Lady Santoro and The Crown

A woman desiring new experiences in her life joins her daughter and friends for a weekend getaway at the family's lake house; she ends up finding more than herself.

Lady Santoro and the Crown

Javier Gonzalez

 

Chapter 1

            Morning fog danced its way across The Grove, the New England enclosed real estate haven known to locals and visitors as prized territory. A particular cadence highlighted Ashton Groves, the lake house sitting atop the waterfront all the locals knew as one of the more prominent estates within. Established in the roaring 50s, The Grove was known for its lush 5-6 bedroom properties with owners buying modestly and renovating with millions pending resale.

            Classic Italian, Villa-styled two-story pads to modern-day elegance as a second home, Ashton Groves was the equivalent of a 18-century designed façade with 3-4 bedrooms, 2 and one-half baths and inside luxury fit for 2-3 visiting families wanting to join its owners for the occasional outing. Its design was purposeful; its interior furniture saw classic sofas and accessories with modern-day appliances. The Groves’ community admired Ashton every time they drove by or visited.

            Jesse and Penelope Santoro were its owners, in their late 40’s, and frequented their stately fixture for a mixture of upkeep and weekend get-a-way’s. This was not entirely uncommon for them. Mr. and Mrs. Santoro had three daughters: 14-year-old Suzie, Noel, 22, and Victoria, recently turned 31.

            Select furniture pieces highlighted the living areas at both Ashton Groves and their main residence. Neat and tidy rooms lined as well fine cutlery and dishes were among the more noticed aspects the Santoro’s various guests noticed. While they weren’t particularly brash about each of the pieces’ origins, when asked, either Jesse or Penelope could easily provide the whereabouts of how each aspect of interior design made its way into their lives. “We were lucky to find that one through a specialized dealer Jesse used to know when we lived at…” would go one story. Another followed as: “We bargain shopped for that little collection when we first arrived in the area. We saw it, thought it fit well, and…well…sometimes you just cannot say ‘no’ to certain things,” Penelope might say. Her tone was almost always borderline modest-to-distinguished, but usually with a hint of boastful accomplishment. No one really bothered to question them as they didn’t think it was worth any of the hassle; not over furniture items anyway.

            Noel came with the fellow she’d been dating for a little less than 5 years: Richie Kirkland. He was a good to her. Naturally intriguing, Richie had three years on Noel, easily. He was a full head above her, maintained his post-athletic physique well enough with short, dark brown-black hair and hazel eyes, and tolerated her more than most fellows their age. Everyone knew it too. Suzie was growing up in her own teen ways: full of life and adventure, learning from her sisters and how her parents mingled together. Victoria was the promiscuous one: dating boys since she could begin having little versions of them. Victoria and Suzie inherited their mothers’ height; Noel randomly got the 2 in 16 chance of a shorter gene. All three had their mother’s pure brown locks, straight with combed over roots.

            Richie was at the Santoro’s and remained calm when they all overheard Mrs. Santoro have a routine phone call with her husband. “Really?” she said, her tone surprised and in partial disbelief. “I mean, there’s no way you can just ask to be OFF for that Jesse? We’ve been planning this outing for a little while now. And you told me you let them know about it, out of consideration…” She listened a little longer before sighing out her dismay at the other end. “Well, I suppose I’ll understand. But I’m no less OK about it, so you know. We’ll deal with it though. See you when you get home,” she said, before going to press the red ‘phone’ symbol.

            “Oh well,” Noel said. “Typical with Dad�"usually ends up having to work.” Her words were no more upset than they were indifferent. Richie noted it but said nothing. Penelope nor Richie didn’t bother exchanging words in that moment. There was no need. They all merely continued to gather what they needed, knowing it’d be another trip without him.

 

Chapter 2

            “Noel, why don’t you invite your friends Julie and Juliette? They might like some weekend time here, don’t you think?” Penelope mentioned.

            “Yeah,” Noel said. “Maybe. Don’t know about their work schedules or if they are free now or will be later. But I’ll call them.”

            She always felt a level of cynicism about various things for various reasons. She got it from her mother, some, but mostly from what she’d seen of her father over the years. Jesse Santoro was a seasoned Insurance Agent with Allstate. As a Division Manager of Recruitment and Sales Supervisor, his job was always in a guaranteed-no guarantee state of existence. Thus, his working life was driven by results and potential for release at almost any given moment. It was the nature of his work; and consequently also the main worrisome factor of his wife and daughters, looking at him whenever “anything major” came up from his end in that area of their lives.

He had this thing about striking the wrong chords with personnel once things didn’t go his way. Jesse would defend himself noting that, in real estate, a sense of dictatorship was needed and a tough demeanor when handling clients and corporate executives alike. All of this Richie had sensed in the time he’d known the Santoro’s, except for one of them.

            Penelope was different somehow. She didn’t particularly manifest the odd sensations her husband and Noel gave off. Hers was more the genuine and compassionate vibe; she had her verbal moments of disgust and disagreement, yes. But she was the most human of them all, Richie felt. And that intrigued Richie about Penelope, odd as that maybe was to admit.

            “She’s definitely more kind-hearted than her husband and more willing to converse about things than her daughter,” Richie would tell his older brother Edwin, always after Edwin would ask him how things were with Noel…and her folks for that matter.

            “So Noel doesn’t talk to you, then?” Edwin asked.

            “No,” Richie calmly replied. “She does. She just doesn’t choose to discuss things nearly as much as I would like, especially about the sentimental and emotional s**t. She always claims to ‘not have the ability to be considerate like that.’ Or something to that affect.” And that’s how those conversations would sound when they arose. Or, at least, that’s how Richie would describe them.

The actual conversations between Richie and Noel would vary, of course; their actual words and tone, the most important parts of the whole damn thing, never felt quite there. Their conversations just didn’t seem to have that genuine vibe Richie sought�"something he’d hoped would eventually happen with her but didn’t. He’d learned to accept her style and demeanor.

            For Richie, though, it seemed different with each one of the Santoro crew. He had a “certain” way of conversing with Jesse. There was a certain way of mingling with Penelope and absolutely a particular way he interacted with little Noel. And he almost prided himself for those things, for the ability to adapt his demeanor to each person. But sometimes, he knew, it felt best to get along for the sake of simply getting along.

            A particular vibe existed when Mrs. Santoro was around that even he could not explain. But it was there. Richie knew it was a combination of willing desire to finally be able to converse with someone willing to listen and his ability to want to be educated and feel enlightened with the topics he and Mrs. Santoro discussed. Frankly, at times, Richie could swear it was as if Mrs. S was missing those parts in her life, and needed someone to be there for her. He was there in that moment, yes. He just didn’t allow himself to get too attached to the conversation and misinterpret the mood for something else. But, still, it was there. Whatever he felt. And he was sure she felt it too.

 

Chapter 3

            “Julie and Juliette are welcome if they can make it, Noe,” Penelope said. Noel wasn’t a socialite; not even close, hence the suggested invite’s from her mother. Sometimes Mrs. Santoro just couldn’t figure her social habits. But that was beside the point of the weekend they had planned. It’s just her personality, Penelope would also reason to herself, trying not to compare Noel to her other daughters. “Okay,” Noel replied nonchalantly. “I’ll call them.”

            “Want me to call Dad, too, to see if he’ll be able to swing by, even for a little while?” The harsh and truthful tone pointed out his inability to make family time because of work even if he wanted more of it, something they all felt a little guilty about. He most of all. “…just in case…?” Noel added, a sense of false happiness mixed in.

            “No that’s fine,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “He told me he has a full day ahead and was best not to bother him until he’s done. He’ll call if & when he can.”

            “Alright,” Noel replied. “Richie, you don’t mind Julie and Juliette possibly coming over and joining the fun, do you?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “I grew up around family gatherings and such. The more the merrier.”

            “Mrs. Santoro,” Richie began. “Hope you don’t mind me asking: you’re not bothered that Jesse isn’t able to make it out there? I mean, not even a little bit?”

            Her eyebrows raised a hint. She may have been thinking the question, but didn’t expect to verbally hear it aloud, at least not from Richie. He listens, doesn’t he?

            “Not so much anymore. I’ve known Jesse for so long and been married to him long enough to deal with and expect them. It comes with the nature of his work. Besides, it provides for our life, so I don’t fuss over it.”

            Richie nodded. Some of part of him nor her response wasn’t completely satisfied, and their expressions said it. “I don’t mean to be intrusive,” he continued. “It just sounds like a sacrifice that can be managed better sometimes. That’s all.”

            “We all have to make sacrifices, Richie,” Penelope replied. She didn’t feel like getting into a mini, albeit light-hearted, quarrel. “It’s a matter of how you handle them.” Her tone said she was done discussing his absence. Fact was: she was there and he was not.

            “No, I get it,” Richie said. “We all have our things. But, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you are here to at least be able to enjoy yourself. You deserve a little pampering…if I may be so bold.”

            He knew he was treading polite and flirtatious, but felt there was nothing coherently wrong with light, friendly-flirting, even if it was an older, attractive lady who didn’t mind the conversation.

            “Jesse is lucky to have you�"understanding, authentic, attractive,” Richie said each word with sheer delicacy.

            Mrs. Santoro shot him a look after the last word. It wasn’t just the kind that makes you think about the disaster or traffic accident before moving on, knowing all will be well soon. It said, I know you meant more than what that one word is letting and I may or may not be intrigued enough to find out.

            And knowing he was treading as he was, and the rush of feeling that came with that risk, Richie looked at Mrs. Santoro with same stare and intent that the Misses was believing it to be. It may have needed some verbal confirmation, but it was there. They both knew it.

“Do you mean that, Richie? Or are you just saying those things because you are the pleasant, genuine young man we know you to be?” she asked because her nerves and her mind were at conflict with needing clarity.

            Richie took a step or two closer to her, controlling his every move and word to convey the intentions flowing in his blood.

            “Meant it,” he said, directly and quietly. “You are an attractive, grown woman. You are here and you do all this. Most guys in my position may only say things like catch-phrases or pick-up lines, not necessarily compliments. But you know me enough to when I give compliments, I mean them.”

            Mrs. Santoro gave a half-smirk, smiled response. “Thanks for noticing. But let’s enjoy the weekend time while we are here. We are awaiting our guests.”

            “Yes,” Richie acknowledged. “Let’s go see if Noel’s friends will be able to show. After you…” he gestured to the living area of the Grove, Mrs. Santoro leading the way. As she passed, Richie turned and gave her side a slight brush that led down to the side of her waist, and top of her hip. It was so light, Penelope thought it accidental. She glanced at Richie, briefly. There was a look in his face that said it was, and it wasn’t.

 

Chapter 4

            Ding-dong! A short while later, Julie and Juliette were at the front door, taking in the sights of Ashton Grove.

            “Reminds me of a scenic lake-house you’d find in City of Angels,” Julie said. “You know, the one where�"what’s his name? Nicholas Cage’s character�"?”

            “Seth�"” Rich chimed in, the room’s attention shifting immediately to him, if for the moment. “Seth Plate. At least, that’s what he said it was. Eh�"the line, come to think.” How she managed to make the connection between the lake houses in that movie and the one they were actually in he had no idea.

            “Oh yeah!” Juliette exclaimed out loud. “That’s right! It was Seth. You’re good at remembering that kind of stuff, aren’t you, Richie?”

            “Indeed,” he replied. More than you know, he thought to himself. Some had said “man, he knows all the lines” about his ability to recall such things with insane accuracy. “City of Angels,” Richie confirmed with Julie. She had this puzzled look on her face as if trying to remember the name of the film, whether genuinely wanting to know or just trying to show off in front of Noel’s home crowd. “Thanks,” Julie said. “I knew it was something like that.” “No worries,” Richie said. “You at least made the connection between the two settings. That’s impressive enough in my book.”

“And Juliette,” Richie resumed the greetings. “You doing okay? How is all?”

“Going okay, I must say,” she replied. “Can’t really complain much.”

They both knew what little bond they had was just that. It could have been developed; however, the lack of connection said it was best to leave it be. And so, they did.

“How are you?” Richie said again. “Really, I mean?” Juliette looked a little surprised at his second questioning to her. Didn’t he just ask me that f*****g question, she thought to herself. Or at least they first thought.

“I know I just asked you and all,” he followed up. “And I know I could just leave it at that. But considering I don’t really talk with you every day nor see you in every part of your life, I have no idea what you’re dealing with, your emotions about those things. You know, all that stuff. So, was just asking.”

“Yeah no�"I�"I get it,” Juliette replied, taken by his honesty. “You have a point and all. I’m just not sure whether I want to fill you in on everything. You did mention we don’t see each other every day and all. So, kind of deciding how much I want to actually say to you and all.”

“I get it.” He put some undercurrent of humor to his words telling her he understood.

“Maybe we can catch up more another time, though?” she asked. “Just not quite sure if right now is the best time or occasion. We’re trying to have a good time, after all. Not necessarily get caught up in the s**t we’re getting away from.”

“Yeah, let’s not�"too much for now.” Ending the talk was precisely what he was hoping would happen because he needed it to. He hadn’t come to Ashton to share some 2-minute conversation with Juliette that didn’t mean anything to him nor her.

His mind was elsewhere; on one person. And he wasn’t about to let go of that one urge he had just to partake in some small-talk he knew he didn’t care for without walking away from what was really tickling at him. He was glad Juliette joined Julie and Noel. He briefly went to the kitchen before heading over to his room, to collect himself before rejoining the others.

 

Chapter 5

The sink was more than just a sink. The porcelain dishes more than dishes. And the upcoming meals would be more than just delicious. To Richie, the kitchen held meaning for other reasons between himself and Penelope. And he knew she knew it too.

They were subtle hints aplenty running rampant in his nerves. He brushed her side, yes. Incidental or not, physical contact transpired. His arm was able to touch her body, her realm, in a way that indicated he wanted to touch it again, in ways that he knew he couldn’t while standing in a kitchen, guests just around the corner, waiting for a delicious meal to savor.

So, he waited.

He had the patience. It would just be a matter of figuring out how to capitalize on that patience. And then, when he had it, he would let loose his inhibitions and let whatever joyous feelings would seep through his veins take their toll and do whatever the f**k they were going to do.

