When Exs (XXXs) Cross Paths

"Hi."

"Hi!" Caught unawares, her enthusiasm sounded genuine. To me, at least. Then, however, she seemed to realize and her tone flattened. "Long time."

"Yes." Three years. Give or take. Three years, two months, actually. Without asking, I settled into a chair opposite her and looked around. It was Starbucks, of course. No surprise . It'd be a long story to go into and not really very important here.

"Didn't you know where to find me?"

I returned my gaze to her, sipped my tea. She was gorgeous. Truly. Everyone who writes this type of story describes the female as gorgeous. SHE really was, and is – because this is a true story. We'd had one of those red-hot-frantic-few-months-of-lust-and-haze relationships. Surreal. She's so gorgeous it'd taken me a few weeks to get over the idea she was too good for me. But I did. Mostly. Because gorgeous though she was, she was an emotional catastrophe. Full stop. I mean, imagine sending a third party to impart where you are. Middle school stuff. I settle for, "You've always known where to find me. I haven't moved." Silent for a moment, she sipped her coffee and looked away. In profile, she was, well, striking. "You're spending a fair amount of time here now."

'Here' was another town. The one she'd run to. Credit where it was due, she'd been up front, 'I'm going to run,' she'd said, 'I always do.'

And she did. She started by running, or at least striding as rapidly as decorum allowed, to the far side of rooms housing the public functions we attended – having always arrived separately. Then she'd run through a whole series of other guys. Then she'd run clean out of town -- eventually to another, larger town 200 miles away. This town. The one where we'd met finally, in this Starbucks, more than three years later. All told, she'd overwhelmed my stated intention to, 'take one step closer and wait.'

"Yet you haven't looked me up," she continued. "Until today."

"I thought you'd seen me. It would've been churlish to leave without saying hi."

She moved her cup in a little circle on the tabletop. "I admire the way you stuck to your word." Maybe I cocked a quizzical eyebrow, because she added, "most guys chase me."

"You have the kind of ass it's easy to chase."

Chuckling, she shook her head. "Look, I have to get back to work."

"Okay." One step closer and wait. Or not. After three year, probably 'not'.

"Dinner?"

'Which year?' almost popped out. Instead, I suggested a hotel not too far away. A hotel where we'd once had such a heavy necking and petting session, they'd actually changed the décor to prevent a repetition.

Chuckling again, she slipped out of the chair. Then seemed to hesitate. "The intimacy was better than the sex."

"You said that several times."

"But intimacy's important."

"Text me," I said, sipping my tea again. "My phone number hasn't changed."

Flushing slightly, and no doubt taking that as a parting shot, since her phone numbers had changed, she nodded and left. Yes, she has the kind of ass it's easy to chase...

She actually did text. Within two hours. And gave me an address. I assumed it was her place in town. The place she'd phoned me from once, when she was down for a few days decorating it to put it up for rent. The place where she'd wanted me to know she was fucking another guy, while the two of them decorated.

Jeans, bare feet and a tight scoop-necked top. She'd dressed this way to let me into her other condo any number of times. Underneath would be a g-string and matching bra. I handed over the bottle of wine, kicked off my shoes and shrugged off my coat. By which time she was in the kitchen.

It was as though we'd gone back in time, somehow. But not quite. I peeled off my own socks, tucked them in my shoes and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

This I'd never done before. It seemed a good way to initiate some change in pattern. And the cool laminate felt good underfoot.

The wine was on the marble-topped island, the corkscrew beside it. She was at the stove with her back to me. The furniture, of course, was familiar. In fact, if the view out the window was the tee of a first class golf course, instead of a park with marked out rugby field, we could've been transported back the full three plus years. "I know you like lamb"

"Smells good," I replied, handing her a glass and clinking glasses. "Cheers."

We were very careful to maintain eye contact. Neither of us could afford too many more years of 'bad sex': the consequence, according to superstition, of not keeping eye contact through the first toast of any evening. Her eyes dipped to my feet as she lowered the glass and she grinned. "Now that's a sexy new twist."

Her toenails were pink. "That's a new colour."

"Not a sexy new colour?"

"You're more the red polish type."

Shaking her head, she said, "And you still specialize in candour."

I shrugged.

"The lamb's going to take about 40 minutes."

Translation: this was going to get tense. There was a deck of cards. There was usually a deck of cards. She played solitaire a lot, especially when she was treating the phone call as obligatory rather than interesting. I fished the deck out of the lazy-susan, unboxed and shuffled. Then I dealt two hands: one in front of the stool I slid onto, one in front of the other stool. She slid up onto the other stool. "What are we playing?"

"Five card draw."

"Stakes?"

