Summer Film Study

"Hi yourself," I said with a deep breath. I was badly nervous, trying hard to keep it from showing. "There's a really nice place in East Adams. You like steak?"

"Love it. East Adams?" She frowned; I'd forgotten she was new to these parts. "Where's that?"

"Just to the right of West Adams." I ignored her withering glance. "No, it's pretty far inland." I joined traffic smoothly, the late-summer crowds going, as always, toward the water and not away. "Maybe twenty, thirty miles."

Her glance went from withering to devious. "My my," she sang blandly. "Whyever would we be going so far away?"

I looked quickly over at her and decided I'd best be honest. "I'm not sure this is a good idea, Vickie. For me, I mean."

"Oh, sure," she agreed at once. "It's a terrible idea for you." We paused a moment in silence, whipping out past the thinning houses on the Adams road, and then she rested her pale left arm calmly on my console rest. "Luckily for me, you're ignoring what a terrible idea it is."

"Umm." She was right, obviously, and she knew it. She took her little red clutch, stowed it on my floor beside her leg, and settled back for the drive.

* * *

I'd never been to this restaurant, but the internet claimed its filet was wonderful and its garlic shrimp appetizer wasn't to be missed. I was obscurely relieved when the waiter carded Vickie before he took our wine order, and she caught me smiling about it afterward. "What?" she asked, shifting in the leather booth. I'd asked for a table in the back corner. "I'm 21, Chris. Have been for about seven months now, in fact."

"Relax," I advised her, toying with the menu. "I can't blame the waiter. You look like you're nineteen or so."

"Why, thank you," she replied with a wink. "We love it when men think we're younger." She rolled her eyes, and we were off and running; I was glad when she proved to be an excellent conversationalist, for I tend to clam up with quiet people. The story came tumbling out, easily and organically, before the shrimp arrived: she'd done two years at a junior college to save money while working at a daycare, had shown up and moved in for the middle of the summer semester to brush up on a math requirement, and had been housed in a suite with Kaylen and Alicia. They'd been living together for a week now.

"They seem cool," she allowed as the waiter heaved into sight with our appetizer, and then she looked at me. "They clearly aren't slacking as far as setting me up with an attractive older gentleman."

I paused while the food landed, smelling richly of garlic. "Well, older at least. I'm not sure about attractive."

"I am." The statement was immediate and certain, her dark eyes serious. She shook her napkin into her lap and made her move on the appetizer. She wiped a trace of garlic shrimp off her long fingers and looked complacently at me. "Chris, are you looking to have an affair?"

"Huh?" Oh yes. Smooth. God, was I rusty.

"I'm wondering," she went on calmly, "because you're a married father of... three, was it?" She waited for me to nod. "Three. Right. You're a nice guy, an upstanding member of the community, devastatingly handsome, you seem to have it all together; you show no signs of having a midlife crisis, you smell nice, and you're all awkward and nervous. While you're on a date with me, a woman half your age who isn't your wife. So, yeah, can you blame me for being curious?" She looked me in the eye, her finger dancing along the rim of the wineglass. "Do you want to have an affair, Chris?"

I sat back in the booth, the green leather crinkling. Strange as it is to admit it, I hadn't thought about it. Vickie watched me for a second, then looked away with a smile.

"Forget it. I enjoy going to nice dinners with nice men. I should just shut up and enjoy myself, I guess." She took a precise sip of her wine. "Sorry if I embarrassed you."

But the thought was certainly there now, and she knew it; she had to be aware she couldn't talk it away, even if she wanted to. Which, I was sure, she didn't; there was mischief in those dark eyes and a smile curled across her expressive face, the freckles rising on one side as she smirked. She sat patiently while I pondered, and I could feel myself frowning.

Shit. An affair. Never in a million years would I ever have thought myself capable of having one. Not because of any lingering sexual duty I felt toward my wife; we hadn't had sex since halfway through her last pregnancy, and our youngest was six. So no; my balls had been on a steady diet of porn and masturbation for the better part of a decade now.

No, my reluctance had more to do with the twin forces of inertia and lack of opportunity. I was, let's face it, a fundamentally lazy man; my life was a calm, beige, comfortable existence, and I didn't imagine I had the time or the energy to find another woman, seduce her, and fuck her. Leading, then, to the second prong of my fork of reluctance, the lack of opportunity: I'd been a teacher for a long time, and I'd schooled myself extensively to think about and look at attractive young women the way any male teacher must.