He couldn’t wait. But knew he would be willing to.

“You guys want to watch ‘Say Yes to the Dress’, ‘Moulin Rouge’, ‘The Phantom of the Opera’, or ‘A Midnight in Paris’?” Noel asked everyone, getting everyone’s opinions and popular vote simultaneously.

“Moulin Rouge!” shouted Julie.

“Nah!” Juliette shouted back. “Not that crap! It’s cultural and all, but a little too sappy for my tastes.” “Well then, what’s it going to be?” Noel asked, pretending to mediate.

“Midnight in Paris?” Richie insisted, half-questioning but half seeking input at a suggestion already on the table. “Not too bad, not too lovey-dubbey. Entertaining. Cultured. With something of romantic gestures mixed in. Really can’t go wrong with it.”

They all understood his argumentative suggestions. And rolled with it. Truth was, they really didn’t care what they were going to watch�"so long as they had some time together to forget all the other crap time took away from them being together.

“I’m going to take the silence as ‘yes’,” he claimed. “All in favor?”

“Yeah,” they replied in cooing agreements.

“Midnight it is,” he said. With that, he strolled himself out of the sofa chair he was engulfed in and got up to the thing stacked on top of the Blu-ray. “Everyone get comfortable. It’s going to be a while.”

“How long is it, again?” Julie asked. “Good question,” Richie turned the movie box around and scrolled his eyes to the bottom. “…eh�"142 minutes. We’re looking at about 2-and-a-half hours.”

“Yeah, let’s get comfortable,” Noel mentioned.

“I’m cool with that,” Juliette said.

“Anyone need a blanket or something?” Mrs. Santoro mentioned. Leave it to a mother’s instincts to make sure everyone was comfortable with themselves before beginning. “A little more to eat, perhaps?”

“While I’m up, I can help get things together,” Richie offered. “You know, make it easier to handle versus all on one person.” He looked to Mrs. Santoro, knowing she was going to make sure everyone was comfortable, cared for and enjoying themselves.

“Thank you, Richie,” she replied. “That’s appreciated. What’s everyone going to have?”

“Just bring a plate or two of whatever finger-foods are in the kitchen area�"the meats, crackers, and veggie tray stuff,” Noel suggested. “I’m sure that’ll be easier than taking individual orders and keeping track of all that. And, for drinks, just bring a few things of the sparkling wines, mixed drinks and some non-alcoholic sodas. I’m thinking we’ll want to have a combination of all that, right girls?” She may not have always been in the most welcoming moods, that Noel, Richie thought. But she did know how to make things convenient for everyone. That’s one thing he always liked about her, and grew to love in her personality, for as long as they’d been building their relationship and all.

“Sounds good,” Richie replied, along with Mrs. Santoro. “We’ll be in the kitchen. It’ll just be a few moments.”

With that, Richie and Mrs. Santoro walked back into the food prep area, around the corner of the wall. As there was no door, it was just the sounds and clanks of the kitchen, the food stuff and two human bodies lingered in that contained space.

It took no more than a few moments for Richie’s blood to begin churning. Finally, he thought, an alone moment with Mrs. S.

The amygdala in his brain had to work itself double-hard. He knew he was going into uncharted territory. And he was loving every moment of it. He knew he would. She looked so breathlessly, sensually appealing and inviting, she did�"that Mrs. Santoro. But, like any guy offering to fulfill requests, he kept his intentions on the issues at-hand, at-first. In fact, he knew it would only be an “at first” ordeal.

“Noel mentioned just a few things of finger foods and drinks, right?” he said aloud, to ensure Mrs. Santoro he was paying attention. “Yes, I believe so,” she calmly replied.

“You may know them a little more than I would, Penelope,” Richie began. “Any idea what all they may prefer. I mean, I know they didn’t say what they wanted. But I’m pretty sure they have an idea of what they’re looking for…and might be expecting us to read their minds and bring it to them? Just saying.”

She looked at him, acknowledging and understanding his perspective. He had a fair point, she thought. “You don’t want to get back in there and not bring them the right stuff, am I right?” Penelope said aloud. “Yes, exactly,” his response was honest. And she knew it as he was standing only a foot or two from her and gave an intimate, yet non-discrete look on his face.

“Where are the napkins and plastic utensils?” he added, ready to make an initial move.

“Over there,” she replied. She gestured to the cabinets above them to her right. That meant he would have to walk behind her to get them; and walk back. Harmless action. Just required some movement in the kitchen. Straightforward, enough. Or so it seemed.

He began to get them, cautiously pacing himself behind her, taking subtle hints where he was going to latch himself. “These cabinets?” He gestured to the ones he thought she pointed to. Yes, she mumbled her acknowledgement. He opened them, and began searching for paper, square materials. A few wrinkling sounds moments later, and he pulled out some paper items.

He closed the cabinet door. A soft thump arose in the kitchen air. Everything seems like it’s going according to how it should be, they all probably thought. Richie took a half-breath and turned to where Penelope was getting the tray all set-up. She was partially bent over. It was a kitchen. That was to be expected. Even with some slight hesitation, he decided the moment was right enough to make a move, however grand or small in nature it was or could have been. Riche went over to where Mrs. Santoro was bending over. He lifted his arms, ever so slightly, calmly, smoothly, and reached for her “love handles” area. Placing his hands just over her blouse and skirt, he decided it was now or never to enact this ordeal he felt.

The moment he noticed she brought down the tray and was easily just standing there, he made his advance. His hands went to just above her hips. He had just enough control over the rush in his bloodstream to know what he was doing. And he noticed that she did, just barely, tense in her body movements.

“Richie?” she calmly cooed to him. She gave him a partial glance over her left shoulder, as she attempted to turn around and confront his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked with a puzzled and stunned look on her face. For the first time in a while, she did not know what to make of the situation she was in. He was standing directly behind her, holding on to her body, gently but securely.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” he quietly replied to her. “I know I want to feel you. And I get the sense you want that too, even if you’re too afraid to admit it? So, I’m standing here, holding you to see what you want. How you’ll take this.”

“Richie,” she said in a quiet, direct tone. “You know we cannot do this.”

“Why not?” he replied, simply but with a hint of curiosity. “And ‘do what’? I need you to tell me.”

“‘This’,” she replied, reaching for his hands, which were placed just above her hips. “Whatever this is and whatever it may lead to.”

“You’re telling me you don’t want to experience this new ‘thing’, whatever this new ‘thing’ is or could be?” With that, he held onto her hips a little firmer, pressing his crotch into her backside, almost in a thrusting motion. He was standing behind her, as if dry humping her from behind. Even through the fabric of their clothing, he could feel her plush, plump butt molding to his crotch, something that was definitely heightening his senses and warming his blood in a way that begged him for more. “I didn’t say that,” she replied. “I’m not saying I want it. I’m just saying we can’t do this�"this little…affair…thing. The same one you probably want to have.”

He started bouncing his hips once more, then twice for good feeling. “Are you sure about that?” He was the type of person who needed the confirmation, verbally, aloud, so his mind could have the reassurance in the moment and when thinking back on it.

Truth was, she wasn’t sure if she wanted it or not. Standing there, she had thought of all the times when, being married to a guy like Jesse Santoro, she had been left with feelings of abandonment, as if being left out in the cold and unwanted waves of emptiness overtook her as a result of his need to either work so much or some other concrete reason, the physical distance between them at home, for example. She had noticed, for example, that Jesse wasn’t exactly the guy who wanted to show affection for his wife when so many other things were priorities, at least in his mind. And, as a result of one too many of those occurrences, she had been left to ponder whether she was a wife worthy of his attention, his physical attention and all, or if she was merely the woman he went home to after he was finished dealing with all his other obligations that day and did, or didn’t, bother giving her his attention, much less acknowledging that such attention even could exist. As if it were a crime to show physical affection for your spouse as an adult, she reflected in her mind when pondering those occasions.

Now, here she was.

This younger guy standing behind her.

She had to make a decision, as his hands and fingers trickled continued caressing her sides, sending waves of unanticipated electricity through her body in ways, even she had to admit, she hadn’t really felt in a really, really long time. At least, not waves of those kind. The rational, logical-thinking part of her brain that was barely able to remind her of the kitchen she was in and the tray in front of and the fact that there were girls in the other room 15 feet away told her that, while this was certainly a newfound, “grey”, area for her to be caught up in, there current location was not the ideal place for anything like this be taking place. Against her better judgment and much of her own distrust for her thoughts, the only words that could muster out of her mouth were these: “It does feel…good, Richie,” she cooed back, unable to deny the physical feeling of the moment. She had to at least admit that. She also knew she had to make a call, a better, consciously-driven call. “Yes,” she whispered to follow up. “But this cannot happen here. The girls are in the next room, probably wondering what’s taking so long.”

He understood her thought process in a quick heartbeat, diverting his mental attention to their location and the context of their being there.

He leaned and whispered to her ear area, practically leaning into her body, placing his left arm to her left side, for balance.

“If not ‘here’, where? When?” He said those two words, those two questions, as if solidifying what they both knew would, could, happen.

“I’m not sure, Richie. I have no idea. But I have guests here, including you, and I intend to entertain them. Please. Let’s let this be.”

“For now,” he calmly replied, taking a half step back at first, then a full one, with his left and right feet.

She turned to look at him, a strange mix of desire coursing through her face. Her expression was a bit flustered. Her eyes said, did this really just happen? It did. But was it something for the moment. Or was there something else more to it than that. He was trying to read her expression as much as she was trying to convey it, whatever it was she attempted to convey. All he knew was that, in that moment, seeing her standing there, in her usual blouse and skirt that hugged her figure rather eloquently, she looked quite exquisite. Her clothing suggested he wanted to undress her right then and there. And her figure suggested every rush of excitement that was waiting to course through him was certainly awaiting its moment. However, seeing what he saw in a modesty covered fashion told Richie he was willing to wait for an even more opportune moment to see Mrs. Santoro in a better light, kitchen or not. And yes, he knew the guests waiting for the snacks would be a perfect guise for stalling.

 

Chapter 6

            “Everything okay? You all took a little while. We were kind of beginning to wonder whether the snacks were coming at all,” Noel said aloud. She was always very quick to point out the plain and obvious, whether she needed to or not. “We’re all just feeling a little hungry,” Juliette chimed in. “You know, grown girls here and all. We have appetites.” They all laughed.

            “Yeah, everything’s okay,” Richie said, contributing to the flow of the conversation without bothering to mention what really transpired, or what could have transpired, moments ago.

            “Just wanted to make sure we had all the right mixtures of snacks and treats for everyone,” said Mrs. Santoro, her tone just confirming what any mother and provider would say in that same sort of situation. Richie, while not adding to her contribution, looked at the couch, ready to take his seat (again). He knew that a blank, involved-looking stare was just about as cool as it got when it came to playing off subtle hints of mischievous things happening without people bothering to take notice or pay attention. “You know, there are a few of us here and I was asking Richie if he felt what we brought out would be fine for you all, him and me. I wasn’t quite sure what everyone preferred. That’s all.”

            It sounded convincing enough. So, they let it all go…as in accepted it as truthful. The tray itself, decked out with prosciutto, bruschetta, salami, mozzarella and crackers aplenty, looked like it took some time to sort out. It validated the time in the kitchen.

            If only they knew what might have actually been, Richie thought to himself, as his parallel vision flashed glances to Mrs. Santoro’s direction, her figure holding the tray, as she looked for a place to set the stuff down.

            “Here, Penelope,” Julie mentioned, clearly noting how much her little gesture could be of help to the woman of Ashton Grove. “Let’s clear some room so you can put that stuff down, for all of us to enjoy.”

            “Why thank you, Julie,” Mrs. Santoro mentioned. Whatever else her daughter Noel may be, Mrs. Santoro did have to admit her choice of friends was good enough. They never seemed to lack gestures, common-sense manners or an ideal sense of mannerisms, and generally have enough respectfulness in them to abide by Santoro’s wishes. That was something Penelope always appreciated in them, and grew fond of when it came to her daughter.

            “It’s no problem, Mrs. S,” Julie mentioned.

            “We’re happy to help,” Juliette chimed in, clearly not wanting to be left outside of the groupie, possibly considered as “no help” to everyone else when they consider later favors or gestures in return. All the ladies gathered, Noel included, understood that if you didn’t help at least some then you may or may not be included in those things with everyone, particularly if food was involved, which it normally was.

            “We hope you like it,” Richie commented. “Mrs. Santoro asked me if she felt you all would go for all this stuff. I simply mentioned that whatever would help feed hungry girls’ appetites and taste nice in their mouths (he chuckled a bit, clearly his own mild joke) would suffice.” They all looked at him in understanding. He may not be one of their longtime girl besties, they were saying, but he did show them empathy, which in turn reflected on Noel as her choice for a guy to bring around. They conveyed a sense of approval at him. Yeah, he’s okay and all, they were implying.

            That was more than enough for him. At least, for the moment’s here and now. After all, considering what just transpired and all in the kitchen moments before, their approval was and wasn’t the biggest concern to him in the world. It was simply that: a remark of ‘OK’, something that signaled they didn’t have a problem with him at the moment; nor was he giving them reason to not like him.

            “Well, I did ask for Richie’s input,” Mrs. Santoro clarified. “But he was kind enough to just let me decide. In spite of the time it took to prepare, we felt this would work.”

            “And you were right,” Noel mentioned, finally putting an end to the random little bit of conversation that came up about the damn snacks. In her mind, she sensed it felt a little awkward, sure. And it was definitely a little odd, she noticed, the way her mom and Richie bounced off of each other’s conversations. It was as if they were almost trying to suggest something about the time it took to prepare such a little tray of snacks and all. But, given the topic and the fact that they were all as hungry as they were, she didn’t think much of it beyond just a simple and casual conversation in which her mom asked him for his opinion.

Knowing her as she did, Noel figured his input would be welcomed. Maybe her mom was trying to find out whether or not Richie was the kind of guy who would normally consider everyone’s preferences in such a social situation. It spoke to his ability to play host or simply act as the lone male in the crowd, which he was. Deep down, that’s the sort of thing Noel was looking to find out. How would he, or any guy for that matter, consider the whole party when they were involved with a group of people? It answered how important Noel meant to him and whether or not, as well, he would respect her mother in this fashion.

