Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [46]
Then she stared deeply into my eyes again with that same, dark, hungry, unsatisfied smile. After more up and down joggling, apparently to show me what other tricks her breasts could do when she was alone with Poopkiss, she finally released both Pride and Joy, letting them fall to their natural position somewhere down about her waistline. Slowly, the darkness in her faded—or rather moved into the background where it probably lived most of the time—and a kind of brightness returned.
“Say goodbye to the three of us,” she said.
There was an awkward pause, and for a moment I was unsure what to do. Lacking conversational skills and intelligent ideas, I leaned in to kiss her, but she jerked back, alarmed, and I froze midpucker. Slowly, her scary smile returned.
“I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning,” she said, blowing me a kiss from several inches away. “Don’t oversleep. I hate it when you’re not on time.” Then very brightly, as if bidding farewell to a game show contestant who had picked the wrong curtain and lost everything, she said cheerily, “Bye, now!”
Apparently satisfied on some level, Mindie quickly turned and walked out the entryway onto the porch and headed toward Grandfather’s car. Aunt Helena and her husband Pjuter were nowhere to be seen, and I wondered what had happened to them. Had they left with Biddleby as he went on his mission to drop Ms. Nuckeby wherever it was she lived?
Ms. Nuckeby.
As I watched Mindie climb into the car, being a man, I stared at her ass. More ample and less shapely than Ms. Nuckeby’s, it did nothing to arouse my libido, and I sensed a certain irony in that, but I wasn’t sure since I really don’t know what irony means. Something to do with needing spoons, I think, based on a song I’d heard somewhere once.
Finally, as Grandfather’s driver slipped behind the wheel and drove the last of my visitors away, Mindie turned to me, waved, and smiled as cheerily as if she had never seen me in any closets having anything at all like sex with anything even remotely resembling a woman.
The difficulty she must have endured forcing such false sincerity for my benefit really touched me.
I closed the front door and locked it behind me, muttering to myself, then turned and headed slowly up the stairs while mentally swimming back through the day’s events. I was engaged to a publicly lovely woman, taking a week or more off, and everyone now knew for certain that I was not a homosexual. Life might be as good as it was ever likely to get.
In truth, I now saw that Mindie was as good as it could possibly get for someone like me. I didn’t deserve a woman as magnificent as Ms. Nuckeby. Or, rather, a woman as magnificent as Ms. Nuckeby would be if she weren’t a gold-digger out for my money and was instead an actual, nice person who could see me for what I was, and still want to have sex with me. My ‘loser-ishness’ made it obvious to anyone with sense organs that the woman had to be in it for the money. I had nothing else to offer.
I was simply not worthy.
Oddly (or, perhaps ironically? I really should look up more than just ‘Pshaw’ in the dictionary now and then), had I not encountered Ms. Nuckeby that afternoon, and subsequently been in close, naked proximity with her, this moment would have been as close to perfect as I could ever have imagined happening in my life. Which is a sad commentary, I know, but nonetheless there you have it. Mindie was mine after a lifetime of longing, and in a few years I would be having chaste sex with her on an occasional