I exhaled mentally. "One garment per hand."

"Another sexy new twist." She might have been discussing the weather but she was arranging the cards with quick concise movements: the competitive nature kicking in.

"Is that the stool you squirted in those times?"

"Okay, the sex was pretty good too." She didn't look at me, but laid down three cards. "Three."

I dealt her three, then took two for myself. Turning up my pair of 10s. She tossed her hand face down and started to peel the top up... changing her mind, slipping off the stool to peel off her jeans.

"I'm cooking meat. Don't want my tits to get splattered with fat."

"Makes perfect sense."

The g-string was black, the triangular pouch barely enough to cover her no doubt freshly shaved sex. She always shaved when she thought sex might happen – at least with me. Although she'd once offered to let it grow in and carve my initials in the pubes. Did I mention she was blonde-chestnut? Oh, and gorgeous.

"I've put on a few pounds...Ahh," the latter strangled sound happened when her bare flesh contacted the chair.

"You look fine to me. Winner deals." I was gathering the cards, shuffling them. She was rocking on the chair, grimacing slightly. "You're making the rules." Gathering up her hand, she set aside the wine and became the picture of concentration once again.

She took two. I took three. My hand consisted of King high.

She was not particularly amused to lose to that type of hand. "At this rate," this time she did peel the top up and off, shaking loose her earrings and hair. The bra matched the g-string. The breasts, not large, were responsive and the nipples were already outlined in the thin black fabric. Snapping her fingers in front of my nose, she added, "What happens if I'm the first one nude?"

"Then I'll have to take the meat out of the oven when it's done." I shuffled the cards, and dealt again.

"You know very well what I mean."

"You can quit any time." I dealt again. "Or not."

She won the next two hands. Then tried to argue that since my boxers had more fabric than her panties and bra together, which they did, that I should remove one more garment to, quote, "even things up", unquote.

I didn't bite.

I did watch very closely as she crossed to check the potatoes and veggies on the stove. She did have a nice ass. All of which was of course on display in a g-string. Which she knew, and worked it. When she returned , we were on our second glass of wine – and there was a certain humour, of sorts. But the competitiveness between us was ratcheted up even more by the electricity of a three-year abstinence.

And, well, to be candid, she was wet...and I was hard. There, I've said it...

"I've got some forfeits in mind for you," she smiled at me, over the raised rim of her glass. I added my tee-shirt to the pile of clothes on the island. "Now you're tempting fate."

Smiling, she dealt two hands. Mine didn't look good. In fact, it made my hard-on quiver and move a bit. How could you get four such bad hands in a row? I tossed in three. "Three."

She took one, smiling.

The three cards gave me a pair of Queens. But if she had enough to keep four?

"I think I'd like to raise this time."

I arched an eyebrow in response, reaching for my glass.

"Make sure you don't Welch on any of the fun ideas I have."

I sipped my wine, twice.

"You may find it to your advantage to keep me sweet? – under the circumstances."

She had a point. She'd also kept four cards.

Clearing my throat, I said, "See you, and raise." While she was still slightly wide-eyed, cocking her head a little, the way she did when she wanted to play at being 'coy', I fished a lipstick out of the lazy susan and put two 'hash' marks on the countertop. Then I closed the lipstick and rolled it slowly across the marble top toward her...

About 10 feet behind the island there was a sofa, with it's back toward us. I had her lay her arms on the top of the sofa back and put her chin on her forearms, then I gently nudged first one ankle then the other farther and farther apart. Until there was about three feet between those slim shapely ankles and both her anus and her pussy were fully exposed and partially open. I slipped back onto my stool and looked her over, sipping my wine. "Your pussy's really really swollen, and you're so wet the lips are glistening."

"Yes," she replied, quietly.

Having established that fact, I slid off the stool and padded past her, down the short corridor and into the bedroom. Sure enough, the lubricant was in the drawer of the bedside table. It appeared to be a new bottle. I returned and held the bottle in front of her, savouring the way her eyes widened.

"You won't be needing..." she stopped, licked her lips.

"Shhh." I interrupted, before she could continue, tucking the bottle into her open hand. "Hold that for me. That way I'll know where to find it if I want it." Then I stepped around to where I could carress her firm shapely rearend, which I did for a while, feeling her grow taut.

She refused anal. Completely refused. And I wasn't all that fond of anal, to be honest. But this time I was putting down a marker – making it clear that with five lipstick 'hash' marks on the countertop, nothing was off limits. So I made a point of dipping a little finger, just to the tip of the nail, feeling her whole being go completely rigid and hold like that, before I laid on two sharp quick slaps, one to each perfect round globe, and returned to the comfort of my stool while the sounds still echoed in the room...