Meanwhile, it was clear that the girls and he were nibbling away at whatever was on the tray. That was at least a visual answer enough that they knew what they were doing when putting together the dish.

And Richie looked at Noel as if to say, see, with the right ideas in mind and your mothers help, I can contribute to a pleasant outing. For some reason or another, Noel always came across to Richie as not fully trusting but not withholding of trust. This, from his perspective, didn’t seem that big of a deal to ensure that everyone’s wishes were at least considered.

But Richie also knew that she was the kind of girl who was hard to please, at times. And proving your devotion to her, in ways she would understand, like a party tray, was an element she did not take lightly. He knew most girls didn’t forget such ordeals. Sure. But he just picked up the fact that Noel was especially difficult to mingle around in such occasions. That’s just how she was, at times, he thought. Part of her need to maintain a grounded sense of being realistic. Maybe like her father, he thought. But that was another story altogether.

“Mm,” Julie groaned aloud. “This is really good.”

“Yeah!” Juliette followed up, with certain clarity. “Like, really good.” That was what they could only presume she said as she chewed and attempted to comment on the quality of the meats and cheeses provided. Whatever else they may be, she thought, the Santoro’s, Penelope in particular, knew how to serve their guests with fine treats. It was what she always liked about visiting them, whether at their Missouri home or their little vacation getaway; here, Ashton Grove.

“Yeah,” Julie and Noel both nodded their approvals. “Oh yeah,” Richie chimed in as well. “Most definitely: really good and really tasty. Like, not many things taste as good as stuff like this. I mean, I’ve definitely had my share of good snacks here and there before. Just these are like in a whole other world of ‘tasty’ altogether.” The ladies all nodded in agreement. Only, their nods came across more like okay, whatever agreements than we really do agree with you because you said exactly what we’re thinking as well agreements. Maybe it was a women thing. Maybe it was a guy thing. Or maybe it was the way he said it that made Richie’s discussion contributions so valid yet limited to the environment of a female-dominated lounge area, honest yet not totally on-target.

Everyone consumed by the eating and divulging of fine treats and spirits, comforts and warmth of being together, it was getting to be late afternoon, early evening time. That meant, at least in the world of Noel and Penelope Santoro, they were in the mood to watch something. A little too brisk outside to do anything outdoors while they were there, none of them were in the mood to enjoy an outdoor activity or anything similar. At least, not while they just consumed the treats they just did. I mean, seriously, who in the hell goes outside to play with polo balls and sticks after having happy hour snacks? Or even bothers to want to throw a baseball in late fall when the big game is on the TV in like 30 minutes after having had a first or second round of cold ones and some chips and kay-so? Or suggests everyone go for a quick swim when it’s barely 60 degrees out and the pool hadn’t been heated in at least six months, especially when the warm stuffed crust pizza just came out of the oven twenty minutes before? Some things were just better done at certain times. And Mrs. Santoro and Noel both understood that. With some exceptions, they both understood that.

If you wanted to have friends over on a weekend, don’t ask them to come over at 11 in the morning. Who wants to mingle just after breakfast and just before lunch time? That’s not really commonly heard of. Nor is going on a random fishing trip from Tuesday at 1:30 p.m. until Friday morning at 11:30 a.m. when it’s the second week of August. It may be a regular thing to do for some, yes. But timing the trip is key. The important element. Just like inviting friends to a lakeside house in a remote area where they would have little to no chance of being disturbed by much of the outside world. Especially on a weekend time, when most people preferred to be away from working obligations and regular, daily concerns. There were some things that were just better timed for certain occasions. And deep down, Richie knew that this was one such occasion he wanted to remember for many a reasons�"chiefly, for certain people involved. Maybe it was Noel he was thinking of. Maybe it was someone else.

And as Apollo’s chariot slowly crept down the heavens above, bringing with it the brightest star in their galaxy, they all started climbing onto the couches and cushioned seats where they could muster the spots. It wasn’t as if there wasn’t room. There was. Plenty of it, in fact.

 

Chapter 7

            Richie could have sworn he’d seen Sweet Home Alabama no less than 5 times before growing up. He had his younger sister, Delilah, and her friends to blame for that. All those eighth-grade sleepovers both planned and unplanned had been the source of some unnecessary memorization of Melanie Carmichael and Jake lines. They had also been the source of learning how to mingle and sit among the group when watching movies together. The popcorn, the drinks, the blankets and couches�"it all had to be taken into account when conducting thyself in the business of hosting people and having friends over for socializing, chick-flick movies or otherwise. In fact, when asked if he wanted to join in on the movie parties, Richie felt half uneasy about being surrounded by the female comradery and half OK. It was only a movie watching party. Never mind the fact that the audience members were all of the same, opposite gender. To him, it was about watching the movie. Admittedly, when it came to movie watching and movie-going, Richie was always the type to care more for the film on the screen and the way the story was told rather than the audience sitting in front of said-screen. To him, it was a matter of how well the story was shown through the medium and what story the director and producers were attempting to convey by presenting the motion picture to the public, no matter how popular nor “controversial” the film was deemed to be.

            And Sweet Home Alabama, in his mind at least, was just another story to interpret and pay attention to in that world of films. Now, the film that helped Reese Witherspoon along her way to becoming something of a film icon didn’t exactly have the greatest impact on Richie. He knew that. In his mind, really, it became something to watch, study the components of and decide how seriously or not to take the motion picture in the grand scheme of things. In other words, was it something to watch, enjoy for five minutes; then put back on the shelf, with little to no real artistic merit? Or was it something to actually learn from? Entertainment. For the moment. Either way, a film like that, or several others like it, in Richie’s mind, only went so far.

            However, it also taught him the patience and ability to also study the audience and their reactions. He always found it fascinating how much they did or did not actually pay attention to it…at least, maybe in a way as he did.

            This little gathering, then, was similar to all those others. Richie knew how to sit and watch the movie for the movie. Having Julie, Juliette and Noel sitting nearby would be nothing new; no big deal in his mind where watching should have been as comfortable as serving some food and eating a meal or walking around a Target store, regardless of the section they were in.

            For this particular showing, though, Richie was taking note of where Mrs. Santoro was sitting. He noticed where everyone was, of course. He was, after all, the kind of person to notice a lot of things, including the details of the room and specific locations of where things were. Between the three younger ladies and the older, mature one, his mind gravitated toward a certain individual more than the others. And in this context, he noticed how Julie and Juliette were bundled together on one comfy, 1990s looking cotton couch nestled adequately in the lush green pillows, a blanket and pillow soothed between them. They looked more than comfortable where they were, snacks and drinks on the nearby wooden nightstand tables to either side of “Betsy”, as he was told the Santoro’s called their vintage green furniture. It was also located right in the area to the center right of the large HDTV screen. Perfect for them being unable to directly notice anything else happening�"at least, not obviously. “You ladies okay?” Mrs. Santoro asked aloud. She wasn’t completely sure whether they were settled enough, grub and all or otherwise. They nodded back, “oh yes. Just fine.” Her compassionate nature and concern for others never ceased to amaze the girls.

            Noel and Mrs. Santoro were seated a little to their left, near the center back of the lounge living room. Their couch, a more upscale looking dark brown leather one complete with three cushion seats and the two side pillows to match the leather colored scheme, was clearly manufactured from the recent era of living and lifestyle. Has to be from like the last year or two, Richie would have thought. Has to. “When did you and Jesse get that, Mrs. S?” Juliette asked. It was new to her as well, apparently. Oh good, it’s not just my thoughts either, Jesse thought to follow up. “It looks new. Is it from around here?” Fair and valid, they all must have thought. It didn’t look like something you’d normally find in an Ashley’s Furniture or Rooms-To-Go show floor somewhere, no matter where the chain location was. “We found it through a business acquaintance of Jesse’s, actually,” Penelope began. She was like 99 percent of the time accustomed to being honest with just about everyone who asked her such questions. That was kind of her reputation; her thing. And she did her best to honestly remain that way. “The guy who set it up for us recently had an appointment or two with Jesse and, through a mutual business meeting and consultation, from what I understand, was willing to give us a really good deal on it.”

            “Apparently, the design and idea for its manufacture and materials originated from somewhere around Turkey. The exact specifications were not disclosed to us. Not because the seller or other guy were mischievous or anything. We trusted him. It’s just that that is how the fellow chose to do business with us. It all went smoothly, mind you. We were happy with the furniture, itself, and the way the deal went about was also extremely beneficial and appealing.”

            “I mean, he may not be able to be here right now,” she continued. “But I have always known Jesse to be very good and refined in the art of negotiating. Of course, it helps that he does that sort of thing professionally through his work and all. But, really, he knows good deals when he sees them and this lovely thing just happened to fit in the mix of them.”

            Nice speech, Richie thought. Too bad he’s not actually here, though, to enjoy it with you.

            It seemed odd that as familiar with her husband and all as she appeared to be, at least in front of an audience, that Penelope didn’t seem to always want to do things with him, her husband. Now, Richie was not so intrusive as to be snobby and ask (the obvious) “why (the hell) not?” aloud. But he could tell they were all probably thinking it in one way or another, including his Noel. It was written on their expressions. He just sensed that.

            Just like he sensed the fact that the sun was well below the horizon outside and the night sky was setting upon the outside grounds, causing most of the light in the room to have all but faded away. The setting for the S.H.A. could not have been better. Of course, Richie also had other intentions in his mind for the evening. They would have to wait at the moment. It would just be a matter of timing before he could act. And, frankly, he was in the mood to at least enjoy a little bit of Reese Witherspoon trolling around New York with Patrick Dempsey, acting as if they were a happy couple, about to be engaged to be married.

            For now, though, he was paying attention to the entire physical scene in front of him and the scene that was unfolding on the screen in front of everyone.

-------------------------------        

“I saw him first.” One man said aloud.

            “I think he’s already taken.” The lady mentioned in reply, as they both saw Josh Lucas’ character, Jake, walk down the stairs of the cabin where the scene was going on.

            “Melanie.”

            “Hi Jake.”

            They both regarded each other with a slight sense of acknowledgement, knowing their mutual and romantic history bound them together yet was conflicted with Melanie’s choices for her current situation. She was, in the film, engaged to a man from New York. Jake, her ex-husband, was merely strolling around in the hometown the wedding was set to take place in.

--------------------------------       

“We have a problem here, Ms. Carmichael.” The marriage attorney scrambled onto the wedding scene just as Melanie and Andrew were about to take their vows and fulfill the highly-publicized wedding event half of New York’s socially elite were anticipating.

            “A problem?” Andrew asked, clearly confused at what was taking place. “Okay. What is it?”

            “Yes, what is it?” Melanie asked, clearly not sure what was happening.

            “You see, legally, you cannot marry this man, even if you wanted to.” The lawyer continued. “What? Why not? I thought Andrew had signed the divorce papers.”

            The lawyer looked around semi-nervously. Even he wasn’t sure he should continue. But he knew he had to; it was his professional obligation to do so. “Well, Ms. Carmichael, he did in fact sign them. You, however, did not. You have not.” He then showed her the papers bound in the legal packet. There was no question: her signature was not obtained, thereby not authorizing and clearing her divorce proceedings from Jake.

            “(Sighs) For God’s sakes, Melanie, I thought you took care of this already.” Andrew declared, clearly a little frustrated and impatient at his fiancé.

            “Okay. So can you go ahead and sign them, please? Before we all get soaked?!” Andrew’s mother attempted to intervene.

            Melanie took a moment or two to look around at the crowd gathered around. Whether she wanted it to be that way or not, clearly her personal life and marital business matters were going to transpire before everyone. “Um. Um.” She took a deep breath and looked at Andrew.

            “Andrew, I’m sorry. You don’t want to marry me.” Melanie began with him.

            “I�"I don’t?”

            “No. The truth really is: I gave my heart away a long time ago. And I never really got it back.”

            “You deserve somebody better than me for you. Someone who’s going to love you for you. Not somebody who is always going to question who they are and where they come from. Trust me, it’s better that I let you go.”

            “Wow. I�"I don’t what to say.”

            “Eh. Excuse me. But are you just going to let her talk to you that way?” Andrew’s mother intervened.

            Andrew, as calm as could possibly be in the moment, looked at Melanie and saw that what she said was true. “Yeah. You know something? I think I am.”

            He kissed her on her cheek. “Take care of yourself, Melanie.” And with that, he turned and left.

------------------------------------

            As the movie continued playing on, all the ladies in Ashton Grove were letting the tears flow. Richie had seen this sort of thing before and knew it was perfect time to get a moment out of it. Very carefully, he noticed the positioning of Julie, Juliette and Noel. All three ladies were happily cozied away in their seats on the couches. Even Mrs. Santoro was seated a bit upright on the same couch where Noel was wedged into. There blankets of solid, dark colors all made their bodies feel as cozy as it could get for the warm and its cozy vibe. He wasn’t entirely concerned with their levels of comfort. No. He was concerned with where their focus was and wondered how long it would remain there. It was just something that he had to concern himself with given his intentions. He whispered to Noel as he passed her side of the couch where she and her mother were laying down, “I’m going to use the restroom. You want anything while I’m up?” She motioned her head a little to meet his eyes. “No, no. I’m fine. Thanks though.” “-You remember where it is?”

            “Sure.” “-Yeah, it’s just down the hall from when I went earlier. I’ll be back in a few.”

            And with that, he left the room for just a moment or two, giving the presumptive illusion that he was down the hall somewhere, searching for the nearest toilet or whatever. Then, he just stood there. He gathered his breath and calmed his nerves. He had a firm sense of what was about to transpire; or, at least, he felt he did. A strong sense of energetic rush swept through his veins, knowing that what he was hoping to do could possibly have grave implications and all down the road. However, being that he wanted to live more of his life without certain regrets, leaving all the “what if’s” in the dust of the road, he calmed himself and just thought, okay, even if this becomes weird and awkward right now, I’ll live with it and move on with life when I come to that bridge. He took a step or two into the hallway before slowly, ever so lightly, tiptoeing back into the main living area, making especially sure that none of the women would look over at him to see what the hell he was up to.

