Irene had showered carefully. She needed to be sure that the last essence of Pamela’s love-making and the smell of chlorine from the hot tub, were erased from her body. Irene soaped-up and rinsed meticulously. She shampooed. Then, still soaking wet, she grabbed a fluffy towel and returned to him. A little water on the bedroom carpet wouldn’t hurt any.
Irene stepped from the bathroom and tossed him the towel. “Here,” she said. “Do something useful.” And she turned her back to him, gripped the edge of her vanity and studied him in the glass. “C’mon, rub me down. I’m getting cold.”
Adam felt an instant wave of nausea. The blood drained from his face leaving him chilled and clammy.
Irene steadied herself against the vanity, hoping for a vigorous rub down but Adam was clumsy with the balled-up towel, rubbing in halfhearted circles across her shoulders. He got down and did the backs of her thighs and calves, avoiding her behind altogether. When she turned to face him, to present herself, he looked away. From his position, still kneeling on the floor, he worked his way up and even though she stood with legs apart, he avoided pressing the towel to the place she wanted most. Instead, he got to his feet and did her belly, shoulders and neck.
When he was finished, Irene slipped into his arms and unbuttoned his shirt. “Take me to bed, Adam.”
“Miss Ross…” he protested, but she stilled his lips with her fingertips and ran her mouth down to his nipples. There wasn’t a hair on his chest. She felt him shudder under the ministrations of her tongue and, still sucking, she eased his shirt off his shoulders.
He had a muscular torso and decent biceps. Irene knew Adam prided himself on daily visits to a local gym. And while he didn’t overdo it, his body had responded well to the free-weights and Irene ran her hands over smooth hard flesh.
“C’mon, Adam,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him to the bedside, “time for you to make a deposit.” She sat him down, pulled off his Reeboks, and taking him by the shoulders, eased him back across the bedspread. She undid his jeans and pried them down his legs. Irene sat on the edge of the mattress and held his limp penis in her hand. “Such a change from the other night.” She ran her thumb along the ridge at the base of the head.
“I keep thinking of Pamela.”
Irene exhaled. “Pamela doesn’t love you.”
“And you do?”
Irene smiled. Touché. “I don’t love anyone,” she remarked. “But that doesn’t negate the fact that I still have feelings. Woman’s feelings.”
“And I’m so convenient; living right next-door,” he returned without bitterness.
She stroked him. “We’ve been friends a long time. I trust you.”
“Trust me how?” he wanted to know.
Irene twisted around and sought out his eyes. “I trust you to treat me fairly. To be sensitive to my needs and to treat me rough or gentle as required to satisfy me. And, I trust you to keep our secret.”
He lifted his head. “Sounds like a job description. What about me? What do I get?”
“You bugger. You’re setting me up, aren’t you?”
He exhaled. “You rise to the bait…”
“Okay– okay,” she lifted his limp member, “here’s what you get.” She kissed him, flicked her tongue across the pee-hole, then took him into her mouth. He was spongy soft and she had no trouble consuming the full length. She bobbed her head several times, taking him deep before coming up for air. “This what you had in mind?”
“God, I love watching you do that.”
“You want to cum in my mouth this time?”
Adam rested his head back. “No. That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you’re, so amazing. I still can’t get my head around the fact that you want me.”
That brought a light laugh from Irene. “It was either you or your father. I figured you’d be more energetic,” She wiggle-waggled his slack penis. “Maybe I was wrong.”
“You’re not wrong. I just need to be brought up to speed.”
“I see.” And Irene leaned over him. She took first one testicle into her mouth, and then the opposite. And after she had finished rolling them on her tongue, she cupped him and returned her lips to his penis. He felt firmer and Irene went down deep. Yes, he was expanding with the head now pressed in her throat. She worked him and was thrilled by the changes, him slowly unwinding, growing in her mouth until she could no longer contain the length.
When he was hard and slick she lifted herself up and tossed a leg across. She held him with one hand and lined the head up in her opening. There was the delicious long slide. And then she was rolling. Really rolling. V1 she thought, the point of no return, and a moment later, he also lifted, then filled her with slickness.
They slept soundly until the alarm chimed at five the next morning and Irene hustled Adam out the door before his mother had the chance to call him for breakfast. Irene put the coffee on, showered and dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt. With her second cup she walked barefoot to her desk. Her list was waiting.
“You owe how much?” her lawyer spluttered. He gave out a long low whistle when Irene repeated the figures. “Gosh Irene, I can’t condone you walking away from your responsibilities but I certainly understand your position. If you lived to be a hundred and fifty, you’d never pay off your legal bills.”
“So you’ll represent me?”
