They were laying on the bed, she on her back and on the outside, wearing only a pair of silk panties. He was in between her and the wall, laying on his side, totally naked, his head propped up with an arm, as he rubbed his other hand across her abdomen.
The bed was only a single-width bed, but together they fit well on it.
The bedroom itself was rather modest. He’d had to measure it for the property caretaker some weeks ago, finding it to be 32’ wide by 26’ deep. But there was just the single bed, a bedside table, a dresser, and an armed chair in the room, nothing more than that.
He didn’t care for congestion.
The room had a high ceiling--one had to use a step-ladder to change the light-bulbs in the fixture up there--and on the west wall, facing the meadow and the river beyond, there were three windows, each of them five feet wide, that stretched from two feet off the floor up to about two feet shy of the ceiling. The bed was in a corner, and then the north wall, which had two more windows of the same size, looking out on the croquet grounds and the meadow beyond that.
When he’d moved out here eight years ago, finding only roll-down window-shades on the windows, which reminded him of poverty, he’d taken those down, intending to get draperies or venetian blinds, but he’d never gotten around to it, and so the windows, as with the windows in the rest of the house, remained uncovered, the outside world always visible from the inside, and the inside always visible from the outside.
It didn’t make any difference, though, because this was out in the middle of nowhere.
(Of course, in the bathroom, the large window there was of those heavy frosted glass blocks and about 6†thick, so if someone were around, one couldn’t see in, being able to discern only if the light in there was on or off.)
The walls of the bedroom were covered with framed portraits of people, usually painted by Holbein or Durer; no landscapes or still-lives or “modern†“art;†only people, as he’d always found people more fascinating than things. Scenery and animals and somesuch bored him; only people interested him.
And on the bedside table, there was a silver-framed picture, a copy of the 1935 Jubilee portrait of George V and Queen Mary, beside a framed picture of Henry R. and Clare Boothe Luce on their wedding day, also in 1935.
- - - - - - - - - -
Appropos of nothing, she asked him, “Your first time, how was it?â€
“It wasn’t much,†he said; “I was only nineteen.
“The clock on the bedside table said ‘22:07’ when I went in, and ‘22:19’ when I left.
“It was pretty quick, and efficient, and I’d learned what I wanted to know.â€
She stiffened. “Well, what about
her?â€
“She didn’t care,†he said; “it was just her job anyway.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
They shifted, so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her feet on the floor, while he sat next to her wholly on the bed, his legs crossed.
She looked at him. “Well, when are you going to take off my panties, so we can get started?â€
“Let’s just talk first,†he said; “after all, we hardly know each other.â€
Thinking of something, she asked, “What do you think of these?†squeezing her breasts at him. “I think they’re too small, I wish they were bigger. I feel really insecure with them; they‘re too small.
“I couldn‘t figure out why you reacted the way you did, when you first saw them. [
detail omitted because of potentially prurient content--franksolich].â€
Taken aback, he looked at her as if she were Bozo from Outer Space.
“Madam,†he protested, “I like them, I love them, they’re s-o-o-o-o-o perfectly proportioned for your body; they’re the right size, the right shape, and firm.
“Those are
great jugs.
“I like them, I love them,†he insisted, cupping them with his hands; “and you’re very lucky to have them. They’re a real turn-on, a work of art.â€
“But most men like big ones,†she said.
“Yeah, I know,†he scoffed; “but a lot of men have no taste for aesthetics. I have no idea why most of them like jugs that jiggle and droop and sag and drop; it’s really kind of silly.
“Those are
great jugs there, madam; only the
femme has a pair that’s more of a turn-on."
Thinking he might be going in a direction that would upset her, he slightly changed the subject. “And what did you think of me, when you first saw me early this morning?â€
“Well, I was surprised,†she said.
“Right, right, but the reaction right after that. What popped into your mind?â€
“Good ass,†she sighed.
He looked disappointed, but then remembered. “Okay, so then I turned around--what did you think then?â€
She told him. He modestly blushed and thanked her.
“All right,†he said, sidling closer to her. He reached over, and pulling the waistband of her panties, looked down inside. He did a pantomime, his eyes growing as big as saucers and his mouth falling open in wonder and awe.
Letting go of the waistband, he leaned so as run his lips from there up to between her breasts.
Then he abruptly sat up. “Are you disease-free, got nothing catching?â€
to be continued
