A Day to Remember Pt. 01

Mrs. Sanders told me about their trip, about camping and fishing and canoeing along a river deep in the wilderness. It sounded intriguing. I soaked up the information and found myself admiring them for striking out on such a trip. I wondered if it was obvious that I was staring at her chest the whole time. I wondered if she knew that, when she sat a certain way, I could see the outline of her breasts against the fabric of her shirt.

We finished the tea, and she collected the the dishes and put them in the sink. I stood to thank her for spending time telling me about her trip and reached down to pat Snoopy on the head before heading for the door.

"Thanks again for taking such good care of Snoopy. I think he has found a friend for life," she said. And then, as if it had just dawned on her, she asked " By the way, is there any chance that you could stop by this afternoon to help me move the furniture in the living room? I want to surprise Mr. Sanders when he gets home."

"Of course," I enthusiastically responded.

We agreed that 4 pm would be a good time since I had a 2 o'clock tennis date with my friend, and I closed the door behind me. As I walked the 20 steps or so to my house, I wondered how I was possibly going to concentrate on tennis, knowing that I was going to see Mrs. Sanders again later that day.

It was not a great day for tennis. the midday heat was hard to take, and quite honestly, my head was not in the game. My friend and I agreed to call it quits after one set. Normally, I would have felt pretty disappointed at being beaten so badly, but five minutes after we finished, the tennis seemed like distant history to me. I was focused on the future. After saying goodbye, I had time to think on my bike ride home. I replayed the kitchen scene in my head, but then reminded myself that surely, Mrs. Sanders would be dressed at this point in the day. What could I possibly expect other than to simply feel content to be in her good graces by helping with the furniture? Strangely, I found that to be satisfactory. I felt good about being valued by the woman who lived 3 doors away from me, the fact that she was the wife of my now former math teacher made no difference at all.

When I got home I jumped into the shower and afterwards, took time to shave, something that I still needed to do only every other day at that point. I put on a nice pair of shorts and a polo shirt.

As I walked into the kitchen to grab a soda my mother said, "You look nice, how about joining your father and I for dinner at the Kelshaw's this evening."

I thanked her for the offer but explained that I was committed to helping Mrs. Sanders. She looked disappointed but then pointed out that there were leftovers in the refrigerator that I could have for dinner. Ten minutes later, she picked up her keys and bid me a nice evening as she walked out the door. It was a quarter to 4. I forced myself to sit in the living room, not wanting to appear to be too anxious. In all of my life's experience, fifteen minutes never passed so slowly.

At the appointed hour, I forced myself to slowly get up and to meander the twenty steps that it took to reach Mrs. Sander's back door. I knocked and she answered and invited me in.

As I stood just inside the kitchen Mrs Sanders looked at me and asked, "Are you alright, John? You look sort of disappointed."

Did it show that quickly? Was I fooling myself? Was I really expecting her to answer the door wearing just the same shirt that she had on earlier in the morning? This was crazy I told myself.

I stammered, " Oh no, I am fine Mrs. Sanders, a little tired maybe. "

I then went on to explain that I had played tennis in the dead of the afternoon heat, but in fact, I was not the least bit tired. I was completely alert, and yes, a little disappointed. She was wearing some old shapeless pants and a very large t shirt and rubber gloves - nothing feminine or the least bit attractive. She went on to say that she had spent the day cleaning and was just about finished. She took the gloves off as she led me into the living room, explaining what she had hoped to do with the furniture. I followed her and looked around. It was a small job. In a matter of minutes, the room was rearranged and she told me how she could not have done that alone and how much she appreciated my help.

There was a pause. In true literature, this would have been a time to use the phrase "a pregnant pause". The job was done, it was time for me to leave. But I waited for her to say something. She asked me if I had plans for the evening, and I told her that I had passed on an invitation to join my parents and their friends for dinner.

"Well, why don't you stick around here for dinner then. I don't have a lot on hand, so it will be something simple, but I would certainly enjoy some company, and Snoopy would love it if you spent some time with him," she offered.

I readily accepted.

"Well, I should take a moment to shower before starting dinner. Why don't you find a soda in the refrigerator and make yourself comfortable. If you like, there are some magazines over in the rack by Mr. Sander's chair. I will be down in just a few minutes."

I watched her walk up the steps and then made my way to the kitchen, found a ginger ale and then returned to the living room. I could hear the water running in the shower, and I envisioned her, standing naked, under the stream of water. My cock reacted. Figuring that I had better distract myself, I went over the the rack next to Mr. Sander's chair and picked up a stack of magazines. It did not surprise me to see camping and boating magazines, given the nature of their recent adventure. But when I reached the bottom of the stack, I froze. I was holding the Playboy magazine in my hands, the very one that had arrived earlier the previous week. I stared at it, thoughts racing through my head. Did she know? How could she possibly have discovered that I had looked at it. Lost in my thoughts, my cheeks burning, I was oblivious to the fact that Mrs. Sanders had returned to the room.