“I’ll agree but understandably,” he chuckled, “I’ll want my fee upfront.”
Irene laughed. “When the money from the sale of the house comes in, take out your cut and put the rest in escrow. Will that suit you?”
“That will be fine, plus I want a discount when I fly down to that fancy resort of yours.”
“Charles, you’ll gladly pay full price when you get a load of my flight-crew. Trust me.” Irene hung up and crossed off the first item at the top of her list.
She sipped coffee and dialed again. Lacy was her real estate agent and Irene liked the frenetic woman who made an old Mercedes sedan her office. With a telephone dock on the dash and a laptop on the seat, Lacy wheeled and dealed like nobody’s business. The two had become instant friends.
Lacy agreed to pick up Irene’s spare house key later that morning. Another item off the list. Irene was rolling and it felt good.
Next was the furniture removal company and then the car dealership. Her BMW was less than a year old and in perfect shape. They agreed to take it back at a fraction of the selling price. Irene agreed to their terms. She was in a hurry.
Next was a friend from the flying club. “Reid, you’ve admired that plane more than my legs.”
“You’re selling the Piper?”
“I figure I should give you first right of refusal, for being so stoic.”
“How much?”
“Fifty grand, cash.”
“Sold,” Reid said without hesitation, “but it will take me a few days to put the money together. You okay with that?”
“Not a problem. I’ll give you my lawyer’s number.”
With her list sorted out, Irene was feeling good about herself. In the kitchen, she rinsed her mug and cleaned the coffee perk before heading into the bedroom. From the bottom drawer of the bureau, she pulled out a wad of tangled nylon, dumped the heap of swimwear onto the bed and started matching tops to bottoms. She hadn’t bought a swimsuit in fifteen years and what she saw on her bedspread was less than inspiring. Irene got a big green Hefty bag from under the kitchen sink.
She blew hair from her eyes and looked at all her other drawers. And the closet. No time like the present, she thought, and started sorting. God. Had she ever thrown anything out? Irene dug into a lifetime of purchases. At the end of an hour she had filled three more garbage bags. Shoes, underwear, dresses, slacks she hadn’t worn in twenty years. All of it was dumped. She started humming, feeling somehow cleansed, weightless. She was throwing off the shackles of her life but, in the back of her mind, she dreaded the fact she may only be replacing them; with a different kind of restraint.
Irene skipped lunch, locked the house and headed to the airport. She had a two o’clock flight to Miami and at ten the next morning, she would pilot the Bikini-Bus south to Cracker-Jax Key. She longed to get back to her little Hobbit house by the sea.
Irene’s flight arrived early and she took a cab directly from the airport to Miami Beach. There was a Jon-Jon Surf Shop on the Strip.
“Hi, I’m Chrisy.” The little poppet behind the counter had her sun-bleached hair woven in a loose plat, a deep saltwater tan and unbelievably white teeth. She wore a sleeveless tee-shirt with Yes You Can printed across her chest and she tightly packed out a pair of short-shorts.
“You look like you were conceived on a surfboard,” Irene said.
The girl had a laugh that sparkled like tinsel. “Close. The backseat of a Woody. Can I show you something.”
“Swimwear.”
The girl cast an eye along Irene’s curves. “Super cool,” she gushed, and she practically skipped out from behind the counter, pulling Irene toward a rack of colorful scraps of cloth. “These are all your size,” Chrisy said, pulling daring bikinis from the hangers, “and the colors are just fabulous. Ace.”
Irene sorted the growing pile as Chrisy emptied the rack. But something nagged at her. “I’m looking for something more, I don’t know– elegant, I think.” She met Chrisy’s wide blue stare.
“Elegant? Oh my gosh. Sure.” Chrisy dumped an armful of swimsuits. “With your torso you’d look wow in a one-piece. Over here.” And Chrisy was off again, wiggling her little bottom delightfully.
A one-piece. Irene immediately liked the idea. A one-piece bathing suit would set her apart from the rest of her bikini-clad crew and distinguish her as Captain and Pilot. Bring a sense of decorum to her rank.
“These just came in,” Chrisy held up a slinky swimsuit. “They’re from France.”
Irene took one look and was sold. “Does it come in dark blue?”
“No silly. Midnight blue.”
In the change room, Irene studied her image in the mirror. The suit was cut high over each hip bone, adding another three inches to the length of her legs. The neck was a modest deep vee and the straps tied behind her neck. She turned to the mirror. There was no back, the scallop swooping close to the cleft in her bottom. The suit showed off well defined shoulder blades, the two dimples low down and tightly cupped her heart-shaped rear. And it was midnight blue.