It wasn't just her warm, moist breath. She was nibbling on my ear in a full court press. Holy Smokes!

I'd known Kitty about 5 years, she was with Rick and I with Becky – It was a socially polite relationship. Kitty had always been a looker, but one bound up in slightly too much clothing. She didn't mind wearing a clingy skirt or blouse, but if she did, she would inevitably wear a jacket, scarf, or frilly something to obscure her form. She let it be known that she had the right curves; she just didn't let you appreciate them fully. Irritating, actually.

For that matter, she wore too much makeup. It's not like she was trying to portray the image of a very attractive but modest housewife; she fully succeeded in doing that, in style, all the time. Even at a pool party, she would wear a one piece, but cover herself with a wrap up until the exact moment she entered the pool. Or got out. But, always, there was something about the shape of her face, the depth of her blue eyes and her full bodied mid-length blonde hair that begged the notion of a tigress, regardless if she kept herself on a leash.

It is, of course, wrong to think that way about another person's wife, but with a teasing name like Kitty, and those looks, thinking of a hellcat in bed wasn't difficult. Add in good conversation and a quick wit, and she was enjoyable company at any function.

Advancing forward, I'm a widower, and she's fairly recently divorced. And as of 30 minutes ago, she's wearing a sleeveless blouse and assuming all sorts of cute poses in the seat above me as our group awaited a speaker in the auditorium.

Let me define "cute poses." She's smiling at me. She's wearing a skirt that cuts off above her knees, affording me gracious views of her impeccably tanned legs. And a bit of thigh. (Don't stare). Everyone knows that high-heeled shoes are back in vogue. Hers take the minimalist look, with only several wispy thin, black straps that suggest "It's a business function now, but you should see what else I wear with these shoes. " And I'm not "into" feet, but dang those are cute toes. And well manicured toenails, and soft arches, and ... well, naked begins at the tips of her toes and goes exactly how far into that skirt? It's just too impolite, at present, to fathom the depths of those shadows. And does she ever so slightly squeeze her arms inward when she's talking to me, just enough that her breasts swell against the form revealing cotton blouse? And those breasts are holding a beautiful position, casting a slight shadow over her tight abdomen even in a well lit room. "Cute poses."

And it's a Tuesday. Afternoon. I'm tiger bait, helpless in her domain.

Just as I had been thinking about how to set up a plan to have a discussion after the session ended, she had taken the lead. "I'm thirsty. Do you want to come get a drink with me?" I was spellbound. What else could I have done? Fortunately, none of our adjacent associates decided they were thirsty as well.

And so it was that she guided me to a stairwell to have a "quick personal conversation." Ultimately, as she drew closer where I could capture the smell of her, it was a personal proposition delivered in business form. "You're the one that I've wanted, for longer than you know. I know this is awkward, but I need to know if you're interested, now, because there is another opportunity, and I don't want to miss both."

Wow. Flattering. I think.

And in my vast experience in such instances, there are a flurry of possible responses. To wit:

1) I'm really not attracted to aggressive women.

2) Are you proposing a serious relationship that possibly ends in something permanent?

3) Kitty, as your friend, I think it's too soon after your divorce to jump into anything.

4) Why me?

5) Who is the other guy?

6) How long have you planned this?

7) Is modesty your true nature, or the more forward woman I see now?

And, with it being improper to ask all those questions, they're crossed off as follows:

1) I've actually never had a woman come on to me. I like it.

2) Obviously, yes. Or, I think obviously. She's not the type, I think, to be booking her bedtime plan for the evening. Or lunch.

3) It's long enough. Don't be a wuss.

4) Don't go there. It doesn't matter.

5) Don't go there. It doesn't matter.

6) At least as recently as she got dressed this morning, but possibly earlier. Likely earlier.

7) That is, indeed, the question. Proceed.

So, I gathered her in my arms, pulling her close, and began with a romantic kiss. I peeked. Her eyes were closed. And now, to see if she's still wrapped up in layers...

Yes, her body didn't just remain in an embrace, it adjusted for fuller body contact. There was a slight but noticeable periodic pressure against my groin. Nicely done. And her tongue became alive. I could, and probably should, fuck her right there. Which was at the forefront of my thoughts as she stretched her head upwards, and, as noted earlier, was making good work of my ear lobes.

But I'm not that kind of guy. I don't want to jump fully into a relationship, or a business proposition such as this, without the details of the contract. And, honestly, despite the thrill, I'm not so thrilled at the prospect of being found in the stairwell in a civic auditorium by the Police, ushers, or anyone else, which would be likely as I wouldn't want this particular experience to be a quiet one. Yet, my hands found themselves grasping a very firm butt as I pulled her even closer. Yet, as I was grasping her very taut hips which begun a circling motion, I wasn't in a hurry to end whatever this was. Tigress.