"It dawned on me that you had perhaps already seen that particular magazine," she said in her sweet soothing voice.

It was not a judgmental tone, but rather, a simple observation. I turned around without saying a thing. She was wearing shorts and a nice blue flowered blouse. I would not have described the outfit as sexy, but perhaps more in the line of comfortable. And yet. the fabric of her top clung to her body and made the gentle curve of her small breasts quite apparent.

"How did you know," I asked?

I could not have possibly denied it. It did not even occur to me to lie to her.

She smiled, "Well, I did not actually know; I simply assumed. And, apparently I assumed correctly. I can only imagine that young man your age would have a difficult time ignoring something like a fresh issue of Playboy, kind of hard to pass up!"

Feeling completely embarrassed, I wanted to put the magazine down and run out the door.

"Sit down," she said.

It was somewhere between a demand and a suggestion, but I immediately obeyed. She came over and sat next to me.

"So, what did you think of the women in the pictures. Were they attractive," she asked?

"Of course they were," I replied and then added "They are very beautiful. I have never seen pictures of naked women before."

In her soft, sensitive voice she asked " You have never seen a naked woman in the flesh?"

"Never," I choked.

After a long pause she asked, "Would you like to see a naked woman?"

I swallowed hard. This was beyond anything that I had imagined either this morning or when walking home from my tennis match. I was feeling completely out of m league. I could not answer. The first thought that raced through my mind was that I would love to see her naked, but I would never have been able to work up the courage to suggest something like that.

"Sure," I heard myself saying.

"I can't compete with the women in Playboy, but I would be happy to be your first," she said.

I had to say something. I had to let her know that I would love to see her without clothes. But, I also had to be polite. It would not have occurred to me to respond in any other kind of way.

"That would be wonderful," I said.

Seconds passed before she moved. She was looking directly at me, our eyes locked, but out of the corner of my eye I watched as she reached for the first button on her blouse and slowly unbuttoned it and then worked her way down the blouse. Soon it was completely open. She reached up and slid it off of her shoulders and let it drop on the couch behind her. She was not wearing a bra.

I slowly lowered my eyes, in total disbelief about what was happening. Not two feet away from me, my neighbor was sitting in just her shorts, a faint smile on her lips, her beautifully shaped breasts exposed. Sure, they were much smaller than the ones in the photos, but what did it matter? They were real, they were feminine, Her nipples began to harden as the tips of her hair brushed against them. I suddenly became aware that my cock was straining against my shorts; it was almost painful. I shifted in my seat, hoping to relieve some of the pressure. At least a minute had passed without either of us speaking a word.

Somehow I summoned up the courage to ask, "May I touch them?"

In response, she reached for my hand and raised it to her left breast and placed my palm against it. My first reaction was to squeeze. She winced, and then she laughed and suggested that I try to be a little more gentle. My face was hot. I was sure that I was blushing. I felt terrible.

"Let's try again," she said as she picked up my hand and placed it back on her breast.

It felt firm but soft. I gently fondled it, feeling her hard nipple against my palm. She told me that it felt wonderful to have me touching her in such an intimate way. I fondled both of them, closing my eyes, lost in the eroticism of the experience. I heard a soft rustle and opened my eyes to see that she had leaned in toward me, her lips were inches away from mine. Her eyes still looking straight into mine. And then she moved closer, and she kissed me. It was a soft kiss, only our lips touching. It lasted a few seconds, but in that time, I breathed in her perfume, I felt her hair brush against my cheek. I felt the warmth radiating from her face.

When she pulled back I felt abandoned. She sat back and began to button her blouse, still looking at me, smiling. She said that it was time for dinner and that I should probably plan on being home before my parents returned. I was confused. What had been the most intense physical experience in my life just came to an abrupt end. The rug was pulled right out from under my feet.

"Let's see what we can find to eat," she said, as she took my by the hand and led me to the kitchen.

She made toasted cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. We sat at the kitchen table, and she told me that she planned on painting the bedroom the next day. She had hoped to meet Mr. Sanders, but decided that it might be more productive to stay at home and work on projects instead. I told her that it was nice to know that she was going to be around.

When we were finished , I helped her wash the dishes. I looked at my watch and realized that my parents would be home any minute.

"I guess I should be going," I reluctantly said.

"Well, I so appreciate your help today. If you don't have anything better to do, you would be welcome to come over tomorrow and pick up a paint brush." she said with a smile.

"What time?" I asked.

"Let's shoot for 10am," she responded.

She looked out the window and then leaned over to give me a very quick peck on the cheek and then opened the door to let both me and Snoopy out. I took a few steps and then turned to say good night. Her body was outlined by the porch light. She was anything but a Playboy model, but, to me, she was the most beautiful woman in the world!