Chapter Two: Flirtation and Intimacy
The next morning, I arose and showered while my coffee was brewing. I quickly dried and styled my hair and put on a bit of makeup before dressing for the day. As I was just about to slip into yet another of my long sundresses, I paused, recalling the events of the previous day. As today was the day Jeremy was to mow my lawn, I wondered if it might not be just a little too indiscreet to, once again, wear a dress that was, for all intents and purposes, every bit as revealingly diaphanous as the one I had worn yesterday.
I very much disliked the thought of wearing shorts or pants for working in the garden, as I always found them to be too confining. I preferred the facility and coolness of the long dresses, which not only kept my sensitive skin protected from the sun but also afforded me the freedom and privacy to wear little or nothing beneath them if I so desired.
After a brief reflection and a final shrug of resignation, I concluded that my freedom and comfort were far more important than any accidental impropriety that might occur as a consequence. After all, I rationalized, if it should happen that I inadvertently revealed anything at all, it would, in all reality, be nothing more than just my silhouetted figure. That, in itself, was hardly more revealing or immodest than if I were to wear a bathing suit. And, carrying that rationalization one step farther, it seemed silly to suddenly be so self-conscious about it, as Jeremy had, after all, already seen as much of me as might ever be seen through a backlit dress. It seemed a harmless indiscretion at best, and, at worst, only relatively immodest.
Although I could easily rationalize the relative innocence and propriety of wearing such a sheer and potentially revealing dress in front of Jeremy, I had to admit that I felt a distinctly sensual sense of anticipation and excitement that morning.
Knowing how Jeremy had previously taken advantage of my accidental indiscretion and had even seemed pleased by it, I couldn't help but feel a bit pleased as well. It delighted me to think that my body might have been admired and appreciated by someone as young as Jeremy, and I found myself looking forward to spending more time with him that afternoon, possibly even provoking his admiration further.
I fully realized that I was, in fact, considering a somewhat flirtatious encounter with Jeremy that afternoon. Perhaps it was the loneliness and lack of male companionship since my divorce, or maybe just my feminine vanity's desire to be appreciated. Most likely, it was a combination of those things.
I felt a bit sorry for Jeremy, growing up without a father figure and with his mother working long hours to support the family. From what I knew of him, he seemed somewhat of a loner; I never saw him having friends over at the house next door. Being short for his age and slight of build, I imagined he might even be one of those social outcasts at school. I had known many like him during my own high school days--the kids who didn't quite fit into the social class structure of their peers.
I thought about it for quite some time that morning as I prepared my breakfast and brewed my coffee. Recalling my youth, I laughed to myself. I had, most definitely, been one of those social, popularity climbers, latching onto one of the popular jocks, with a lettered sports jacket and a flashy car, in an effort to boost my social standing among my peers.
I married a man very much like that as well. The funny thing is that all of the nerdy, bookworm types we all made fun of in high school are now CEOs of computer conglomerates or power brokers with major investment firms, while a great many of the jock types we so slavishly fawned after now sell used cars or real estate, with failed marriages and drinking problems.
Knowing what I know now, I would, most certainly, have been a lot more discerning in my personal relationships with men and a lot less shallow and self-serving when it came to those boys who were below the social strata I strived to attain.
From my front porch chair, I waved goodbye again to Marjorie, who once again returned my wave with a little toot of her horn as she drove away. A few minutes later, Jeremy appeared, pushing his lawn mower along the sidewalk. Wearing only a faded tank top, a pair of cut-off jeans, and a battered pair of sneakers, Jeremy looked more than ready to tackle the lawn.
I invited him to join me again, in the shade of my veranda, and we sat and chatted again while I finished my coffee. To learn more about him, I queried as to his plans now that high school was over. To my surprise, I learned that he had been accepted into the University of California Berkley's School of Veterinary Medicine and would be moving to Northern California when his first semester began later that fall.
I congratulated him and wished him well, and he seemed to appreciate my words. I also learned that he had very few friends in Las Vegas and no girlfriends whatsoever, which only reinforced my suspicion that he had been low on the high school social ladder.
While I cleared away the coffee paraphernalia, Jeremy fired up his lawn mower, the roar of the motor shattering the stillness of the morning as he began mowing the front lawn.
Returning to my chair on the front porch, I watched casually as he strode back and forth across my lawn, stopping occasionally to dump a full bag of grass before continuing.
Watching him, I was once again struck by the fact that he had managed to blossom from a young boy to a young man right under my nose without my ever noticing. Jeremy had matured considerably in the past few years and was rapidly becoming a very appealing young man. His body was lean and hard and, as he pushed the mower, his muscles moved and flexed in a particularly enticing way.
I caught myself daydreaming and laughed softly. "Karen, you are such a slut," I admonished myself aloud with a shake of my head. It seemed almost laughable that I could somehow entertain sensually impure thoughts about a boy less than half my age. I laughed again and, shaking my head, I stood and went back into the house.
It was already a very warm morning, and knowing that the afternoon temperatures would approach triple digits, I anticipated that Jeremy would work up a thirst. So, I made a large pitcher of lemonade. After that, I moved through the house, opening the windows to let in the warm, fresh air before shutting everything down in preparation for the baking afternoon heat and switching on the air conditioning.
Once back in the kitchen, I opened the large glass sliding door and sat down at my kitchen table to sample a little of the fresh lemonade I had made. The soft, pliant comfort of the chair and the warm inviting air soon lulled me into a drowsy peacefulness and I smiled and closed my eyes, opening my senses to the beauty of the calm, peacefully warm morning.
Almost immediately, my idyllic reverie slipped into something decidedly more sensual in nature. I smiled wistfully, savoring the warm sensation rising between my legs. As I slowly crossed my legs, I delighted in the erotic sensation of my sleek, smooth thighs brushing against each other, further enhancing the growing arousal within me.
I had not masturbated that morning, which was somewhat unusual for me. My first waking thoughts were almost always sensual and, almost immediately, I would begin touching myself. I would move my hands over my body tenderly, almost like a lover would, thrilling to the tactile sensation of my body beneath my silky, nylon nightgown.
As my arousal would increase, so would the urgency of my touching, soon I would be cupping my breasts, squeezing my flesh almost painfully, and pinching my nipples as I writhed in pleasure between the sheets. When orgasm was imminent, I would very often roll onto my stomach, with either my hands or a pillow between my legs, and thrust my hips rapidly to bring on the orgasm I needed so badly.
On that particular morning, I had slept in and, upon awakening, was shocked to see the time. Instead of pleasuring myself, I rose and showered quickly, knowing Jeremy would likely be wanting to get an early start mowing the lawn before it got too hot.
I considered masturbating in the shower, feeling the need rising as my soapy fingers slid between my legs, but I brushed off the rising sensation within me, knowing it would only be a quick, perfunctory moment of pleasure, and promising myself I would indulge my fantasies later in the day when I could take my time and reward myself an intense, toe-curling, orgasm.
Since my divorce, I had come to discover great pleasure in masturbation, bringing myself to orgasm at least twice a day and, depending on my mood, occasionally three or even four times was not at all uncommon for me.
