The next Sunday was the first of the autumn, and she wore boots and a tight black skirt that hugged her ass, and sheer maroon bikini panties with a floral border. I wasn’t really in a rush… maybe it was the boots, or the skirt, but once her panties slid down to her ankle I dove in and couldn’t be stopped until she finally pushed me away; she squealed and giggled and actually screamed loud enough that I worried about our building’s thin walls. For lunch we had a lasagna she’d prepared the night before and cooked that morning, and a tossed salad with cherry tomatoes the same color as the lipstick she’d touched up while I was washing my face in her bathroom. (That was how I marked the passing of each week: by her panties and the lunch – the two things I could count on to change each Sunday, and two of the things I looked forward to the most.)
After the meal we chatted while the food settled, and I helped her with the dishes just as I did every week. She had turned on her deck on the other room and was playing some kind of soft jazz or R&B – I never listened to either outside of her condo so I didn’t know the difference, but she always played someone whose name I recognized.
So there it was – a Sunday afternoon like a hundred others we’d spent together, despite my enthusiasm in her room. That week, though… I don’t know what happened. There was something different in the air. It wasn’t as though she’d never worn that shade of lipstick before, or like her eyes were any brighter, her lashes any longer. She smelled the same. Her skin was the same creamy brown. But I couldn’t stop stealing glances at her, while simultaneously feeling embarrassed when she caught me. I was like a kid, but she was looking at me, too, and her eyes kept dropping to my lips. We were standing side-by-side – I was washing and she was drying. My hands slipped against hers when I handed her a plate, and she gave me a little ass-bump and smiled at me… And suddenly we were kissing – suddenly enough that soapbubbles still clung to my hands and the dishtowel was pressed between us. We’d kissed before – hell, we’d kissed earlier that afternoon in her bedroom – but this was different. This wasn’t just a friendly ‘hello’, it was passionate ‘I want you’. Her neck arched back and my lips slipped down her throat. Somehow the buttons on her blouse had opened and her hands were intertwined with mine and cupping them beneath the fleshy mountains of her breasts and squeezing. Somewhere in the back of my mind a little dispassionate voice was noting that I’d never really seen her bra before – it was a lovely bra that matched her panties, especially in that the cups were sheer and I could see through the thin material that her brown nipples were hardening. Our lips found eachother’s for another quick embrace before I fell into the curves of her cleavage with such desire that I’m sure I left hickeys (to my embarrassment).
I had already covered both breasts with kisses and was beginning to bring her nipples to an aching hardness with my thumbs when I felt a change. Her fingers – which were sliding through my hair and pulling my head against her – loosened. Her chest slumped back. My mouth fell away and I glanced up, and her expression of distant rapture was becoming blank, then almost frightened. We stepped away from each other, saying nothing while she buttoned herself back into her shirt and I retrieved the dishtowel from the floor.
The frightened look on her face had disappeared into red-cheeked embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t mean…” I’d never seen her so without her composure, but it quickly returned. “I forgot that I need to run an errand this afternoon, and I lost track of the time.”
“No, no – not at all.” I smiled uncertainly and dried my hands in the towel before stepping back from the counter. “I should really get back down to my apartment. I have some notes I need to review before tomorrow morning. For the boss. You know.”
And then I ushered myself out the door and we all were smiles and thank you’s – for the lasagna, for changing the time on her electronic clocks – and see you later’s, just like nothing had happened, but we both knew something had. Something big. I could feel it, and beneath her smiles Ms. E was spooked. That same dispassionate voice in my head was suddenly worried that this might be the last Sunday for me in unit 4C.
*
Later in the week, when I was down by the mailboxes sorting out my junkmail for the shredder, I heard keys in door from the garage and knew it was Ms. E. Instead of the tingle of excitement I’d usually feel, there was a moment of uncertainty. The possibility of slipping away before the door opened – or at least starting toward the lift so she could ignore my back if she wanted to – flashed through my mind, but I dismissed it as cowardly. I needn’t have worried, anyway – she smiled brightly when she caught sight of me and wiggled her fingers hello, same as always. She wore a long black coat over a bright fuchsia blouse, black leather driving gloves, and sunglasses that covered half her face.
“Is that a new jacket?” I asked her.
She spread her arms. “Do you like it? I just picked it up.” Her keys jingled as the turned in her mailbox, and she sorted while rifling through envelopes. She glanced up at me. “Your taste in ties has improved considerably. This one brings out that color in your eyes.” She caught the end of the tie between two fingers and lifted it up for inspection. “Silk!”
“I’m trying.”
“And it shows, Honey.” She pulled the tie toward her until the slack was gone and I nearly had to take a step forward. “Are we on for Sunday? I have new recipe for Bolognese sauce I want you to try. Maybe I’ll cook up some ziti?”
“Oh. Shoot.” I’d forgotten to tell her – I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten to tell her. Now she’d think that I was making excuses, trying to avoiding her. “I’m going to be in Indianapolis all weekend. Cutover for work.”
Her smile fell, as did my tie. She patted it back into place on my shirt and pouted a bit. “Well… next week then. I’ll miss your company. Maybe I’ll save you some leftovers … or maybe I won’t.” Locking her box again, she strutted past me and closed the lift door without waiting for me to follow.
*