The Secret Life of George Prufrock Ch. 02

Without thinking, George began to caress Desiree's tanned silken thighs. He moved his hand up under her T-shirt, now fondling her honeydew-sized breasts enclosed within a sports bra. At once her long nipples became hard. "Mm, that feels nice," she sighed.

"Desiree?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Tell me. Does it ever bother you that I've put on a little weight? That my arms and legs are thin; that my hairline is receding? I grow old, you know. I grow old."

"What are you saying!" she laughed. "You'll always be a gorgeous hunk of a man to me, George!"

The man gave her a sad, melancholy smile. "Desiree, I don't even know your name; I only saw you that one day. You were jogging, and Janet and I were driving to Wal-mart. But you mean more to me than people I've known for years. Hardly a day goes by when I don't think about you and your beautiful, firm young body. You've given me so much pleasure in life. My sexy, perfect Desiree."

"And I'll always be that," she smiled, her green eyes twinkling. "Always there when you want me, George; never tired, never too busy for my dream guy." She gave him a kiss on his cheek, and then said, "What say we go to my place? We can be there in the blink of an eye."

"You can watch me take a shower," she continued, "and then I'll suck that big juicy cock of yours. And you can mount me, ride me, give me those fantastic orgasms where I lose all control; the kind I can only have with you, George."

"It does sound tempting."

"Then, afterwards, I'll make us a snack, iced tea and mushroom canapés, and we can do it all over again. Stay with me tonight, my love, and when the first rays of the sun come through my window in the morning, you'll ... "

" ... Wake up, George!"

The voice seemed far away, but when George opened his eyes, he saw that Della Jenkins was standing only a foot or two away. He glanced at her bosom, then back to her face.

"Yes, George," she said with icy sarcasm, "they're still down there, same as when you were staring at them before you fell asleep." Della chuckled, and then went on, "What will Myra say, a guest falling asleep at her party? Tsk. You just leaned back on that breakfast bar stool, closed your eyes, and nodded off."

"I've been asleep all this time! Really? Didn't anyone miss me?"

"No, don't be silly." She eyed him closely as George looked around Myra Lennon's kitchen in wonderment, letting reality wash over him like a fresh shower, washing away the gossamer remnants of the most intense, vivid dream of his life. He shook his head.

"Here," said Della, "try one of my mushroom canapés, fresh out of the oven. Do they have enough Parmesan cheese in them?"

George took the canapé, bit off half, and began to chew. "Uh huh. Very tasty."

He gazed pensively at the woman. The scent of her perfume aroused sensual thoughts of Della: her wild, passionate kisses; the texture of her nipples; the heat of her body; the heft of her great breasts in his hands. But only in my mind, George thought. Only in a fantasy, a dream within a dream.

No, not reality. But still, a fantasy that has left me with warm memories; vivid images of the pleasures a woman like Della can give the special man in her life. Does it really matter whether or not I actually experienced those pleasures?

"What are you smiling about?" asked Della with a wry grin.

"Oh, I was just thinking what a nice lady you are, Della; such a good cook, and pretty too."

"Well, thank you, George. A woman likes to know that a man appreciates her."