"Mmmmm, that really feels good." Cathy sighed turning her head slightly as she did.
"Mmmm, it's supposed to." I chimed back.
That was it? That was the best I could come up with? After twenty some years practice and countless rubs on countless backs, this was still the best come back I could formulate? Cheesy, yes, only saving grace is that we were both right. After twenty some years practice I had become adapt at least in learning how to touch a woman, and the countless rubs had taught me just where.
My thumbs traced the grooves on both sides of her spine radiating outwardly away in small semi circles every few inches. She'd pulled her t-shirt up to just under her arms leaving her shoulders covered. I stopped my kneading at her bra, lifting over it and continuing above. My fingers slid under the "tee" and rested on her lower neck. Her shirt bunched and strained against my forearms and I figured now or never, damn the torpedoes, and what the hell. Least that could happen; I'd look like a dick. I swallowed hard and let loose:
"Y'know this may be a little easier going if we loose this," I winced, mustering all the confidence and false bravado within. She'd insist on leaving now, sorry this doesn't feel right, we'd better stop, yeah "loose this, my ass"...
"I was thinking the same thing." She propped up to her elbows, head still down, thumbs securing each side and before my amazement to her reaction could set in, wiggled free of the confining cotton.
Simple as that, she lay flat again. With slightly more nervous fingers I began working the left side of her shoulder and neck. I must admit to chill I got as my left pinkie slipped innocuously under the satiny white strap of her bra.
"Don't think I'll be needing this either." she said from behind a mop of auburn locks, shocking me back from the momentary distraction.
She reached behind herself with both hands. With deft precision and the subtle flick of a thumb the clasps of her brassier snapped away from each other. Again up on her elbows she let slip the straps from her shoulder, raising up from the bed only enough to let it slide out from under her as she tugged. The curve of her breast was barely visible from my vantage point, but it's a sight I'll never forget.
"I was thinking the same thing." I managed to mutter, not quite on cue. Sure I was.
"I'm sure you were." She craned her neck back and flashed a smile. So here we were. Cathy Holdon was naked from the top down receiving a massage I normally reserve for those I generally know, or at least wish to know, on a more... intimate level. Sprawled out on my bed. My bed! Nothing of the moment was lost on me. Or her, I'm sure, for that matter. I had had a crush on Cathy most of my life. A friend of my mom's since before I was even born I had harbored ideals of affection for her since before girls possessed any appeal at all. To this day I find resemblances of her in other women I am attracted to. And there we were. Not quite three sheets to the wind from all the wine drank at the reception earlier, but we could feel it's blow from here. Being two of the only singles at the party under sixty and over eighteen we found each other's company and attention an unintended bright spot to an otherwise dull evening. Surprisingly so.
When I later, after god knows how many toast to the bride and groom, attempted to excuse myself and beat a quiet retreat she stood from where we'd spent the majority of the night sequestered gave me a kiss on the cheek and said all the obligatory things you say to someone you haven't seen in few years and probably wouldn't see for a few more (or at least until one of the other kids get hitched) she paused. Her smile and the look in her eyes spoke volumes. Save me! Gallant as I am and knowing how busy mom would be with the details of her little girl's wedding there was no way I could consign her to a long night of my drunk relatives and bad DJing. An offer, an acceptance, and BANG! Somehow she's half nude on my bed and well on her way to being covered in baby oil. Whoever said going stag to weddings was no fun obviously never went to the right ones.
"Well..." With one vowel she had me back at attention.
"Yeah, um... well indeed." Schmuck. I loosened the cap and poured a dollop of oil into my palm rubbing it into the other vigorously to warm them before applying. I applied. She received. Both in silence. After five minutes that could have been five hours she stretched her arms out akimbo in front of her and arched like a stretching cat. I could feel the muscles of her back flex and relax under my touch. She was exquisite. In mid stretch she rose, just barely. Again I caught a slight glimpse of her breast, or at least the side of it, and for that nanosecond of a peep a not so subtle, not at all unfamiliar pressure stirred below my waist. Uh-oh.