            Coast looks clear.

            He rolled his feet across the floor over to where Noel and Penelope’s couch was. Not that his actions looked suspicious at this point, but the way he was carrying himself did have a certain demeanor to them that just said, I’m kind of up to no good. It just doesn’t seem that way. Foot by foot by particular foot, he trotted himself over to the side where Mrs. Santoro was sitting. Again, he didn’t feel anyone would look his way in suspicion. He was, after all, coming back from the restroom. And Noel could vouch for him if they asked what he was doing, squatting and crouching as he was. Okay, the film was definitely taking over the mood in the room. The dimly light was engulfed in the dark shades of night where the light from the screen couldn’t overshadow and penetrate itself. This could be now or never, Richie thought. With that, he decided to go for it.

            Richie crept up to the couch area. He squatted just behind the part of the couch where Penelope was sitting, comfortably tucked away in her blanket, which also covered from around her waist area below. Her navy blue blouse, partly trimmed in a wide-parabola, upside down horseshoe shape, was uncovered enough to where her chest was evident, her shoulders were accessible and her arms were clearly not in the way of anything, except covering her blanket. Peering over the top of the couch just enough to where he could tell she wasn’t going to be thrown off-guard, Richie made one “final” last glance over to help ensure his own mind, and nerves really, that none of the ladies were paying much attention to him. He was especially careful around the couch itself. Knowing Noel was laying just a foot or two away on the other side of the couch, if Penelope moved too much and caused the couch’s leather to shift with that “crumbling” noise, then Noel would certainly hear it, and them. As might the other girls. Sure, he was pulsing. But he was an extremely mindful and attentive sort of guy. He knew not to create too much of a scene.

            Glancing back to Penelope with his eyes alone, he was able to glance into the more skin-exposed areas of her blouse. Although not too much was even showing, as Penelope was always sure to wear modest and respectable attire even in the most casual of around-the-house drab, he could tell where the outlines of her arms, sternum, collar bones and breasts were draped, even in the darkness. He slowly slid his hands over her shoulders, just enough to where they wouldn’t be noticed too easily by immediate eyes glancing their way. When he “landed” them just over the tops of her breasts, he took his hands in a lightly massaging motion and began to caress her blouse, using his fingertips. Mostly. “What�"?” Penelope stirred just a bit, completely thrown off guard by the gesture, stirring her head to the back right side of her, jerking her shoulders just a bit to see who and what was taking hold of her. “Shhhh,” Richie cooed to her. “Shhh. They’ll hear us,” he whispered into her ear area. It didn’t take but a moment for his right hand to simultaneously brush her hair back across her neck just a bit, so she could hear him better. “I want this to happen,” he whispered to her, only loud enough to where her ear could comprehend. “And I think you do too.” His fingers continued their caressing motions over the top of her blouse, over the fabric covering her breasts, just to the tops of them, then up again. His fingers occasionally went inside her fabric, enabling them to become more hidden in the dimly light room and allowing for more direct feeling of her soft, more mature skin that wedged down into the valley of her cleavage.

            “I�"“. She began, “This isn’t even alright, considering everyone is right here Richie.” Her whispered reply to him was barely louder than a whisper. As exotic as it may have felt, admittedly, Mrs. Santoro was not going to risk being caught in such an unusual situation, predicament, in these circumstances. Much less, not with such a personal audience sitting only a few feet nearby, eyes only a glance away from ruining everything her life and known world meant to her. “Please stop. Please,” she almost had to plead to him in order for him to stop caressing her chest and blouse to prevent total embarrassment from escalating to a point where neither could afford to come back from.

Noting how everyone’s attention was just on the screen enough to where they weren’t deliberately focusing on the small action unfolding at her corner end of the couch, Richie had to give her remark a thought. “Are you sure about that?” He continued for a moment longer. But only a moment. He didn’t give her the ample opportunity to reply. He knew he couldn’t. Not here, anyway. “You’re right,” he continued. “But I know you know this felt really good. I’ll let you be then.” He looked at her eyes as she looked to him to receive the look she needed to see: the assurance that this moment, their little escalade event in the midst of Reese and Josh and half of New York entertaining the rest of the ladies in the room, had occurred stirred them both. Whether either of them admittedly wanted it to continue or not, those words could not manage themselves while Richie squatted behind the sofa and Penelope sat comfy and cozy under the warmth of folded blankets.

Richie managed to prop himself away from the couch and silently found himself in the hallway leading to the restroom soon thereafter. The next moments, the ones where his mind had to refocus and bring him back to the realm where his physical body resided, were pivotal, he knew. “Only,” he whispered to himself, “I don’t want to let her be. That can’t and won’t happen.”

 

Chapter 8

            It was barely 11 p.m. when the girls and Mrs. Santoro, Richie and every breathing person in the room had finished their treats from the movie. They also stayed up to watch a random episode of Say Yes to the Dress. The TLC favorite was one they could not ignore, especially considering how much girl time they were having and enjoying while Ashton Grove permitted them to do so. Hell, they could have been laying around one of their own couches and been relaxing in the midst one of their own homes for all they could care. In the moment of the evening that was their “happy time”, all they knew was that they were worn out from the snacks, the chit-chat they so thoroughly needed, and the swimming they tried to do out by the shallow ends of the little pond and riverbed area nearby. Plus, the built-in deck jacuzzi was enough say to anyone whom was invited and was able and wanting to spend some time at the Grove to go, “f**k it”, and enjoy some time away from the everyday usual.

            11 p.m. was also the ideal time for other things. Better things. More fun things to do. Especially in Richie’s world where creating situational situations was best planned and spontaneously provoked. Emphasis, though, on “spontaneous” versus planned.

Julie and Juliette were sharing one room. That had been arranged almost without question. They’d known each other for such a while of time that, when it came to events and occasions where sleeping over and pairing up were involved involving at least those two of Noel’s friends, their pairing was at the point of non-negotiated. And it was because of that deliberation that Richie could count on Noel pairing up with her mother, Penelope and Mrs. Santoro. Nothing to do with the fact that they were related by blood. Heavens, no. Theirs was more a convenience and practical ordeal. Mrs. Santoro had, after all, known since her Noel was a young little baby that Noel was the recipient of some rather unusual, yet significant, health-related concerns that made her nights and the sleep that went with them, at times, “cautionary”. It was no secret that Noel was a tough girl in her own right. However, when it came to the medical issues she carried with her and the resulting caution she lived out as a result, Penelope understood that it was always better to have someone, perhaps herself or someone very close to either of them, nearby…should anything odd or unusual happen to her. Richie, for his part, had begun to become accustomed to some of these episodes, respecting and understanding that they were part of who Noel was.

Her medications for nerve pain and breathing, for examples, were areas where Noel was highly aware of symptomatic possibilities her pains could be triggered. They were rather, mind you. However, they were much significant to keep in mind, regardless of the occasion, place or timing of any such gatherings. Tonight, even as almost none of them knew about it unfolding, was such a night where things were not going to end up as one would hope. At least, not for one of them…in particular.

Richie was more than aware of who was sleeping where. He was either nearby or in the same room when those arrangements were…arranged. It did not bother him that he was the only male on this trip. Knowing the Santoro’s as he’d come to know them, he wasn’t surprised that many guys were a part of their lives, friends or otherwise. In fact, he was a little more surprised that he was even invited as part of the group. He was almost positive that this was a getaway for the ladies only. And, from at least his not-totally-mature opinion, he had some semblance that “girls weekend” meant just that: time for the women to be on their own for…whatever it was ladies went to spend their time together doing. Or maybe that was just part of “their” world he’d never chosen to fully understand, let alone pretend to.

But, being more than aware of their current accommodating predicaments they had arranged, Richie knew there may be no better timing than soon, very soon, to take another step towards whatever gut desires he knew existed; but he was more than smart about manifesting.

Figuring to take a quick walk up to put some cold h-two-o in his vessel before laying away to his fantasy land of make-believe that had become something of a personal, daily and completely zero-charge vacation escape, Richie was very cautious about where to take his steps and walking paths. The hallways, covered in pale brown, almost faded white colors that gave the appearance they’d been born in a French 1800s hillside country castle and whose designs resembled that of coffee mugs and glamourous plates presentable to the King of Spain and King Louis XVI, were an intricate mix of one or two twists and turns. But nothing more than knowing which direction led to which room. They’d all set their things down earlier in the broad daylight of the evening. Thus, they all knew, or at least had a firm idea, of who was staying where and the layouts of the rooms themselves. It was on such a walk through the French styled, Renaissance-era appearance of the walls that Richie went to the bathroom nearby. It took him only a matter of moments to take care of his business. A simple in-and-out thing. Such was the way that part of his routine went. Or at least, how he wanted it to go.

Everyone outside the room looked and appeared as if they’d gone to sleep. The dark halls of the corridors were dark. Only a few lights managed to be on�"simple house lights to keep on in case something random happened, causing them all to need to venture out into the open living room or outside for whatever reason, or reasons, or someone needed a light on for similar ordeals. It was a safety and precaution thing, if nothing else. Again, leave it to a guarding mother in Mrs. Santoro and the practicality of her almost non-existent husband to suggest and act upon those matters which realistically ensured some sense of remaining realistic. Lights. Simple. Useful. And helpful, especially for what Richie was hoping would happen.

He wondered around the halls a bit more, seeing if others had or had not gone to sleep. Such was the way of his hope and intention: he needed more assurance and security, knowing the chances for disturbances would be at a minimum. There was no guarantee that his wanting to relive and experience earlier circumstances would occur; only possibility. And for the possibilities that could occur, he was more than willing and hoping to have the situational predicament fall into place with as much ease as could be allowed.

His wondering led to the corner room: the study. It was where he’d been told in previous conversations that guests, Penelope or Jesse in particular, would venture when they needed to have a little time for their own, individual use. It wasn’t so much a time for them to be by themselves. They weren’t particularly known for that: The Mister and Misses. They were known, sadly but possibly truthfully, for appearing in public when they had to. As if their being seen in public together, whether through an outing at one of their favorite places or attending some Mass together with some of the family or having their family and the relatives over, wanting to capitalize an altogether outing as possible, was a crime against married life. Either way, they both had their separate tendencies. Being on outings, like this one, wasn’t unusual, nor was it something that either found odd. A psychological conditioning aspect their unspoken need to do things individually more than together, as a couple…whatever that actually meant to them. To each their own, though, right?

When he’d found himself at the entrance doorway to the study, Richie noticed the door was about three-fourths open, a dim nightlight sitting atop the nightstand-sized drawer next to the cushioned chair that was the lone place to sit in the small sanctuary. Books filled some of the shelves. Some historic art paintings collections, biographies and other, various yet known titles from the literary world filled others. Small furnishings and architectural decorations established the other décor for guests to soak up. All of it for aesthetic pleasure: for guests to presume that within the framework of either Mrs. Santoro, or Mr. S, there lay a culturally-aware and responsive individual who valued ideas and perspectives and whatever impressions and perspectives could be offered from the scenery the little realm within the realm offered. It wasn’t always hard, mind you, to “guess” which adult those presumptions went towards. Maybe an odd hypothesis led to one person than the other; but there was no real judgment or need to question which person was more the likely to have contributed to the room looking as it did.

And upon noticing the inhabitant dwelling inside the little cultural abode that resembled something out of a Roman or Greek terrace, Richie noticed Penelope sitting in the chair, one of her books in her lap, a blanket covering her from the waist down. Why not, he thought, as he approached to chair and entered. This time, he knew a little better than to startle her, particularly if he didn’t want the others to be stirred by her sudden, potentially-shocked reaction to him. He crawled his feet along the plush-styled carpet, making sure to curve his feet along the pathway to where she was caressing the chair. She was in her zone: the pages were opened to what appeared to be an illuminated filled space of paintings and lavish colors. They were exactly the sort of folded pictorial and centerfold he was hoping for when it came to photos and images new and recurring to their reader, captivating them into a world where the actual one they inhabited faded into the background. The dimly light lamp gave only enough shine to make out exactly what he wanted: Mrs. Santoro, alone. Although he sensed she was not awaiting anyone else for the time being, he knew that having her in this rare situation was a blessing in disguise. And he knew ‘rare’ meant rare.

His feet kept crawling along the cushioning below his toes and ankles to allow him to get closer to his prize: the wondrous woman sitting in her comfort. He could see from an initial standpoint that she was, in fact, wearing a lighter nightgown of some sort. It’s lightly beige color flowed over her body. Her robe, a completely navy blue with rose red trim, covering and caressed her physique in ways he had envisioned, and seen in different occasions prior to their collective visit to Ashton Grove. He took another step or two before deciding to make his move what it could be. This is it, he told himself. Time to act, quit thinking about making such a bold decision, and see what would happen. It was now or never. He approached her chair, noticing her blonde locks as they flowed over her shoulders into the folds of her fleece-bedded fabric. He sensed her breathing. Her body as it heaved up and down, inhaling and exhaling from the flow of her lungs to the manifested confines of her chest. Her robe, partially open at the top as it was “just her” in the room, gave way to enough site at her open chest and the cleavage that flowed just below. Slowly, he raised his arms to form a ninety degree-shaped angle of a figure next to his torso. His arms then carefully traced the areas around her head. He leaned just a bit to his left, letting his tippy toes balance his body just enough to allow his curious to lead him to where he wanted to see more. As if he had to.  His gleaned glance was just enough to where his mind began swirling. His eyes locked at the sight in front of him: her robe was opened just enough to allow his breathe to become heavier with each signing pass. It was as if the adrenaline rush that was circulating and growing in his veins was met only by the insane need for him to want…more. He slowly balanced himself back on to both feet, allowing his body to come to a state of supreme rest.

He was ready.

He allowed his hands to reach for her hair, knowing they, they, were in control. Not him. He’d made the conscious decision to leave the Richie he knew behind in the other room. That Richie was not here. This was another person. And this person knew to put his arms and hands by Penelope’s locks. He reached for them, only enough to grab her attention. “What�"”? she asked aloud, suddenly shocked by the sudden position and situation she found herself in. “Shh,” Richie replied softly, a soft coo escaping from his kips. He felt in complete control. Just the way he liked it. “I saw the way you looked at me earlier. And how you felt. This is me being here, knowing you wanted more. I sensed it.”

