
Alan smiled, deciding to push this a little further, all in the name of fun, "Lucky, lucky guy."
She grinned, slapping across his arm with a tea towel, "You're so bad!"