American high schools are, after all, packed with sexy bodies wiggling down the halls, and they surrounded me every day of my waking life. So I'd sort of turned off any real sexual sense I might have had toward those hot, energetic girls. No, women; I taught seniors, all at the dead-end of puberty, already women. It was an absolutely essential part of my job that I not look at any of them sexually. No way.

And, if not at work, when was I going to see other women? There were my wife's friends, but most of them were just like her: wonderful, smart, capable, funny women, their bodies ravaged by pregnancy and middle age, the kind of women you enjoy spending time with, not the kind you'd enjoy fucking. Then there were my runs, or my trips to the gym: there were always gorgeous women there, but again, who had the energy?

The beige life always beckoned.

And yet here I sat, on an honest-to-God date with a beautiful, nicely made-up young lady, full of chatter and good cheer, and showing dangerous signs of enjoying herself, of being happy in my company. It had been an excellent question: what the hell was I actually doing here?

I looked pensively back toward the calmly waiting Vickie, who sat now with her back straight and her hands folded primly on the tablecloth before her. She smiled again when she realized I was finished, and then extended a delicate arm to fetch another appetizer. She winked, the shrimp halfway to her mouth. "Awkward."

"Yeah." I watched as her bite sent a tiny spurt of garlic down her chin, and on impulse I seized my napkin and leaned in to swipe it away. Her eyes sparkled in surprise, but she said nothing; understandable, since she was chewing. "It's a fair question though, Vickie."

She swallowed and laid the husky tail on her plate. "I can tell you're nervous," she went on. "The girls tell me you're a really funny guy, but I haven't seen that tonight." The wine followed the shrimp, her neck long and graceful as her adam's apple bobbed. "You don't have to be nervous, Chris."

"I know, I know." I looked down at the smudge of garlic butter now on my napkin, and sighed. "I guess," I began slowly, "I want a nice evening with a beautiful woman. I want pleasant conversation and a great meal. I want... I want something new." Her eyebrows rose a bit at that, her face taking on an expression of great interest.

"I'm new?"

"No," I said at once. "You're the beautiful woman I'm having a nice evening with." She chuckled quickly and lightly, and at long last I smiled. "This," I said, gesturing all around. "This is new. And I'm enjoying it."

She nodded, her lips twitching; she was trying not to smile. "That's all you want, though? Something new?"

I took a breath; I was way, way out of practice here, but I'm not dumb. She wanted me to flirt. And, I realized in a rush, I wanted to. "Not all I want, no." I nodded toward her glass and raised an eyebrow; she pulled her elbows off the table while I poured her more wine. "I was hoping for a hug, at least."

And then, suddenly, it was easy. She cocked her head and winked again. "At least?"

"Yeah, you know. At the end of the night. When I'm dropping you off. A nice long hug, maybe a little peck on the cheek."

She giggled. "Giving, or receiving?"

I raised my glass in a silent toast. A dimple deepened beside her mouth; lord, but she was beautiful! "You pick."

"Hmm." She tossed back half her wine and then leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her hands splayed in my direction. At first I kept my eyes off her cleavage, but then I realized she probably wanted me to look. It was as impressive as her pert little boobs could make it, an expanse of warm, smooth skin. I swallowed involuntarily. "Well, if we did it on the lips, we could both give and receive at the same time."

Shit! "Why Vickie," I said, letting my tongue free and not thinking too much anymore before speaking, "I didn't know you were the sort of young lady who'd kiss on the first date."

"Jeez, Chris. I realize you probably haven't dated since, like, 1987, but a kiss is hardly a marriage proposal."

"Good." I showed her my wedding ring. "I'm taken already, so that shouldn't be a problem."

She looked theatrically left and right. "These days," she added, low and mysterious, "some women even do more than kiss on the first date."

"Oh, you don't say." I leaned in to match her, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Like, two kisses?"

"Two, three, four..." She shrugged. "Blowjobs, titfucks, anal sex; just the basics." She said it fast, and her face lit up when, quite unable to stop myself, I threw back my head and laughed. She grinned at me. "You're shocked, I can tell."