How could I possibly be a victim of too many thoughts with a raging hard on? Yet, not now and not here. I broke away.

I looked at her. She looked ready to eat me.

I had to take a few breaths to let thoughts form more fully into words.

"Kitty, I want you to come to my place at 7:00 tonight. I'll prepare dinner, but I want you bring with you three to five questions, at least one of which has to be about sex, written down, that you would want to know about me."

"You'll do the same?" she asked.

"Yes, of course." That was really my point, though she wouldn't know that.

"That should be interesting. And fun. Looking back, I definitely want to get things right next time."

Indeed. Maybe she understood my agenda after all.

I don't think either of us heard anything the speaker said that afternoon. Real Estate law updates are not exactly compelling, and, in fact, they turn to vapor given Kitty's toes periodically grazing my neck and ear. I couldn't look back, but I couldn't help but wonder if anyone noticed what she was doing to me. I tried to fashion how I might phrase questions for that evening, but the thought of twisting around to suck her toes there and then interfered.

Afterwards, departing pleasantries were exchanged by everyone except us. Her eyes, though. Her eyes ... I'm glad she didn't press to follow me home. I needed the time.

To vacuum, for one. And clean the bathroom. And change the sheets, and ... think. And think mostly of what I wanted sexually from a new partner, if not a new wife.

After my wife's passing two years earlier, I dated very little. I loved her deeply, but our sexual relationship was fiery at its beginning and settled into a very dreary world of vanilla, "that felt good," almost obligatory sex. Fantasies can sustain, but as rewarding as they may be, they're also a reminder of distant reality is. And some fantasies I certainly wanted to be a part of my reality, regardless of how tempting the dish. And Kitty was definitely dishy.

That afternoon notwithstanding, "Ms. Modesty" was my prevailing understanding of Kitty. She clearly had passion, but I had no idea whether she would revert to that in time, or whether she had a gravitation to kinks, for lack of a better word. It was a nervous endeavor to craft questions that met my needs, and speculating on her reaction was tortuous, never mind her doing those things that I so wanted her to do. So, as I prepped for dinner, I confined my thoughts on how she might dress for the evening. Patience.

She arrived on time. I had alerted the Concierge to notify me and send her up when she arrived, and I greeted her at the elevator lobby on my floor.

She stepped forward, raising an arm to lean against the open elevator door, stretching her opposite leg at an enticing angle.

"You like?" she asked.

I had expected thin, clingy party dress or dressy sophisticate would be her wardrobe. I had countered with black dress slacks and a short sleeve button up casual shirt with a casual jacket. Boring on my part, well-conceived on hers.

She arrived in a college T-shirt from my alma mater. She knew the team I loved, and she had apparently gone shopping for it. It wasn't particularly tight, but it's cut was short. Her particular position raised her shirt, where I could see a taut abdomen and a cute belly button, pierced with a small gold ball. That was fairly shocking, actually.

Almost neglected, but not quite, were the blue jean shorts, rather, the short blue jean shorts and her long, well defined legs. No high heels this time, but rather sandals, the sort you have around for comfort wear. A toe ring added balance to her navel piercing. The overnight bag behind her was an encouraging accessory. I now understood the uncertainty in the Concierge's voice when she had called to let me know Kitty was on her way up. Most residents and their guests dressed to impress. Obviously, that depends on the audience.

The elevator interrupted my thoughts with a loud "buzz."

"Well, I guess 'speechless' is a compliment then," she said.

"Actually, no, the word that came to me as soon as I saw you was 'delicious.' I'm just appreciating how delicious you look."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, buster."

I took her bag and offered my hand and we walked the short distance down the hall to my Condo. Had I ventured a kiss ... all the planning might be for naught.

The Condo life is not one that is common to my friends. But, after my wife's accident, I had wanted something different, away from suburbia without the headaches of many possessions, household maintenance, a lawn to care for ... in short, I wanted a new start. And the settlement from the drunk's insurance company had afforded me an 18th floor view of downtown Atlanta, plus savings.

She took in the main living area at a glance, pronouncing "It's very masculine" as she took in the darker tones of the flooring, fabrics and wood trim. Yes, it was, but certainly by no means glum. She ventured to the dining area, where a single spot shown on the center of the table, on which a tall red candle was burning. White table cloth, cloth napkins, elegant wine glasses, muted lighting, a single candle ... I can do romantic. Of course, the way she was dressed, a tailgate BBQ may have been better suited.