“And I think you did too. You just didn’t say much about it, if anything at all.” As he spoke to her, Richie continued folding her hair into a more accessible position, not only for her comfort and less awkwardness, but for his ease of access. It wasn’t until that moment that he felt he had her in a way he wanted. In the way he wanted. He started moving his hands down to the insides of her robes, allowing himself full-fledged access and privilege into her sacred space. Or, at least for the here and now, one of them. His hands continued roaming, combining massage-like strokes against her skin and allowing his own curiosities to venture where they would. In fact, they were going sky-rocket insane right now. He had to unleash whatever all were the desires that let him live, f*****g live in that moment. The roaming continued into the inside straps of her nightgown. It was as if she wanted it as much as sensed; but wouldn’t allow her inhibitions to get away from her. She was too modest and “cultured” for “that”…whatever the f**k that actually meant. “Richie, please,” she elicited in some meager fashion of a response. It was more of a muster that erupted the response than anything else. She knew that now. And wasn’t going to be able to fight it any longer, no matter how much she tried. “Whatever you or I may or may not be feeling, we can’t do this. It’s not right.” Half-rolling his eyes after she raised her head slightly to meet his intense gaze, all he could fathom, the only logical thinking that erupted from mouth of thoughts, was a half-amused response, one that implied “bullshit” in every sense of the word. Sighing, he stated: “Right? Hah, right. Who in the hell knows what the hell is right or not right in today’s world, Penelope,” he conserved in what was easily the beginning of the most randomly awkward yet captivating discussion he felt he had, or may ever have, in a long as hell time. “I mean, seriously,” he continued, reaching his hands to dipping and caving area of her chest, where her two mature mounds of mammary heavenly goodness lay in eager anticipation for a touch…. Or two, or three, or as many as might happen. Who knew? “What does that even imply, sometimes, ‘right, not right’? Are we all to live without living?” He continued caressing her chest, her slight moans and whimpers suggesting she hadn’t been touched, much less fondled, in this way in God knows how long of time. Even she had to admit to herself, his hands did feel warm and inviting on her grown and mature chest. “If we all did what was ‘right’ and never anything else, what risks would be taken without further knowledge that there was no excitement? Should things always be ‘proper’ and ‘appropriate’? Do people really not allow themselves to live beyond the normalcy of their complacent lives? Or are we all to attend Masses every week, every day, pray to a God who may or may not actually exist, continue living as if nothing unusual ever happened?”

He lowered himself further to her, allowing his reach to be less straining on his arms and hands, allowing his grip and caressing touch to flow as it might. Her chest, her mature and full breasts felt too good in his hands to let go. Not even just for now. And boy, did they ever feel so good. “Seriously,” he continued, only enough to really grab her attention by lowering his voice, “is there no passion for the finer things in life? Is there no passion for all those things that are meant to be enjoyed and experienced? Where did all the passion go? Or are we all too bogged down by the endless constrains of f*****g everyday working life to completely dismiss passion? And I’m talking about real, raw passion. Think about it…” He stood up, only enough to swing himself around the chair and face her, kneeling in front, gazing into her eyes and face. They yearned for a response. She had unconsciously moved her legs from their cross-legged position into the slightly more inviting one, together and parallel, but closely aligned to where no part of her could easily be seen or noticed too soon.

“Richie, you cannot know what you are talking about,” she replied.

“Due respect, Penelope, how would you know?” Richie asked that question as if the flood gates to his heavenly realm had just opened up and he began feeling the true version, or a truer and unfiltered version of himself, erupt from within him. It was the part of him that some close friends of his from a life yonder past would have noted and been proud of. And, secretly, he believed he knew it. Damn, he was feeling good as these moments were tricking together. No, he wasn’t feeling just good. He was f*****g loving it. And he direct look at her gave him the sense that he called her out on her “all-knowing” and “wise” self. He knew she wouldn’t.

“I�"I�"I just do. Alright?”

A chuckled reply was just what he believed was timed right. “You didn’t exactly answer my question now, did you?”

“Richie. Let me explain some things to you�"”

“Are you sure you want to…or can?” With that, he moved his hands and arms, slowly but accurately, to the double-knotted fleece belt tucked neatly by her waistline area.

His fingers started fidgeting with the knot. The fleece, dark navy blue made seeing the actual folds of the knot a little more difficult, even with the help of the night lamp just a ways away from where she sat. “You see, the way I see it,” he began as he continued his smooth twisting and folding of the knot his eyes were locked upon. “The way I’ve perceived it for some time goes something like this: your perceptions are based upon your experiences and what you’ve made of the world and the way you’ve known things to be. And the way you’ve come to understand your life is how things are. There is no other way because your way is the only way you’ve ever really known things.” She would have silenced him in his motions, but his speech stirred at something inside of her that was making her think, okay, I may not like this, but at least he’s giving me a dead honest perspective. She knew Richie wasn’t the type to lie out of need or call someone’s bluff “just because”. She always knew him to be truthful and direct in his remarks. Or, at least, that’s the way he chose to be perceived by others. Maybe there was, in fact, some other type of personality or demeanor to him that he saved for or only brought out in certain occasions or whatever. Either way, whatever it was, she couldn’t help but feel at attention to whatever he was saying, whatever it actually was.

“Maybe you feel like your life and all that you know about it is a result of every choice and decision you and your hubby have made, whether those choices have been made out of sheer, mutual desire or not. Maybe circumstances led you into your life. I don’t entirely know. I haven’t known you for your entire life. But what I do know is this: you are here. Your husband, Jesse, is not. Due respect, you’re out here trying to have some type of ‘escape’ and relax time, if those things are even possible. So, I feel like I have to ask, why isn’t he here? I mean, no offense or anything, but it’s not as if the work he’s having to obligate himself to is so important that he has to miss the chance to be out here enjoying some time with his wife and daughter and her friends.”

With that, he was able to unfold the knot holding Penelope’s robe together just enough to where he could now pull it apart, which he began doing after he raised his eyes to hers, hoping to ensure that he had her “permission” to proceed in this simple, little act of inviting temptation that could lead to who-knew-where. Her eyes seemed transfixed on his words, her mouth slightly open, as if saying: ‘I can’t believe you’re calling me out on my married life and all, even when you’re preoccupied with my evening attire.’ Yet, she couldn’t overcome her nerves and rationale enough to allow herself to shield his approach. Okay, she had to admit to herself, this was a bit provocative and out of the ordinary, even for her, yet it was stirring some unknown intrigue in her that, unconsciously she believed, probably existed without her ever wanting to confront it�"the strange feelings of it all. “I mean,” Richie continued as if knowing she wanted him to, taking the sides of her robe belt and softly placing them on the sides of her waist and hips, letting the moment sink in bit-by-bit. “I’m not saying his not being here means anything, or does. I’m just saying that might, in fact, send signals of sorts. And I wouldn’t be one to ignore them…if I were you. But that’s just me, of course.”

After placing her robe belt to the sides and sensing no objections, Richie’s arms lifted themselves up to the opening at the top of Penelope’s attire, robe and nightgown. “But you are here, without him, and so are all of us. And you are exquisite. And you deserve to have attention paid to you…” he cooed the final words there in an effort to establish his intentions a bit more directly. His arms, in a quick but controlled motion, took her robe and pushed it back, off her shoulders just enough to where they he could have access to the layer underneath. His hands, in the next simultaneous motion of sorts, went to her night gown. The silk-meshed material covered her frame just enough to where he could make out the details of Mrs. Santoro’s bust. He didn’t want to rush pushing aside any of the material just yet. He wanted to savor the moment he was in, and give her the chance to realize what was happening before anything else unfolded.

“Richie, this isn’t what should be happening, and you and I both know it�"“, she chimed in. Her senses were on the verge of giving way before her mind brought her to the fact that she was sitting there and this young guy was in front of her, his hands just caressing her body where her full and mature breasts were covered by her night gown. Hot as the moment might have felt in the odd way it was unfolding, she had enough to her to come to her senses about it before things really got out of hand.

“And why not?�"what’s wrong?�"“, he calmly spurted out.

“I’m not the type of person to do…this.”

“What are we doing?” He had the incredible sense to know damn well what was about to happen, or could. But he needed the verbal affirmation. No, he craved it.

Sighing, she knew she had to admit what she felt she probably did want but wouldn’t allow herself to act upon, “for morally conscious reasons.”

“You and I are sitting here, in this little study,” she continued. “And you’re basically fondling my breasts over my night gown.” His hands and fingers were over the area of her nightgown where, indeed, her breasts were covered. He could tell, based upon her odd breathing, squirming motions and overall sense of hesitated, indifferent and mixed passion, that she wanted and didn’t want this to happen.

“Eh, that’s what I’m doing, Mrs. Santoro,” he calmly replied, but in that matter of fact way.

Sighing again, she continued as she ran her hands through her hair, then covered her eyes before taking them to meet his hands, as if telling him to stop, “I know that’s what you’re doing, Richie. But I have no idea if I want something like this to happen. I don’t because every part of my moral self says I would never do this in a million years. It’s not how I am.”

“And the human part of yourself, the one that seems to be aching for the lost sense of passion, what does that say?�"“

She couldn’t be sure what to say. She was lost in the moment. And she knew it. Her eyes became half flustered. She wasn’t able to focus with her clear senses as she normally might in any other sort of circumstance. But this, of course, was anything but a normal circumstance for her. And both she and Richie knew it. In spite of her internal battle with herself for what she felt would take place, she was trying to resist any urge to let this young chap continue his wiggling ways with her attire, let inhibitions go out the door and let natural courses take their course. The last conscious thought she had, or could muster, before she felt his hands trickle down to the waist area of her night gown and begin to collect the loose fabric into his fingers, revealing inch-by-inch more of her legs and shape to him, was whether to continue to resist the urge fighting in her gut at her own spirit. It was an intense battle of sorts, difficult to describe to anyone not familiar with the current situation she found herself in, literally. What am I to do? Her gut reactions told her she would have to make a decision about this, like…now.

“It says,” she cooed in her reply, “that I haven’t felt something like this in, well, a while. As in a really, really long time. Let me see your eyes…” she continued to tell him. “Here.” She took his hands in hers, forcing a mutual pause to whatever was going on in that little space.

“Look at me, Richie.”

He brought his eyes to hers.

Without hesitation or reservation, she resumed: “I haven’t felt or done something like this in who-even-knows-how-long. It’s not really like me nor my personality. I don’t feel totally secure and comfortable with whatever this is and nor should you. I think we both know that. But it does bring some unexpected waves of excitement I can’t ignore. And I’m not sure I want to ignore the excitement and all, no matter how much I try. I am human after all, you know. And I wish to at least live a little before I become too old to enjoy whatever-this-is-called nowadays, anyways.” Her look into his eyes told him she was confidently sure of what she said and knew what she was getting herself into. At least, to some degree she felt she did.

“Okay,” Richie replied. “So you’re saying you don’t entirely approve of this but are willing to find out if it does anything for you, as in if it means anything or not, maybe because of where you are in your life and how things are and how they should be or should not be. A little moral bind, I suppose. Am I correct?”

She gave him a slight but certain nod. He understood where she was coming from and what she was communicating to him. “That’s exactly correct. I don’t exactly mean to break your heart or anything, if that’s how you’re interpreting this. I’m just thinking ahead to the outcomes of whatever fallout may arise from all this… I hope you can understand all that.”

“I do, I suppose,” he proclaimed. “In a way, yes. But it still means we are here, in this moment and all…”

“Richie…please,” she moaned softly.

“Want me to stop?” he asked softly. He needed her reassurance, among other things. Hell, they both did. And the both knew it.

“I�"I�"” she didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. Or even what she could say. This was new territory for her. Definitely.

“Shh�"” he cooed back. She glanced down from his eyes and his look to the feelings shooting through her skin, the tingling sensations crawling through her body at this ordeal she was finding herself in. She couldn’t think of much else, especially with his hands creeping slowly up towards her abdominals and ribs, her panties below exposed to the air that showed how grown up of a woman she was in all her maturity. This was beginning to go to a place where she dared not allow herself, in a rationally thinking state of mind. But she was anywhere but a rationale state of mind right now. Ahh, her moan slightly escaped her mouth, her hair falling a bit more out of place as Richie continued exploring her body with his gentle touch. Even he couldn’t believe this was happening; transpiring, even though it was unfolding by the moment. Her breathing intensified some. Not like a night among her grandkids or a celebration of some special occasion where life takes hold and you lose all focus of everything else you had previously been through because all those other moments mean “this much” compared to the moment in front of you.

Then, her eyes closed halfway, as if saying she deep down, desperately, needed this moment, no matter how much she would not admit it aloud.

She let the moment consume her. And with that, she felt a pair of warm hands crawl their way up a few more millimeters to where her breasts were hanging under her garment. She felt her protruding glands of mounted flesh take in the feeling of warmth at being cradled by a pair of hands other than her husband’s from…way back when. She couldn’t remember when they last felt her pair. Like, really felt them.

But that was not what was on her mind as this exact moment. All her senses were reminding her, and the electricity feeling coursing through her veins, that her mature breasts were being fondled by this guy she had known for a little while of long-term time. And it felt like a simultaneous awakening of sorts: rejuvenation, warm kneading and grasping, a warm of soft invitation that allowed her human self to experience that, perhaps, few people ever get to encounter. Maybe, just maybe, in their whole lives.

Ahh. Ooh. Her breathing reached a level she wasn’t accustomed to in her world. And she knew it. She knew she hadn’t felt this sort of…whatever this feeling was…in however much f*****g time it had been.

“So soft, full and warm,” Richie cooed in her face, by her cheek leading to her right ear, continuing to feel and take in her warm flesh in his hands as he never had; certainly not like this. “As soft and warm as I might have imagined them…”

“What�"?” she echoed in reply. “What are you saying? You’ve thought about this before?” she replied to his exclamation, as if bewildered he would even bother to have fantasies about her, let alone act upon them. Her expression was as surprised as it felt dumbfounded.