I got myself under control, and as I leaned back toward the table I detected a stirring hard-on prodding uncomfortably down below. I was hanging the wrong way, and debated whether I should let her see me adjust myself. "Not shocked, Vickie," I protested. "Surprised, maybe." There's something incredibly alluring, I decided, about a beautiful woman with a dirty mouth. I whispered again, her shining face coming close to listen. "So, uhh, I guess I should expect to fuck you in the ass, then?"

She shrugged again, her smile slow and cunning now. "Admit it, Chris," she murmured, "it would beat a titfuck, wouldn't it?" And then she did something incredible to my 42-year-old mind: she shook her shoulders slightly, letting her little breasts jiggle before my increasingly lustful gaze. A long finger hooked her bodice, just for a moment, tugging it down with a casual twitch. "I doubt you'd get much out of doing anything with these little zits I've got on my chest."

"Oh, on the contrary." I'd been right; she wanted me to look, to notice her body. I wasn't sure what I'd expected tonight, but it wasn't this. I let my eyes bore straight down her top this time, and she remained leaning forward with her upper arms squeezed tight against her ribs. Her cleavage deepened like a gorge during a flash flood; the effect was incredibly alluring, and I wasn't surprised. This woman had years of experience making the most of what she had. I hoped my voice would come out in a suave, controlled way instead of the adolescent squeak I was afraid of. I assumed a mock-stern expression and hoped the waiter wasn't within earshot. "I'd be honored to titfuck you."

Somehow, I squeezed the line out with enough gravitas to be funny, and she smiled radiantly; I was reminded of days long ago, days when my wife was thinner and I was still interested in sleeping with her. There really is nothing like making a desirable woman laugh. Hers was light, airy, with a slight snort from her upturned little ski-jump of a nose. The crinkles on the edges of her eyes made me smile in a way that must have seemed proprietary, but she didn't seem to mind. She stuck her tongue out at me, just a slight hint of pink, and then nodded over my shoulder. "Food's here, Chris."

* * *

She took my hand as we left the restaurant. I sensed impulsiveness in that, but I didn't think she did it without some calculation. She'd made up her mind at some point during the meal that she wanted to touch me; the only question was when. I looked down at her, feeling a heady rush of pride that such a lovely lady was walking down the touristy main street of East Adams, so safely far from my life in Seabourne, and I gave her cool thin hand a squeeze.

We'd killed the wine, naturally, with a really excellent pair of steaks au poivre, hers with zucchini and mine with potatoes. We said nothing as we crossed the front of the restaurant, headed down the sidewalk. "Want to walk for a little bit?" I asked her.

"I'd love to." She drew closer to me as we passed a hobby shop, long closed, the balmy summer evening only slightly thick and humid. "Nothing quite like an after-dinner stroll with a sexy new friend."

"Oho!" The wine gave me a quick smile. "Sexy? I think not."

"I'll tell you a secret, if you want." Her tall, thin body was pressed against my arm, so different from the woman I'd been touching over the past nineteen years.

"I want." I found my hand untangling from her fingers, my arm sliding across the curve of her back, pulling her close. We walked in step. "I like secrets."

"You might like this one," she agreed. She rested her head against my shoulder, just briefly. "Kaylen thinks you're hot."

I felt another surge of pride, this one different; it was one thing to have a classy woman by your side, and another to have a smoldering sexual tornado like Kaylen Rapp find you attractive. "She told you that?"

Vickie nodded. "We spent hours discussing you the other day, after we saw you on the beach." She sighed as she settled against my side. "They're both pretty taken with you, actually. They say a lot of your students find you hot. Does that surprise you?"

Yup. "Not at all," I flirted. "I have that effect on all women." She laughed her airy little laugh. I thought about what to say next. "I'm surprised they let you out with me."

"They didn't." She slapped me gently on the chest. "I wanted to." We strolled in silence for another minute or two, passing the parking lot without even looking at the car. "What are you thinking, Chris?"

At the moment? I was trying not to get an erection. "I'm thinking," I said quietly, "that I'm going to get that hug tonight, after all."

She laughed again, and this time her own arm came up to rub my back. "The girls were right," she sighed. "Funny and sexy." That, of course, did nothing to tamp down my hard-on. I felt like a college sophomore, giddy with first-date excitement. My family was the furthest thing from my mind. She nodded against my shoulder. "Yeah, you'll get your hug. At least."

