Sometimes I wake up at night and I can still feel her mouth on me. I wrap my arms around myself and ache to feel her body on mine, lick my fingers and wish I could taste her salty skin, find my hands inside my shorts and fool myself for just a minute that it is her hands on me, making me moan. Still, this is not nearly as difficult as being in her presence. To admire her, watching her move, studying every curve and remembering how my hands explored, no, loved every one of them. To talk with her, not hearing the sounds she makes, only seeing the shapes that form as they exit her lips, knowing how wonderful it felt to be inside her mouth. I try not to touch her; I think we have maybe shook hands once since it happened and nothing more. I do not think I am in love with her. I try to talk myself into believing it is mere infatuation. Besides, it does not matter anyway. I can never again have this woman I so desire, you see, she is my father's wife.
It happened two years ago, the weekend of my baby sisters wedding. A three-hour drive for me, I had planned on taking the Friday before the big day off as to arrive early in the afternoon, giving myself enough time to get settled before the rehearsal and dinner. A good nights sleep was important to me because as a groomsman, all of the guys in the wedding party, including the fathers, were getting up early Saturday morning for a round of golf before donning our tuxes and heading to the chapel. I had planned on staying at a hotel but my father insisted I stay with him in the house he shared with his wife.
As my bad luck would have it, an emergency at work cut short my plans. I had been working for the same company for four years and had finally clawed my way to middle management and abandoning this disaster would surely cost me the next highly coveted rung on the corporate ladder. I called my sister and told her I would be there as soon as I could but that I might miss the rehearsal. Knowing how hard I had been working and how important my job was to me, she told me she understood. "Just be there by the time the organ plays 'Here Comes the Bride', or your dead!" she laughed.
I figured I would be out of the office and on the highway by noon, however, the clock on my dash read 3:43 as I pulled out of the company garage. I went home for a quick shower and was on the highway by 4:30. A gorgeous spring weekend, traffic was heavy with travelers heading for the shore, but I still felt I could make it to the 8:00 rehearsal dinner just in time. I was wrong. About 15 exits short of my destination, traffic started getting thick. Ignoring my instinct to get off the highway and take back roads, I quickly watched the 'stop and go' traffic in front of me turn into just plain 'stop'. Trapped between exits, I turned on a news station to learn a jackknifed tractor-trailer had closed the highway ahead. Indefinitely.
"Shit!" I muttered. "Can this day get any worse?" I got my dad on the cell and explained my predicament. "Just get here safe," he said. "We will leave the front light on." It was just short of 1:30 when I pulled into his driveway. Exhausted, I lugged my belongings out of the car and headed up the walkway. As promised, the porch light was on. So was the one in the kitchen.
Barbara greeted me at the door. "So, how was your trip?" she asked with sympathetic frown. A mumble was all I could manage as I entered the foyer and put down my bags. Barbara wrapped her arms around me and with an affectionate hug that made me feel a little better said "Well, your safe now. How about some tea?"
My dad had met Barbara, a widower, about three years after my mother left him for another man and they were married about two years after that. I had always liked her and thought she was a wonderful partner for my heartbroken father. She was in her late 50's and very attractive, brunette hair, brown eyes, a few extra pounds but a wonderful womanly figure with ample breasts. "My dad always was a breast man," I thought to myself as I sipped my tea across the table from Barbara, admiring her in her silky bathrobe under the soft dinning room lights. "Just like me."
"I told your father to get some sleep and that I would wait up so he could be up in time for your golf match in the morning. Do you think you will be able to make it?"
I glanced at the clock on the wall. It read 2:00. I groaned. "I'm going to try!"
We chatted a while more. The friendly conversation and warm tea had me feeling better, helping me forget the past 12 hours. I had never been alone with Barbara and I enjoyed the few moments we shared together. I could see why my dad loved her. She rose from the table to remove our teacups and as she bent over to pick mine up, her gown opened slightly revealing the tops of her milky white breasts. A small drop of cream spilled off my saucer as she lifted it and she wiped it up with her finger and licked it off. "Now you need to get to bed," she said with a smile and playfully touched my nose with the same wet finger.
She had the guest room set up for me and as we pulled down the sheets of the queen size bed together, it was agreed that she would have my father try to wake me up at 6 AM. "Goodnight Honey," she said as she gave me another gentle hug. Her back felt wonderful and warm beneath the silkiness of her nightgown as I returned her embrace. She kissed my cheek and I felt her warm breath in my ear. "I'll see you in the morning."
Sleep came quickly, but in the few minutes between states of consciousness, I kept thinking of Barbara. Ever since I was a kid I had had older woman fantasies, what healthy American boy has not? But I had never though of my father's wife that way. I drifted off to sleep with an image of Barbara in my mind, a small drop of white cream on her fingertip, disappearing amid her warm, pink lips. A soft sucking sound. Then, sleep.
************
I was awaken by soft fingertips stroking my naked back. "Hey? Sleepyhead?" A pleasing feminine voice. "Are you gonna wake up?" I rolled myself over and looked up to see Barbara. She smiled. "Good morning sleepyhead."
"Good morning," I rubbed my tired eyes, a bit disorientated. "What time is it?"
"It's about ten, Hon. Your Dad tried to get you up but nothin' doin' "