“You could never tell?”

“I mean�"”

“That’s alright, Penelope. There’s no need to seem surprised. Yes, I’ve given this some thought. Not here and now, of course. But feeling your chest, yes. Certainly. You’re that attractive. I mean, not a whole lot of thought, mind you. But it’s crossed my mind here and there. I’ll admit that to you now.”

“Well, Richie�"” she could barely muster out, even as his kneading felt so soft and good on her flesh. Her glands were beginning to become engorged in ways she didn’t think was possible anymore. And her n*****s were certainly feeling a bit tight, even more than other situations, she supposed. “I mean, this is shocking to hear. Let alone to witness firsthand… No. I never imagined something like this would even be something you’d consider. Least of all with me.” “You’re upset?” he asked. “Hard to be upset, I suppose. Bewildered, more like it.”

“But,” she continued, “Richie. Yes, I’ll admit: what you’re doing does feel good. At least a little bit.”

“Here,” he replied. “Help me.” He lowered his hands down from her chest for a moment or two, unable to continue. He wanted to allow her some of the satisfaction he was giving her. He wanted her to experience something like it for herself in her own way. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“You’ll see. Give me your hands.” He took hers in his own, not allowing the moment to fade and the awkwardness overwhelm either of them. It wasn’t time for that nonsense. He went down to the bottom of his nightshirt, to the hem of it, just around his waist area. He gripped it, her hands in his own. Together, they clenched it and began pulling up. He obviously didn’t mind being topless around her. And he was more than curious as hell to see if she was up for reciprocating.

“This is certainly new and unforeseen,” she mentioned. “And different.”

“You’re not used to this sort of thing. That’s alright. I know you aren’t. And because you aren’t, maybe this particularly thing feels unusual to you, which you’ll be forced to come to terms with. But you’re here. And we are doing this. So, let it go where it shall...”

She looked at him in a way she never expected. It was a look that said all that possibility and thoughts from so many years ago and whatever other odd ideas passed through her mind and her nerves were suddenly blossoming into something even she couldn’t completely contain. Nor was she sure she could. Or wanted to. She knew this guy, the Richie she knew, wasn’t a bad guy. Not by any means, really. This was just something new, and different, to the point where she let the uncertainty go and felt the urge take over.

She took her hands and guided them up and down, over and over through his epidermis, seeing what chills would escape his mouth. His breathing intensified and escaped sharply. Ooh. Ahh. Ooh…all such noises simultaneously protruded from his vocal chords.

She leaned forward, pressing her pouty lips against his chest and shoulders, not even sure what to do next nor what she was even doing. But it did excite her. She had to acknowledge that, to her conscious self, mind you.

“May I?” his voice spurned up. His eyes went towards the bottom area of her night gown, where his hands were just a few moments ago. She looked at him without saying a word. The yearning, she had to admit, was there. Her look held no reservations or denials about his proceeding.

Without breaking eye contact, she guided his hands into hers, and placed them at where they were just a few moments prior. His arms tugged upwards at the fabric, collecting it in a heap of a waistline “pile”, before proceeding upwards further. With a little tug upwards and with no ridiculous sense of restrictions, she helped him pull the gown up and over her head of hair. Her arms and his both dropped the fabric to the little chair or wherever it fell. While she briefly adjusted her hair and such, he took her sight in.

Her legs were standing upright, with no awkward or protruding muscles catching his eyes’ first notice. That was at least the impression, if not understood. His radar scanned every inch of her thighs and hips, noting the areas where her skin was relatively intact and in its “proper” place and where the tiny little folds gave way to the little bumps he had come to recognize in women when they walked out in a very general, public setting. He was sure they all were aware of it as well as were most men. He also noticed the small area where her hips met the tops of her legs.

As observed from her outfits over the routine visits, her hips appeared as proportionate to her overall physique as they appeared from the skirts and dresses that were her normal wardrobe. They didn’t give much sag nor did they form any extra bubbly sort of fashionista statements. They were just there, in more or less the same shape as Noel’s. But that’s to be expected, Richie thought. She is her mother after all. And they were a nicely round sort of shape that he could live with because they were, in fact, right there in front of him for his viewing pleasure and memorabilia observation. Furthermore, her light pink panties had a line of black hem at the top. Their lining was just about the same floral design he might have expected from something at Victoria’s Secret or a similar locale. I mean, even he understood that women’s panties were women’s panties�"they were a basic sort of attire, just with several thousands upon thousands of designs and such thrown in. Penelope’s fit her well: they showed off her small curves, the tone of her legs and gave an introduction to both her flat abdominals while hugging the cheeks of her butt just enough to make him, or any guy he imagine, want to grasp them.

His eyes, she noticed, drifted up to above her belly. She caught note of his gaze, his not totally deliberate stare at her breasts, but the gaze that just took them in. He felt his blood and adrenaline spike a bit. His senses escalated to the point where he almost lost control of the fact that he was standing in this little study at Ashton Grove, taking in the sight of this beautifully mature woman standing in front of him, breasts hanging out in the open air, standing only in her panties, neither of them saying a word; rather, they were just taking in this ultra-neurotic moment that, frankly, neither of them would have ever actually expected to happen.

Nevertheless, here he was, standing and looking at Mrs. Santoro in all of her exposed glory. Her breasts hung in place, quite naturally, yes. Some sag came about them, as he might have expected from two daughters and a possible third one which, unfortunately, she had miscarried. (He’d overheard some conversations with Noel about the grave topic from a time ago.) Her n*****s were placed in the lower center, with light pink areola’s rounding them about in their little highlighted state of fashion. Richie was sure that, in all the times he’d seen women and wondered about what they were covering up and the allure that came with that sophisticated mystery of the mounds, he hadn’t felt this little surge of excitement in looking at a pair of breasts in such a while. It wasn’t the fact that they were just glands. No. Hardly. It was the fact that he knew this woman, at least in a certain way. And the fact that he knew who she was made his sponge-soaking observation of Mrs. Santoro’s bust in front of him all that much more profound. The part of his brain that was on the verge of feeling overwhelmed by the sight in front of him balanced out to the part of him that recognized they were standing there. “...Richie?” she asked softly. “Are you alright?” She shifted her weight just a little, just to hint at the moment they found themselves in.

“Oh yes,” he replied back. “I’m quite alright. Why do you ask?”

“You weren’t saying anything there for a moment,” she replied back. “Almost as if you’ve never seen a naked woman in front of you before.” She took a half-step closer to him, heightening his attention even further than where it probably was, almost to ensure he was, in fact, still in control over his nerves. “And you seem to like what you’re seeing,” she continued. Her eyes slipped down to his crotch area, noting the apparent bulge he was taking on by taking her in. She looked at it, and him, in a certain way that just said, I understand you must be feeling something totally new and unforeseen. And while he could certainly help prove and assert that as well, in ways, truth was this was new territory for him as well. And he was certainly in the moment of it. “Yes, of course,” he whispered back. “I really like what you have. It’s breathtaking, really.” She blushed some. He figured she was the kind of woman who was and wasn’t entirely used to having men drool over her in such ways, either because of the way she presented herself to others in public or the fact that, she had to admit, her husband wasn’t the best at giving such compliments and conversational remarks in such a similar fashion. It was something a little different for her, as well; but she was happy to hear it and took it for what it was.

“I have,” he replied. “It’s just, never really like this. I’ve never really been around an older woman before in this way, much less one I know on a more private level.”

“I’ve also seen you a number of times with clothes on and in many different outfits, of course. So seeing you like this, almost totally exposed to me, is something else beyond what an imagination could produce, even one as detailed as my own.”

“Come here,” she whispered to him. She lifted her arms and extended them to him. He wasn’t quite sure what she was doing or had intentions of doing, but he went with it. She leaned her body to one side of his. His momentary reflexes read her intentions and knew a hug was in order. She wanted to comfort him, in that maternal way that ensured he wouldn’t get too overwhelmed with the emotions probably rolling through him. “Let me�"” his right arm went down to his stiffy, having to adjust it some so it wouldn’t poke or jab her leg and make things too unpleasant for either of them in this close embrace. She saw his motions and understood what he was trying to do. Her side step allowed him to readjust himself, which he did and moved closer towards her.

He felt his member press against the fabric of her panties as their bodies touched one another in the most unsuspecting of ways. At first, he felt his chest press against the area where her breasts met his chest. The warmth of her skin against his was unlike most other embraces he’d experienced before. If ever, actually. Then, he felt her hands caress the back of his shoulders, up and down his back, sending motional waves of pleasurable electricity throughout his veins that he’d rarely experienced before then. While she was preoccupied in the world that was his invisible backside, he arms and hands proceeded to glide down the back she possessed. It was the same one he’d seen of her while she was preparing meals and such countless times before in a kitchen or some dining table spot, only her backside was covered with some blouse or other type of styled fabric design for her size and comfort. His hands slowly made their way down to the small of her back, where her warm and soft plush epidermis sat just above the same panty line covering her sacred area of goodness. Not daring to intrude her down below without some kind of verbal acknowledgment or permission, he only teased her some with the tips of her fingers tracing around and just below the top of her backside. It was meant as a clear signal; but it was also a demonstration that he felt he knew what he was doing. And he knew to remain in control of his motions so long as they both seemed in unspoken agreement about what was actually f*****g transpiring to begin with.

Their breathing had intensified and slowed, to a degree.

They looked into each other’s eyes, unsure what to say but sure they wanted to say at least some thing. Seemed fitting, lest they be awkward.

“How do you feel?” Richie broke the silence.

“I�"I�"I suppose feel fine. Though a hint perverse about what we’re doing. You know, this,” Penelope replied.

“I know you probably are,” he calmly suggested back. “I am too. At least, a little bit�"cannot help but feel it too.”

“Would you like to stop? I mean, this feels amazing and all. But we don’t have to continue…wherever this may lead to.”

“Richie,” she calmly began.

“�"before you continue…with anything about the moral ‘right and wrong’ of whatever this is,” he intervened. “I feel you aren’t minding this as much as you thought. And I also believe you don’t exactly want to stop even though you’re about to tell me we should and that is has, perhaps, gone a little too far.”

She put her right hand and her index and middle fingers to his mouth to silence his words for a moment or two. “I was going to say,” she continued. “That I feel alive about whatever this is. I mean, I know there are boundaries to what can be done and what we’re allowed to do and all. Yes. I’m not going to continue with that whole parental lecture any more than I have as it feels useless at this point. And I get we’ll have to deal with all that whenever and however we do. However, I also feel that this feels warm and exciting and different and good. Like, perhaps a little better than I thought it would.”

With a brief pause, Richie spoke, “Okay. And?”

He nodded his head to the side, as if seeking her true response before anything else transpired or didn’t transpire for the now or another occasion similar.

“And I feel�"okay. A person my age can handle whatever this is. Okay, Richie. Sure. Let’s see what happens.”

“You’re okay with this, then? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“I may not be okay with this,” she calmly replied. “But I’m okay with trying it. For…how would you say it…for experimental sake?”

“Yes,” he replied in a soft whisper. “Something like that.”

“Something like that,” she said in a calm and mutual agreement. “Yes. That works, I suppose.” She gave an unamused yet tranquil look. Her inhibitions, admittedly, were perhaps out the door. And she knew that. But this was something she wanted to deal with and would deal with on her own, for her own self. And it was something some part of her knew it wanted to experience, for better or worse.

 

Chapter 9

            Richie took a moment or two to look at the clock on the mantle. 12:34. or somewhere around there. He wasn’t quite sure. He didn’t really care, though. His focus was on his adrenaline and the proceedings about to unfold. And Mrs. Santoro, of course.

            She had put on her robe and only her robe. It still hugged her body in all the right ways. In fact, it teased him in ways Richie not only enjoyed but found…quite inspirational.

            “Where shall we go?” she asked. She literally was unsure where to take this. She also wanted to see if he was as directive as he made himself out to be, even after all the times he’d been around her…or her daughter. “We can try your room, if you don’t mind?” he suggested. “We’ll just have to walk steadily and quietly. It is going to be the middle of the night, after all. And everyone else is either asleep or getting there soon…” He seemed pleased at his response. At least he could feel his thinking ability able to steady itself over his raw emotions still bubbling under his skin at whatever he hoped would happen but was never sure would.

            “You know we have to walk down the hallway past a room or two to get there, right?” she said, noting to him the implied possibility of waking somebody up and wondering what the hell was going on with the two of them randomly walking around a hallway at that time of night. “Oh yes, I’m aware. It’s part of the fun, isn’t it? Maybe I should walk behind you. I mean, you probably know these hallways better than I do and can navigate them better than I would know how to, given our situation and all.”

            His reply, though a little focused-but-indirectly tied to their predicament, made enough sense to her. I can handle this, she thought, and him like this. I know what I’m doing. Or so she thought. “Alright, Richie. Follow me. And try not to stare too much at me or my robe while we’re in the hallway. Just focus on walking and curling your feet to the floor. It’ll make the steps sound less noisy. I mean, we don’t want to be caught now, do we?” She does know what she’s talking about, doesn’t she? Whether a planned or unplanned thing to say, he had to admit she knew her terrain and how to handle herself as she did.

            As they walked, his concentration was half on the literal motion of walking and the human brain’s functioning of doing so; half on the exciting possibility, possibilities perhaps, of whatever awaited them at the end of their journey to the crowned jewel at the throne.