I gave her the quick tour, because there is no extended tour in high rise Condos. The kitchen, dining area and living area are all one room. Which leaves a bedroom converted to study/office, a bedroom for guests, a full bath, a hall closet and, of course, the master bedroom. Each bedroom had an exterior wall, and the master bedroom had an expansive view of the City from floor to ceiling. She said nothing, taking in the view. The pause was almost uncomfortable, but then I noticed her mouth had opened slightly and her nipples, if my mind wasn't playing tricks, had hardened. I made a movement, setting her bag at the foot of my bed.

Her trance apparently broken, she turned and smiled.

"You looked lost in thought," I said. Her face blossomed into a smile. "Yes, you have a beautiful view. My bedroom has windows, and I don't know if I've ever looked through them after the blinds and curtains were installed. This is so ... open."

"Well, that's true. But I don't have neighbors walking their dogs or UPS trucks making deliveries outside my window."

Kitty didn't say anything to this, but I could see her quickly scan the high rises in the not-too-distant distance. Interesting.

"I've had invitations to showings of condos, but my customer base isn't located here. I really like this; I should have taken advantage to see more." She turned to face me. "I suppose you never know what someone might like until you show them the options. You have very good tastes. I really like it here." Music to my ears. She briefly took in the art that I had chosen, some of the books that were lying around, and life with little storage space as we made our way back to the living area.

I slid open the door. "And then, there's the balcony."

"I've been waiting for this. It's gorgeous!"

This I knew from experience, just as I knew the sun would be setting in about 45 minutes. It was a fairly simple balcony, with a table, two chairs, and footrests. One plant was all that I could commit to watering. But my balcony was like the several above it and all the ones below. They were all placed at the narrow end of the building. They were therefore "private" except at the very ends, at least in reference to other residents within the building.

"Hungry?" I asked. Kitty grasped my hand and pulled close as we made our way back inside. I don't know perfumes. But hers was subdued, to the point where I wanted to get far too close too fast and inhale her scent.

Dinner was a salad, Penne with peppery broccoli and Morel sauce, and a side of asparagus, for a number of reasons. I'm good at preparing it, it goes well with wine, and it's not so loaded with protein that it puts me to sleep. Or, hopefully, her. I refrained from adding garlic to the bread. That was not how I wanted the evening to be remembered.

We caught up, awkwardly, actually. It was strange to talk about a period of time in which we were attached to others while beginning new possibilities. Still, conversation became pleasantly casual, during which she reminded me why I had always liked her. Or, more honestly put, why I maintained a curiosity about her even though we had been off-limits. It hadn't been a case of outright lust, back then. But my interest had certainly been with a clear recognition of the paths not taken in life.

Her eyes shine when she's talking about a subject that she's interested, she listens well and engages with good questions, and she transitions from one topic to another without having skipped past what was to be learned or slowing into tedium. She's a great conversationalist, and conversation is certainly something that, with a bowl of fruit, can be enjoyed on a balcony as the sun sets. Oh, yes, with the wine and the glasses.

Kitty seemed mesmerized as the sun settled between two buildings and dipped finally below the horizon. I hadn't paid much attention. The warm tones of the evening sun on her face had been much more remarkable. She turned toward me, a casual smile on her face, knowing.

"That was beautiful," she said.

"Yes, you are." I replied.

She gazed into my eyes. If either of us made a move, I could have her at that moment. But we both knew we were there for more than that. It was time.

I placed the table to the side for our wine and arranged the seats so that we were knee to knee. "It's time to find out a bit about ourselves. Do you want to go first, or me?"

"I will, she said. Ladies first, you know." She had no notes, but she didn't seem to be at any loss. "What do you think is the best way to keep a relationship alive, after the first couple years?"

I answered, "After the lust wears off? And you find that you live with someone who actually has flaws?"

"Exactly," she said.

"Love is a commitment, not a feeling. I read a book about that some years ago."

"Probably, the Five Love Languages."

"That was it. Communication is key, and you have to be intentional on making sure you're connected."

We talked about the love languages a bit, her primary one being words of affirmation, words that weren't known in her ex's vocabulary. Good to know.

It was my turn. "What turns you on the most?"

"If that's your first question, this is going to get real interesting fast," she teased. But, her answer was surprising. "I'm still waiting to find out." What followed was an explanation of how her ex had quickly gravitated towards sex when it suited his needs, and his detachment for long periods of time when he became jealous, rightly or wrongly, when other men looked at her or even talked with her at length. "It's fair to say that you've caused me to be deprived, by the way." I wasn't sure how to take that. "On several occasions, in fact. He was awful." It had led, gradually, for her to question whether each man really lusted after her, to dressing as conservatively as possible, to mild violence, which became enough for her to call it quits. This didn't answer my question, but it wasn't appropriate to press.