She was in her early forties, the same age as his mother, and now the memory of that day when he'd seen Mildred half- naked came back and began to torment him.She was in her early forties, the same age as his mother, and now the memory of that day when he'd seen Mildred half- naked came back and began to torment him. That evening at dinner, Mildred was cheerful as she made him talk about himself, his plans for college, his girlfriends, and so on. She was wearing a loose sweater that more or less hid her breasts, but he couldn't help remembering them, couldn't help thinking about them, his eyes returning to her breasts again and again in furtive glances. More than once as they talked he thought she caught him looking at her chest. She seemed amused about something, and he thought maybe that was it. Then after a while he felt rattled when he realized she was flirting with him. It was subtle enough but it was there in the way she looked at him, in the way she moved her body, in the way she kept returning the conversation to his love life as if she were searching for something. He suddenly became intensely aroused, his penis erect and aching, the bulge thankfully hidden by the napkin in his lap. Mildred suggested they have a bottle of wine with their dinner, a bottle of strong red wine that soon had him giddy and thinking more than ever about what she would look like with that blouse removed, the blouse and the brassiere that he guessed she wore, everything removed and with Mildred leaning forward like that day in his mother's bedroom, leaning forward to make her breasts swing back and forth like a pair of ripe cantaloupes. Except of course her skin would much smoother than the skin of cantaloupes, satin smooth, almost translucent because she had fair perfect skin and the perfection would show best in her breasts. |