            As they stepped and made their ways along the walls, Richie couldn’t help but think to Noel and what he was doing and how this little, huge, ordeal would impact her. Part of him felt guilty about his actions and such. Sure. There was no denying that. At least, not in the immediate sense. He had a moral conscious, or at least what his fellow peers and mentors and the like would call one; and knew how to listen to it without ever complicating things. But look where that’s gotten you, he told himself. For real. He’d always been known as the “good guy” to everyone he came across, or a good one to those who knew him well. Yet, in certain odd aspects and regards to his life, he couldn’t help but feel there was more to his living that hadn’t been explored yet. There were more twists and turns to the way he lived that the phrase “play it safe” tended up arise more and more versus “risk” and “adventure”. In fact, deep down, he knew he wanted to explore at least some aspects of living dangerously because, as so many people and times and occasions would prove to him seemingly over, and over, again, “you only live once”. And, sometimes, even with Noel in his little world of newfound routine, he felt alive and not simultaneously. It was almost as if he was afraid to live yet he wanted to so badly. Why? He thought to himself, following closely behind the robe, hoping to find his crown figure soon enough. Because the excitement of something beyond the mundane pleasure of living out a daily existence where everything felt safe and secure felt as unexciting as the possibilities of doing things totally out of spontaneity and living to tell about the tale, perhaps learning something in the process. Things to be learned that playing things “safe” and being mindful of “the way things are” couldn’t teach you�"the rush of a moment realized because you were unafraid and pursued something you actually wanted to do without second-guessing the logistics or beneficial outcome involved; the moment of celebration when you accomplished a feat or task you set out to do and actually did it. There were plenty of reasons, Richie felt, why he was following the robed lady in front of him so cautiously. Hell, he knew there were. And living, actually living a little, was certainly one of them. For, in spite of others’ opinions and ideas and whatever else may have come from the walk down the hallway, Richie knew himself enough to have known he was walking into something part of his nerves felt they wanted. He had pretty much already made the decision�"he’d thrown all logic and thoughts of right & wrong out the window. So, when they approached her doorway, and the partially closed door leading to Penelope’s room, Richie knew his instincts were the only thing he could rely on for the next few moments of time. For time, at that point, didn’t exist…not in the logic sense of it anyway. They were about to enter the realm of sheer, emotional desire. And they both knew it.

            She leaned closer to him, putting her warm mouth and face up against his cheek, aiming for his ear. “Ready to go in?” she whispered, just loud enough to where only he could hear her.

            “Yes,” he replied, softly, quietly and only a split moment thereafter. “For as long as we can stay awake…” “Of course,” she said, with a certain matter of fact.

            He looked at her expression. She looked at his. They both exchanged a look. Mutual. Understanding. Intrigued. Curious. Secure, yet eager. Certainly uncertainly.

            And with that, they both entered.

 

Chapter 10

            Penelope went to the corner of the room. Though damn near pitch black, with barely enough dim light to be able to put one foot in front of the other, she knew where was going. This was Ashton Grove, after all, her little home of a home away from the place she called her normal residency. Her index and thumb extended themselves to a little knob, along with her middle finger on her right arm. Click, click. No more than two seconds later, a small lamp produced just enough light to enable exposure to the human bodies that had occupied the space that was the study quarters to her private realm.

            It had just occurred to her that she had never really had other people in her little universe. Her room was her sanctuary, where only she and Jesse, when she warranted his presence alongside hers, would find themselves. And even those occasions were simple and mutual. Not expected. Sure, Noel had been in there a few times here and there whenever a moment called for it. But even those times were few and far in between. Now, here she was, with a grown man not of the family’s blood, in what she considered to be her most private of worlds. This was where she had conversations that deeply concerned her; this is where she allowed people to see the real her, the parts of her exposed self that she dare not share with others, close friends or otherwise; let alone, general members of the public. For as all women knew, to allow another human being into her world that was her room was to say I am so comfortable with you I will allow you into my weird and intriguing little world. Mrs. Santoro, as outgoing and welcoming as she was to almost everybody she came into interaction with in her daily world and little thing of a life she had helped create, was also a very private woman. Or so she considered herself. She knew when certain conversations, for example, were destined and meant to be conducted in certain locations under certain contexts. She also knew that certain subjects could only be brought up when the situation allowed for it to be discussed openly, for the benefit of all those involved. And she also knew that certain conversations were absolutely off limits for whatever reason or reasons.

            But this wasn’t a conversation she was having. At least, not explicitly so. This was an interaction of sorts. A most unusually evolved interaction she was finding herself in…and it creeped the breath out of it while intriguing everything inside her womanhood she knew to exist in her.

            She leaned up a bit having produced the dimness giving light to her private sanctuary. Her robed figure had barely managed to turn itself around when she felt his presence much closer by than she originally thought. This is going to be something else, she felt in her nerves. Something else entirely. She took three steps alongside the white cotton-stitched comforter lining her plush mattress and decorative pillows. The mesh carpet swallowed her feet in the most nurturing of ways. Her muscles may have otherwise felt an overwhelming sense of awkward tension. In that moment, however, the smoothness of the moment flowed through her senses, allowing her instincts to lose themselves. Her human self said, oh what the hell? Live a little bit…

            She took a step towards this guy. This fellow named Richie made her presence feel like the 20 or 30-year-old version of herself she may have once known but never allowed herself to experience. He kept his gaze locked on hers. And her figure wrapped in that fabric. Her figure; in those seconds, his mind was already beginning to unravel the tied knot by her waist, pulling the folds of her cloaked self to the sides…slowly unveiling the figure she possessed down below. It was the same one he’d been curious about every so often since he’d noticed her figure one random day, when he noticed how her outfits showed her figure more so than others. His cerebellum allowed his focus to shift from just noticing and observing her to approaching her, each step taking on a new wave of adrenaline-supplied energy he admittedly knew he wouldn’t be able to experience otherwise. Or so he felt.

            They each took another step towards one another. They were now no more than 8, maybe 10, inches from one another. They could practically feel each other’s vibes, breath, and senses going into some unknown territory human beings weren’t allowed to venture. (Such ventures were not “appropriate” for a societal people and their culture insistent on almost anything but pure wondrous excitement and exploration.) “Come here,” she whispered. He moved closer to her as Penelope held open her arms, welcoming another hug. Richie gazed into her eyes, unsure whether this was meant to calm her down, welcome his suggestions and their collective actions, or some other damn explanatory motivation causing their embrace as his arms circled around her frame. With no underwear on beneath her fabric, except her bottom half-covered parts, Richie pressed his lightly-covered body against the mature woman’s. Fully pressed it to hers. Not even a split moment later, he instantly felt her full and saggy breasts pressing against the muscles anyone would call his pecs and framed abdominals. He felt the fullness of her mid-torso area; his hardening c**k pressed against his fabric, telling her his growing excitement was worth the feeling and sensations his body was feeling just by holding this woman, this particular woman, in his hold as he was. It was almost surreal, but it was. She guided her arms up and down his shoulders a few times, ensuring her mind of whatever his physical stature looked like in all the outfits he’d worn around her and hers that they felt every bit as muscular, broad, lean and inviting as they looked. Her breathing intensified only a little. Her eyes half closed themselves. This was a combination of new sensations she allowed herself to confront. And was choosing to embrace. And her mind pleaded to her memory and churning heart to allow herself to fully soak it all up, absorbing whatever she could. Simultaneously, neurotransmitters departed to his arms and hands, signals swarming his brain, and the neurons within, to his arms, hands and the curious fingers at their ends to venture to the parts of her below the “belt” portion of her garment…and continue going south. Just enough. They rolled themselves over the little hill around her waistline. His fingers continued tracing downwards. They did not stop until they felt a rounded part of her fabric protrude ever so slightly outwards from the mostly level plains of her back. His mind knew what was going on. No pause was necessary. With his left hand holding her just below her shoulders, caressing her backside without actually feeling any part of it, Richie skillfully guided his right hand to the area outlined around her left cheek. And without missing a beat, he ever so slightly gave it a subtle squeeze. Ahh, her mouth mustered up. It was all she could do whilst standing to avoid falling off-balance, even if for a moment. “Riche�"” she whispered. “�"yes?” he cooed back. “Do that again.” He switched his arm actions only enough to surprise her, as his left hand gently tugged at her other side. “That okay?” The only thing she could fathom was the only thing her feeling senses could: “�"yes.” No harm done, she thought to herself. Richie brought his arms in front of her. Without saying a word, not one f*****g word, he raised his forearms and hands to meet the outline of her knotted tie in front.

            He pulled away from about three inches, so she could see what he was doing. Or at least, what he was attempting to do. He shot his eyes down to her bellybutton area. She kept her gaze on his face, half keeping her eyes open and half-closed. The sensation of what she knew was about to unfold was something she had to force herself to embrace; otherwise, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever find the means to look at someone else in their eyes and convince them that she had really lived. Like, really. Actually. Lived. Let it happen, she told herself. �"What?! That side of her briefly cut in. She knew which one it was. This can’t be happening. Shouldn’t be. Her face clenched on itself ever so slightly. �"Just…let it happen. Let yourself go to this… And with that, her face and nerves began releasing themselves. Finally. Unapologetically. And it was an altogether new, yet welcomed, sensation flowing within her. As her thoughts coped with what was actually taking place right in front of her, Richie knew, or felt like he knew, exactly what was unfolding as well.

            His fingers bucked at the knot in front of him, holding the fabric of her covered, living sanctuary within. Slowly, and with great caution as to the effort he exerted into the knot before him, he managed to tweak away the material intertwined within itself. Within a few tugs here and there, the knot slowly unraveled within Richie’s grasp until it was nothing more than highly-twisted fabric in its sewn, straight line. The two ends quickly fell to Penelope’s sides, freeing the fabric of her robe altogether even more than where it originally was. Richie took the index and middle finger of both of his hands, placing them the top of the parting folds. He slowly pushed them apart just enough to where he could see Mrs. Santoro’s exposed skin looming below; but not enough to where he saw everything she possessed in that singular moment. No, he thought to himself, that would be too much too quickly. He wanted to savor every single bit of this moment.

            Her beige skin crawled with smooth lines, like the makings of a tanned white woman who spent just the right amount of time walking along the beaches and lakefront trails when there was just enough sun to make her epidermis glow. Richie kept his breathing at a steady rate, savoring the moment, letting his eyes soak up the cream color before his sight, tracing Penelope’s skin from her sternum down to the inclined valley between her mounded breasts, and further downwards to where her belly met the hem of her panties and the styled columns below those. It was a sight he was truly wishing to soak up before things went any further. “Richie,” she stated quietly and softly. “Are you okay?” He shot her a quick glance as her robe was half-opened, almost as if waiting for the grand moment of exposure to hit his adrenaline, shooting his senses into the stratosphere of “warm.” “Oh yes,” he whispered back. “I’m quite alright.” And with that, he took the fingers and placed them just inside the top shoulder area of the folds on her robe. With a swift motion, he pushed them back, only enough to where he exposed enough of her collar bones. Her hands met his and, together, almost as if not fighting the sensations any longer, Penelope’s robe slid off her shoulders, gathered around her elbows, where she gathered the material a bit, and in a collective “fall”, let the garment drop itself to the carpet below her feet, her eyes remaining locked the whole time on his eyes, a sly smile of sorts resting on her lips.

            Richie let his eyes roll over her figure as completely as he could. This was a particular moment he wanted to savor, and knew it. Her hair flowed down past her shoulders, the locks of golden brown & blonde mixing in the evening dim light of the room, adding a mixture of amber gold shine to the delicate balance of walls and carpet that engulfed the room in a certain comfort. From her locks his gaze shifted down to the mounds protruding from her chest. He’d seen his share of breasts from screens and different occasions and all, sure. He was, after all, a guy. But the times he’d seen a pair “for real”, when they were revealed directly in front of him as Penelope’s were now, had about 1,000 times more significance and meaning than all those others. He took a moment or two, while Mrs. Santoro stood there in front of him, nude with only her panties to cover her sacred realm of goodness and warmth, to soak her fully grown and mature form in. She knew he was liking what he saw. She sensed it in his eyes, in his look of sheer joy. Like he was rediscovering the 12-year-old version of himself witnessing an older girl in her bikini for the first time at the pool suddenly lay down on the rubber-roped cot as she worked on her tan; or the first time that 12-year-old boy saw the next door neighborhood wife running up to her house after she finished her morning jog in the warmth of summer and decided to hop into the pool to cool off, knowing perfectly well she was pretty much secluded from view in the comfort of her yard…except for the incredibly well-placed angle the upstairs bedroom window gave him, allowing his curiosities to roam where they would. Penelope took her arms and brushed her hair just a bit, in turn stretching her torso along with them. Her full breasts were about the size of junior volleyballs half inflated with air; complete with lovely dark n*****s centered around areolas about the size of the bottom of a coffee cup or soda can, rose and adjusted themselves back in “place” once her locks were behind her shoulders, leaving her entire front side exposed, minus the fabric at her crotch.

            “Like what you see?” she said, breaking the silence, making his attention shift from her figure to the question filling the air. She delivered it with a with a slight, unknown sort of grin that even she knew was a bit out of the ordinary for her standards. It was as unusual to her as it felt enjoyable. “Yes,” he replied, “I believe I do. Very much so.”

            “I can tell,” she noted. Her glance subconsciously went to below his waist. Hell, she noticed him looking down at hers. She felt it only fair and equal to send him the same signals. He felt she knew what she was referring to. The bulge arising from his boxer briefs was becoming very evident that this was, indeed, a moment he’d been envisioning for…well, some time. “Oh yeah?” Richie replied, a certain sense of confidence that only living out said-moments could muster from a grown man and an even more grown woman. “Yeah,” she said back, taking a step towards him, her n*****s barley an inch, maybe two or three, from his chest and the girth of his physique. “Mrs. Santoro,” he cooed towards her. “You’re making me feel warmer than the words can possibly express…” “Really?” she replied, a slight grin carving itself into the sides of the mouth of her lips. “Does this help you?” she asked aloud, as her arms extending themselves to his figure, her hands trailing themselves up and over his chest. The touch her fingers sent through his nerves were like a bolt of electricity about 100 times more powerful than the first time her daughter, Noel, had consciously decided to let Richie see her breasts for the first time. Rather than slowly tease him in the way he had teased her about undoing her evening garment, Penelope sent her hands down to his waist in a smooth motion, not even bothering to ask if he wanted her hands placed there or not. She already knew the answer to that suggested action. And at this point, there was seriously no need to even bother asking him. Everything in his physical response said this was a part of what he’d envisioned. She rested her hands around his crotch area only for a moment or two…and started to massage the fabric. Just enough, mind you, to where she wanted to elicit a response from him. “…Yes; of course, it does,” he said back, cooing back the words as if trying to maintain some semblance of control of what exactly the f**k was happening, without really knowing. “Does this?” he asked back. His hands immediately went to her waist, slithering themselves around to the back of her hips, clutching and slightly squeezing the cheeks behind her. “Ahh,” she moaned, surprised by his actions. Without any indication of further suggestions, his right hand immediately went to the front of her panties, scouting the area where her crotch met the tops of her thighs. “Yes, it helps Richie,” she said in reply to his hand, “very much so. Of course, it does.”

