16.
 She had good rounded shoulders, blunt, and a nice straight back. She stopped laughing. Looked serious. Hungry. She embraced him and thrust her mouth against his. Their tongues entwined and they couldn't get enough of each other.
"My, you know what you're doing."
"It's been a long time. Too long."
"Me too."
"Mr. Somebody?"
"Long ago."
"Good."
"We can finish the wine at my house." And they did. She lived a couple of miles out, at the edge of town. It was a good little house, he could see, had some money in it. "My husband was a lawyer," she explained as they pulled in. "Then he found someone else and it's the same old story. I got the house and he's in L.A. with his third new wife. We rotate the kids between us."
"I was going to ask."
That laugh again. "If it doesn't turn you off. But you were so sweet with the kids at the library."
"I like kids."
"You'll get to meet them. Maybe. If you stick around."
She showed him the house, which was surprisingly large. Six bedrooms. Three full baths. Living room with cathedral ceiling, and so on. Light switches, doors, sliding this, electric that, pictures everywhere of her four children. She gave him a quick tour, and then they came to the back patio. "Endless rolling nothing," she said pouring another two glasses of wine, "with some cows in it."
"It's very peaceful."
"You should see the sunsets. Of course, when the kids are here—."
"They're in L.A. now?"
"With their dad. You'll have to make up your mind if you want to meet them. All four of them. It can be a handful."
"I'll bet they're good kids."
"They are." They clinked glasses. "I want to get to know you better. Before you meet them. If you stick around."
"I wasn't planning to go anywhere."
She turned on a little soft music and they danced in the dark. It got cold and they danced through a sliding glass door into the house. She locked the door and pulled the drapes shut. The only light was a very faint one, from a night light two rooms away. He heard a clock ticking, or was that their hearts. He took her close and kissed her. Her tongue worked in his mouth and her hands strayed up and down his back.
She pulled away. "Please don't misunderstand."
"I hope I'm not."
"I don't do this a lot." She was very firm and very sincere, and he believed her. "I don't normally do this—I'm just—It's been a long time and I really like you very much."
"I can say all those things too. It's true for me too."
She put her arms over his shoulders, hands around his neck and brushed her lips against his. "And I'm not committing myself here. If I don't like you I'm throwing you out."
"That's okay with—," he started to say, but a knee gently pressed against his balls made him shut up.
She moaned, writhing against him, and kissed his chest. She pulled his shirt open, kissing each of his nipples. He felt her hunger coming like an express train, and his own hunger rose to meet hers. She took his hand and led him, blind for the darkness, to another room. There, under a faint milky glow, was a large bed. They stepped out of their shoes and crawled up on the bed together, kissing, rolling around. She stripped off his shirt, the project she'd begun in the living room. She was struggling with his belt buckle when he could stand it no longer. He dropped to his side, pulling her down with him, still kissing. He hiked up her dress to just under her breasts, exposing her except for bubblegum colored briefs. She put her arms behind her head and writhed sensuously, eyes closed, head to one side, lips pursed like some harem dancer's. Her body glowed and when he looked up he saw it was because there was a skylight that was full of stars. Her fine womanly body, which he had not dreamed of holding in his hands, glowed in pure starlight. He ran the palm of his hand along the planes of her belly, her thighs, her belly again, this belly that had borne four children and was just the tiniest bit pudgy and he kissed it. She had solid thighs, with smooth rich skin. He rolled back, pulling her with him, so she was on top. She raised her arms and struggled out of the dress. A sturdy bra followed, and she held her full breasts forward. "Massage me."
He drew her closer, lying on his back. She straddled him as if he were a horse. His fingertips sailed up the faintly stubbly, otherwise smooth expanse of her thighs to hold her breasts in his palms. He bent up to kiss each ripply brown nipple. "Oh baby," she whispered, "baby." She pulled with surprising strength on his belt buckle. He felt his trousers come loose and his erection strain for freedom. She pushed his pants away as she slid down a few inches and there, his largeness made a speed bump that her wetness could not possibly miss. And once the two were near each other, the one found the other, and the other was promptly inside the slippery warmth of the one. "Oh baby," she said, this prim Librarian who was a sun to all, a guardian of all the world's written words, a keeper of order and dispenser of justice, "oh baby, do me, do me baby, come on! Come on!" And that was where they started making love.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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