===== THURSDAY =====
The hot August sun bore down on me like God's wrath. No idea if it was global warming, or something else, but this summer was hotter than any I've experienced before. Well, maybe not as hot as the one in '98 when our A/C had broken down for an entire week, but that was circumstantial.
It was four in the afternoon, and I had already been off work for two hours, so I had plenty of time to lounge around the pool, and work on my tan. Over the last couple of days, my skin had turned a nice shade of brown that even supermodels could be jealous of. Although that was about the extent of their potential envy.
All in all, it was a perfectly ordinary, if hot, summer day. I wore a simple, yellow, two piece bikini. A plain old bikini for plain old Fran. It couldn't get any more modest than that, and not even the deacon would have cause to complain. Indeed, everything was perfectly normal. Nothing unusual whatsoever. Certainly nothing immoral.
"Ty!" I called, just loud enough for someone listening through the open window on the second floor to hear.
Leonard, my husband, was off at work, doing only God knows what—or who. My firstborn was the only one in the house, home from college for the tail end of summer break.
"What's up, Ma?" he said, poking his head through the sliding door, less than a minute later.
"Could you, maybe, help me put on lotion?" I swallowed, and felt my heart racing. Just the slightest glimmer of excitement washed through me.
"Sure." My boy was never a man of many words, but when he spoke, he spoke with certainty.
I flipped over, lying on my stomach. He approached, and grabbed the sunblock from the nearby table. I couldn't see him anymore, but heard the snap of the bottle. Then, a cool glob of cream landed on my back, followed by Ty's hand. His touch was electrifying, and I nearly gasped at the contact. After years of working as a mechanic, my husband's fingers were rough and calloused, but Ty's were incredibly soft and smooth.
The flat of his hands pressed down on my shoulders, working the lotion into my skin. Only a couple of weeks earlier, his hands had been terribly clumsy, but now they were confident. He moved on to my neck, then down to my shoulder blades. I can't tell you how amazing it felt to be caressed by another's touch after years of neglect. It was good enough to forget who it was that was doing it. The sun was warm on my skin, but paled in comparison to the fire of his contact. His hands slid to my sides, and the tips of his fingers lightly grazed the side of my tits. Accidental or not, my nipples hardened.
"Oh lord, that feels so good," I whispered. Spurned on by my encouragement, he worked his deft hands lower, down my spine, stopping just above my pelvis. He skipped past my butt, since it was covered by my bikini bottom, making me wish I had worn a thong instead.
Another splash of cream hit me, this time on my calf. He worked the lotion in quickly, with long and firm passes over my ankles, and the backs of my knees. He moved on to my feet, holding each foot with two hands, and using his thumbs to massage the balls and heels. I couldn't help but sigh in pleasure at the little ritual the two of us had developed.
Then came the part I had been anticipating the most. He dispensed more lotion, directly on my upper thighs. Slowly and carefully, he worked his way from my knee to halfway up the thigh. The closer he got to my pussy, the harder it was to lie still. The teasing made me want to turn around, rip his pants off, and ride his stiff cock, hard and fast. Juices started flowing, and I hoped it wasn't too obvious.
I started squirming around—just a little bit. I just couldn't stand it anymore. Then he stopped, mere inches from my vagina, and resumed his work on the other leg. The whole process repeated itself once more, and drove me half insane. Hands circled around my thigh, and slid higher. Closer, closer, closer... until suddenly the edge of his finger made contact with my outer labia.
Excitement coursed through my veins, as his finger moved up and down my lips, separated only by cloth mere fractions of an inch thick. I heard him breathing hard. His finger kept moving up and down, lubricated by my fluids. He pressed in, his finger encompassed by my lips, but held back by the bikini.
I knew that everything about it was wrong, but until now, nothing had happened. Yesterday, he'd stopped just short of actually reaching my special place. Truth be told, I hadn't expected him to actually go for it. It had been like a little game between the two of us over the last couple of weeks. Every day, he'd dared just a little more. An inch further up my thigh a week.
"Honey, I'm home!" Leonard's voice rang through the living room, and out the open patio door, followed by the sound of the front door slamming shut. My eyes shot wide open. Ty jumped up, and fled inside, quick as jackrabbit.
"I'm out here," I yelled back, voice trembling, heart thumping. My panties were soaked, though that was fortunately covered up by the floral pattern.
"There you are!" His voice was cheerful, but at that moment it sounded to me like a rake being scraped across my brain. Why couldn't he have stayed late at work, like usual? "Everything ok, sugar?"
"Everything's peachy."
"Oh, you look a little flushed, is all. Looks like you've been sweating, too. You sure you're not coming down with anything?"
"No, I feel fine. It's just the heat," I lied. I felt far more than fine. Like a supercharged sexual battery, ready to pop at any moment.
"Sure has been hot recently, huh? Better come in, anyway. I got something to show you."
I sighed. The moment had passed, anyway. I hadn't felt that good in years, and then poof, in comes my husband, and it's gone. Might as well have been a euphemism for my life. God, how I wished things were different. Guilt, and shame washed over me, and I felt like I might be a little sick after all. All I wanted was for the fire to be back, like when we had been younger. I was so desperate, I almost let my son... no, nothing had happened. It was just a light touch. Barely more than grazing. It might as well not have happened.
Leonard stood in the doorway, and grabbed me by the shoulders. "Here, let me look at you."
The rough, calloused grip on my shoulders was almost unbearable, a stark contrast to just seconds earlier. I wanted to break free of it, and run away. When I took a step forward, he released me. Just after I stepped over the threshold, I felt his hands on my shoulders again, and he drew me in to place a kiss on my neck. Under regular circumstances that might have been erotic—by Leonard's standards it was exceedingly so—but I started to actually feel nauseous.
"Excu—urgh," I rushed down the hallway to the toilet, dropped on my knees, and retched. After flushing the contents of my stomach down, I felt better. Maybe I really was getting sick.
What if Leonard hadn't announced himself, and walked in on us? Stupid, stupid Fran.
"Told you," gloated Leonard from the doorway.
"What did you want to show me?" I asked, even though I didn't particularly care for hearing another word out of that smartass mouth just then.
"Take a look at this."
He handed me a pamphlet. The cover showed a large, fancy building, with the logo "The Trout Lake Deluxe" right above it.
"What's this?"
"That, dear, is the Trout Lake Deluxe," he parroted the pamphlet. "One of the finest hotels in this great state, situated right on the shores of the beautiful Trout Lake." Sure enough, as I folded the pamphlet open, I read the first sentence. He'd quoted it nearly word for word.
"Looks swanky," I commented. The ad described it as a "Four-Star Experience" with "tastefully furnished rooms," and "fully equipped facilities," including a sauna, pool, gym, bar, and even their own silver screen.