My mouth went dry. "A peck on the cheek, maybe?"

"Maybe." She giggled. "Maybe not. What, are you planning ahead here, or is the date already over?"

I glanced down at my watch. Only 7:45. "I hope not," I admitted. "I've got no idea what else to do, though. I don't really know East Adams at all." I made a show of glancing around: people scattered up and down the sidewalks, the occasional car, a bank across the street with its ATM aglow. I guessed. "Coffee?"

"Mm, no. I'd be up all night." She was still plastered to my side, and to be honest it was a little difficult to walk like that.

"Dessert?"

"Shit. You see the size of that steak? I'm full, Chris. I can only hold so much." Her thumb was rubbing softly along my arm.

"Huh. Well, then, yes. I guess the date is over."

"Cool. So I can hug you now?" I heard the smile in her voice, and my mind shut off as we turned casually, easily, naturally toward each other, right there in front of a closed music store, and our arms went up and around each other. My hands wound up at her lower back, right where her ass began, while hers went up under my armpits and around each shoulder, clasping me, her body pressed tightly to me with no hint of awkwardness. She wasn't holding back. "Mmm," she sighed into my chest, but not very far down; she was a tall girl. I wondered vaguely, in a senior prom sort of way, whether she could feel my erection; thank God it was pointing up.

I found my nose full of her hair, my thumb running along the base of her spine through the thin summer dress. "So," I began, my voice strained, "what did we decide? Am I giving, or receiving?"

"We didn't decide," she said breezily, and we both leaned comfortably back into each other's arms, making space, and then I was moving in with my eyes open and aiming for her mouth. It had been a shamefully long time since I'd had a real kiss, a proper one, with passion and feeling and tongue. And it had been decades since I'd kissed anyone but my wife.

Vickie's lips were warm and strong and slippery, tasting of lust and lip balm, and they opened with lazy self-assurance as I crashed into her. I was gone, overwhelmed, completely swept away by what we were doing; I speared my tongue blindly past her teeth and felt hers, thick and vibrant, wrapping around mine. I heard myself groan as her hands tightened surely and confidently around my back. Her whole body seemed to vibrate against me, hot and young and alive as I felt her nose brush my cheek.

A kiss gets awkward after awhile, usually a matter of seconds, but neither of us was all that interested in stopping. I became dimly aware of another couple giggling as they walked past, and I found myself hoping vaguely that we didn't really look like an old man and a young girl. Certainly I didn't feel old; her firm body in my arms didn't feel all that young, either.

We broke it off at last, both of us breathing deeply and with saliva smeared across our chins, and she leaned back again and smiled up at me. "I guess you'll be wanting anal now?"

"Jesus!" I laughed hard and wondered why I hadn't done this kind of thing sooner, but Vickie's body made no effort to back away and her mouth was rising toward mine once more, and there didn't seem to be anything left to do but kiss her again.

* * *

We were quiet as I drove her back toward Seaborne, her hand lightly resting on top of mine on the center console of my truck. It wasn't a strained, nervy silence either; we just didn't seem to feel the need to talk as the darkening trees flew by, the sky finally going navy-blue. The moon was already out. I was very conscious of her legs poking out of the bottom of her sundress, the feel of her strong fingers, and the memory of her lips.

Ten miles outside town, she glanced casually over her shoulder. "Huh. You've got a backseat."

"Well, I had to get one once the kids were born," I explained. It seemed a weird observation from her. "They just make the bed shorter, charge an extra ten thousand or so, and you've got a place to put your carseat."

"Thanks Chris, but I don't need to hear your life story." She was smirking again. "Backseats can be good to have on first dates..." There was something there in the back of her voice, something playful and excited and altogether wicked. I tightened my other hand on the steering wheel. If I was being honest with myself, I knew exactly what she meant, but I still didn't want to admit it. It seemed too wild, too improbable, too wrong. "Don't tell me you never took a girl into the backseat," she purred.

"Well, you know." I kept my eyes on the road, my penis once more reminding me it was there. "I was a normal, red-blooded American male. I always did enjoy making out," I confessed.

She paused, her hand still squeezing mine gently, surely. I saw her head move in the dusk of the passenger seat, glancing out at the trees. "I'm game if you are," she shrugged. "I mean, if it's not too weird. If you don't want the date to end yet."