Kathleen Terner slumped on the sofa, sipped wine and looked at the TV. She wagged her head and thought about her husband.
He had called earlier and told her the bad news: He would be gone longer than expected. His four-day business trip had been extended three more days.
Seven days, she murmured to herself. Seven days, and what am I doing? Sitting here, getting soused on cheap wine, and watching the idiot box. Jeez, I might as well take a shower.
She went to the bathroom and stripped. The full-length mirror on the bathroom door caught her eye.
"Well, Mrs. Terner," she spoke to her reflection. "We're twenty-three, been married for a year. How are we holding up?"
She examined herself in the mirror.
Her sandy brown hair fell in wispy waves past her shoulders. Her hazel eyes had a stormy look to them. Her face was heart-shaped. She placed her hands under her breasts and cupped them. Still firm and upright, she said to herself, no sagging. She brushed a hand down over her tummy. Still flat, she thought. Her hips were curved and her legs were sleek and full. Her eyes were drawn to the little thatch of sandy brown pubic hair and the tiny slit below. She nodded in satisfaction. She turned sideways and examined her backside. Her back was straight, her rump curved, perky and smooth.
She wasn't hung-up about her body, but neither was she possessed of any false modesty. She knew she was attractive, and she accepted it. I've got a nice face and body, she thought, so what?
She critically examined her breasts. They were rounded uplifted mounds of creamy smoothness--the shape and size of coconuts. The nipples jutted up rubbery and erect.
She palmed her breasts, slowly sliding her hands over the mounds. A fizzing tingling feeling radiated through them.
"Umm," she murmured at the sensation. She ran her hands over her titties, pressing her palms on them and sliding her fingers over the nipples. "Ahh," she breathed out in pleasure.
She briskly stroked her tits, rubbing and kneading them. "Oh yes," she gasped at the sharp thumping feeling running through her breasts, down below her tummy and up to her throat. She licked her lips and swallowed.
She moved a hand down over her belly, down to her thighs. She slightly spread her legs and ran a hand down between them.
She stroked her cunny, sliding her hand up and down. Bolts of wet fire shot up her pussy. "Oh, ah, ooh," she panted as she rubbed her yoni.
She slid a finger in and stroked the clit with her thumb. "Oh god, yes!" she gasped. She hunched and jerked and cried out as a mini-climax rippled up and down her pussy.
She slowly ceased rubbing, and then she sighed. It felt good, she thought, but it's not ... it's not the real thing. I want the real thing ... a stiff thick cock, in my cunny--fucking me ... Hubby's cock.
She let out a raspy chuckle. But the way I feel right now, she thought, any cock will do.
She wagged her head and stepped into the shower.
She dressed casually, pulling on a pair of short cutoff jeans and a tee-shirt. She dispensed with panties and bra. Then she poured another glass of wine and sprawled on the sofa.
The phone buzzed and she answered it with a listless hello.
"How's my favorite neighbor?"
"Oh, hello Zeta. Your favorite neighbor is okay, I guess."
"You sound down in the dumps."
"Oh, it's nothing. It's just ... well, hubby called and told me he would be gone another three days. It's been four days already, and now--three more."
"Seven days. No wonder you're down. Well, I have a cure for you. It'll drive your blues away and perk you right up."
"What is it?"
Kathleen chuckled in mystification as she heard the click of Zeta hanging up.
She thought about her. Zeta lived a few houses away from Kathleen. She was in her mid-twenties, tall for a woman, and slender, her hair cut boyishly short. In fact, everything about her was boyish, Kathleen thought and smiled. She knew that Zeta was bi, for, even though she liked men, she had made a couple of passes at Kathleen. Once, at a little get-together, she had brushed her hand down over Kathleen's rump; and one time she had found her in the kitchen and had come up behind her, placed her hands on Kathleen's hips and spoke in her ear: "You look good enough to lick."
Kathleen had shrugged it off and had not told her husband about it, because what would have been the point? What could she have said? "Hey, guess what, Zeta just made a pass at me." No, there had been no harm done. Zeta was bi and had made a pass at her, so what?
A few minutes later there was a tapping at the door and Zeta entered. She held a paper bag in her hand.
"I've come to chase your blues away and lighten up your spirits. It's just not right for my favorite neighbor to be down in the dumps. And speaking of spirits," she pulled a bottle out of the bag, "I just happen to have some right here."
"What is it?" Kathleen asked.
"Nordic wine," Zeta replied. "Now, why don't you get two glasses and a corkscrew and we'll proceed to chase your blues away."
The wine was potent. One glass of it was equal to three glasses of the wine she had drank. A warm glowing feeling pervaded her, while a tingling fizzed through her head.
Zeta went to the stereo and turned it on, and then turned to Kathleen. "And now, may I have the pleasure of this dance."
The music was soft and dreamy and they danced slowly to it. Zeta placed her hands on Kathleen's waist and moved up close to her. They swayed in unison to the music.
Zeta softly brushed Kathleen's cheek with her own and moved her arms around to her back.
Kathleen felt so good. The warm glowing feeling had grown to pervade her whole body.
Zeta slowly caressed her back. She moved her body forward and gently pressed it upon her and blew softly and warmly on her neck.
She brushed her lips on Kathleen's neck and slowly slid a hand around and stroked her flank.
Gently, slowly, she moved her hand, slipping it under Kathleen's tee-shirt and sliding it around to her back. She nuzzled her neck and caressed her bare back. Kathleen offered no resistance and Zeta grew bolder. She slid one hand around and stroked her tummy and with the other she brushed her rump.
.... There is more of this story ...