            “How does this feel�"?” he asked, taking a step closer to her, keeping his hand “locked” in its position between her legs. “�"warm…” slipped out of her mouth. Their bodies were now fully pressed against one another. They weren’t squishing each other. No. That would have been a little uncalled for. They were just pressing against one another. You know, the kind that happens when a grown woman hugs a man and he feels her breasts push against his body, if just for that split moment, in that moment. This was just like a hug…except it wasn’t a hug. This was more than an embrace; though, technically, it was just that. He immediately felt her chest press against his: the way her chest and skin meshed up against his was unlike anything else he felt he’d experienced before. It was a totally new sensation, one that was shooting his nerves into an unknown, warm, and completely welcomed new aura. And they felt each other’s hands roaming around down there. His were feeling and exploring the dampening fabric of her moist warmth, her legs reacting to his hands doing their thing, her body, he could tell, opening itself up to sensations perhaps she hadn’t quite allowed herself to have experienced in…hell, quite some time. Even she had to admit that to herself. Her hands, likewise, were exploring the shaft building and straining itself under his fabric. She could tell his blood was churning itself like crazy, the motions of her hands on his member doing exactly what she expected they would do to him.

            Their feeling motions and rubbing motions continued for a few moments longer. It was apparent this was not the only thing they might end up doing. But it was certainly something in a new direction they both wanted to continue going down while they could.

            “Feeling sleepy?” Richie asked. It was the only thing he could think to say. At least, in that exact moment between the mixtures of what was going on and the slight ability to think logically about what was, in fact, happening.

            “Not so much,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “I mean, I might be a little tired, sure. But I’m not feeling sleepy enough to stop this right here, right now. If that’s what you mean?”

            “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” he said, calmly confirming what she thought he meant. “And no, I’m also not ready to stop, not exactly yet�"”

            “�"then�"?” she continued.

            “�"okay�"” he confirmed.

            Richie then turned her around, gently but with a confident motion, as if directing their motions without explicitly saying so, rolling his hands and arms up her thighs continuing upwards towards her chest, cupping her glands and continuing to the point where she gripped the back of his head in her soft hands.

            “Do you want me to stop?”

            “No,” she replied, which a strong exclamation. “No, I do not.”

            A moment or two of more massaging forced her senses to turn and face him, again.

            He glanced down to her crotch, noticing that her underwear seemed a bit more damp than usual.

            “May I?” he asked.

            He didn’t say what he actually wanted, no. But she could tell what he was implying. Or, at the very least, she had a feeling of what he was wanting to do. Her two second pause time allowed her thinking to match her newfound, burning sensations.

            “I�"”, “suppose so…” she replied. Truthfully, she wasn’t entirely certain whether she wanted him to remove her panties or not. But she reluctantly thought OK because, admittedly, she hadn’t felt this sort of adrenal type of excitement in, well, some time. A very long time, in fact. She knew she had to trust herself with her actions and decisions…more than she was willing to admit to anyone, including her husband.

            “Wait,” she said aloud, finally acknowledging there was a slight amount of reluctance in her, still. Richie assured her of her inhibitions: “Don’t worry. We don’t have to continue with anything if you don’t want. Just let me know what you’re feeling and thinking�"”

            He shot his hand to her crotch, again, and began feeling around, massaging her most inner private area. He didn’t place his hand there for long, however. His hands found themselves roaming to her panty line.

They gripped the material. And began pulling down. Slowly. Millimeter by millimeter, inch by inch, more of her fair skin revealing by the moment; the part of a woman’s skin another person is “never” supposed to see unless that part of them becomes exposed “on purpose”…

Richie lowered his upper body to allow himself the ease of lowering her covering. She understood what he was doing and eased her legs through her standing position to allow him easier access down there.

He began unfolding more and more of her panties until, before both of them knew it, he’d lowered her garment past her butt cheeks, grazing the tops of her thighs, and dipped below her public warmth.

With a swift and easy motion, he continued to slide the down her legs, easing her out of them while hoping to not make her feel any more or less uncomfortable than she might already have been.

Having just enough sensory thinking to keep her nerves intact, Penelope lifted one leg, then the next as Richie slid her panties completely off her body.

He collected them and placed them softly and calmly on her mattress: “So we both know where they are,” he insisted. Richie then turned his frame ever so slightly to face hers. There she was, standing totally nude in front of him, in a way Richie could only, briefly here and there, imagine.

Mrs. Santoro was glancing down in his direction, wondering as to what exactly the hell this guy was thinking, going to do, or wanting to do, next. Richie, playing it oh-so-cool, traced his face around her legs for a few moments, then teased her around her warmth, blowing soft whips of warm air from his mouth around her goodness, noticing its smooth appearance and maintained…togetherness.

She definitely hasn’t had much going on with that in some time, he couldn’t help but think to himself. He only lightly brushed his mouth over her lips, wanting only to notice her reactions to his stimulation.

“Ahh,” she softly cooed in the night time air, filling the room her breathing and moan. “Richie…”

“Yes?�"“

“Please�"do�"don’t�"stop,” she muttered out of her breathing lips.

“As you wish,” he replied.

With that, he gave her a soft, but lengthy, suckle of a kiss. Whether or not this was something “most guys” did or not, he definitely understood it to be a first moment of sorts…and was damn well intent of savoring it. Holding face in Penelope’s crotch, her vulnerability at his disposal.

After a lengthy hold on and in her valley of goodness, he backed his face out of her pleasure zone. Her vagina shined with a renewed sense of life.

He brought his hands up to her belly area to cup her breasts, ever so gently at first, staying put in his kneeling pose for a moment longer. Feeling their warm fullness in his hands was unlike holding most other objects he’d ever held before. God damn they feel incredible, he thought to himself. He massaged them only twice, just for an “initial” feeling for what they felt like. Like any guy, he felt, he knew no other time could or would ever replace that initial feeling when you get to that, this, interesting version of second base. But he had. And here he was. Holding her grown and full, warm breasts in his soft grip. But his hands didn’t stop there. No. They continued upwards, towards her collarbones and neck. They stopped just at the curve where her chin met her cheeks. She saw in his eyes what his intentions were; where his focus was aimed at. His eyes were locked at the target: her lips.

“Richie�"are you sure?” she asked. Things had escalated to a point where neither of them might be able to go back from where they were now. And damn it, her logical, adult self was saying, Okay, maybe it’s gone a bit far for now.

He looked directly into and at her eyes. Without a feeling of internal second guessing, he calmly replied back: “�"yeah. Yes.”

He tilted his head to his right side ever so slightly; she tilted hers ever so much to her left, gravitating towards another step in this unusual predicament. But allowing herself to experience it. Natural motions cause their mouths to gravitate towards one another. Their lips met with a moist tingling of sorts: pleasant yet surprising; unnerving yet with a curious sense of eager anticipation. Their breathing intensified between each swap and brush of their lips; each time they interlocked and the sensations and newfound arousals and moist feelings of exchange met in the physical action transpiring between their two souls yearning for something they couldn’t quite put their fingers on but were finding while crossing their mutually created, invisible boundary that was their lips swapping saliva, jaws and rubbing motions meshing.

After their initial exchanges had taken place, it became obvious there was more to their energies than a few mouth-to-mouth swaps. “Whew,” they both sighed, unsure of what exactly had just taken place, but loving and capturing every moment of it. They looked at one another with all the eagerness and confusion there could be in the world, especially more than Mrs. Santoro had recalled ever experiencing at Ashton Grove ever before.

“That was�"” Richie began.

“�"Different,” Penelope replied. “Definitely different. But nice, in a strange way. Maybe very strange. But nice.”

“Definitely different,” he replied. “Strange but different indeed. But nice, yes.”

“There’s another issue too,” she continued.

“What is that?”

“You have more clothes on than I do, still,” she mentioned. “Ah, yes,” Richie said, agreeing. “I’m sure you’re wanting me to remove mine, correct? It’ll at least make us standing here a hint more ‘even’ and comfortable, yes?”

“Yes, Richie,” she said. “Please. If only for a few moments or whatever it is.”

“Mind helping me?” he asked. “Getting undressed by oneself is absolutely as simple as it seems. Having someone else do so makes it feel that much more enticing. Just saying…”

“Shh�"” she replied. “Yes, I’ll help you. But we must keep our voices low. It’s rather late and I’m certain we’re the only ones up. Neither of us can afford to wake anyone.”

“True,” he said. He glanced at the closest clock in the bedroom. 1:12 AM, it read. “Yes, indeed it is.”

“Here,” she said. “Allow me, as you did.” Being the older of the two, she took her hands to his abdominals and lowered them to his waistline. More an instinctive reaction than anything, he replied with a soft: “ooh,” briefly letting his voice fill the tiny space they occupied. Her hands gripped the material holding his package in a clothed fashion. At first, she teased his crotch area, just as he had done to her for those moments before, grazing her hands around the area where his bulge was contained under the fabric. Hell, she may have been older than him but she wanted to know if her motions would elicit the same responses from this guy as he had, somewhat knowledgably and expertly (it seemed), done to her. And there’s nothing odd or weird about that, she felt. In spite of her moralistic apprehension’s that may have been tugging at her, she allowed herself the liberty to be a human for once, throwing inhibitions out the window, even if for a few moments.

The moments swept by. She kneeled down in front of him, fully knowing she only intended to be in that position for another few moments. She placed her fingers under his waistband and smoothly, slowly, pulled them down, meeting the area level to her head. Quarter-inch by quarter-inch, she removed his boxer-briefs, exposing the area of his hips where the waist and upper most area of his quadriceps convened for one great, big area of muscle that seemed the defining euphoria of the male physique. Richie’s was no different. Mrs. Santoro could tell by his intensified and labored breathing that this was a moment he’d been not just relishing but anticipating in one way or another for some time, she supposed. Whew. Breath. Sigh. Breath. Sigh, she heard escaping from his facial area. “You’re enjoying this, I imagine?” she asked with a steadily pace of her words. “�"yes,” he replied, his tone and voice calm and controlled. “I can tell,” she replied. “Clearly it likes this too,” she motioned her eyes to the bulge forming a mild tent in front of her face. He shifted his eyes to where hers were focused. “Mhmm,” he mumbled in reply.

With her breathing focused on the situation in front of her, Penelope continued to lower his garment down. It traveled farther south, revealing his thighs a hint more, outstretching the top hem of his fabric so that it was directly over the shaft of his manhood…a mere inch or two away from her face no less. Her eyes locked on his while she kept her hands in their gripped lock, simultaneously exchanging her glances between his facial expressions and the crotch that was going crazy with hot, circulating adrenaline at what was unfolding in front of him.
            “Ready?” she quietly asked, ensuring that he, indeed, was OK with showing her the penis he possessed and was about to reveal to her.

With a quick and controlled breathe, he calmly replied: “Yes.”

She gave a half, sly-smirk of a response before taking her arms in a smooth motion downwards. Her fingers held the fabric a little tighter while she pulled his garment down to the middle of his thighs, just between the bottom of his crotch and the tops of his knees. Richie’s c**k sprang to a 90 degree-like angle as Penelope’s hands and arms settled his underwear between her chest and his legs, just a way’s away from where her face was…

She gazed at it, looking at the way it formed itself in front of her, taking in the site before realizing where their predicament had taken them to. The blood circulating inside her was unlike forms of happiness she’d experienced before. “Grandma, you make the best cookies,” her granddaughter Lily would tell her when the Jesse and Penelope had visited the young ones on the holidays. “Grandma Mikki, you make the best meals at home I’ve ever had. And that includes at some of the restaurants we go to,” her grandson Tommy would exclaim when he’d decided that her cooking was better than most of the other meals he’d become accustomed to having without ever really considering how their taste would frame his perception about what cooking was and what cooking wasn’t. Those dabs of blissful appraisal, coupled with the sheer fact that her love for the family she’d grown to have had blossomed from both circumstance and decisions beyond her doing, were fragments of the warmness flowing in her veins, even on a night like tonight. Richie, meanwhile, was embracing the fact that he was standing totally nude in front of this woman, this unique woman in his even more unique world. His blood and nerves were totally going into the stratospheres of excitement. This was just something he’d never actually come to expect would happen. Now that it was, as the saying was, some things are better left unsaid. Her thighs and legs held her position steady. Her hair gave life to the facial skin she was, rather diligent, about keeping maintained. And while her hips were doing their part to keep her balance in a reasonable state, the warmth building in the patch between her legs, the one only she really knew of and could tell was doing its own thing, was certainly building up to a state she knew she could not ignore, young guy or not. I mean, here was this guy she’d known of for a bit of time�"Richie. Never had she envisioned him much beyond the role he played in her world of various people, associations and coming-of-age events and such. And now that he was standing in front of her, like this, his erect member standing at attention only a space or so away from her eager face and all the curiosity her emotions could muster, seeing him in a different light was almost exactly what was transpiring. It was certainly new, not to mention different. “You okay, kiddo?” she said in a curious fashion as well as unsure of how to proceed next. “Oh yes, Penelope,” he replied. And knowing how these next words would change absolutely everything that had ever happened between them in their mingling’s or might ever happen after this night finished and they saw the next day roll around, his conscious knew exactly how to reply: “This is beyond what I could imagine this might be like.” For him, even glancing down Mrs. Santoro’s direction, seeing how her face was sculpted with her lovely locks providing a colorful framework, her breasts peeking out from her chest, her mature skin appearing a radiant canvas of warmth and invite in the night time, just standing there as he was drove his senses crazier than he could predict.

It was worth feeling every moment and embracing the sheer excitement that a rare situational moment like this could manifest. And her gaze crept closer and closer to what was in front of her. Her upper body lurched forward only a bit; it was just enough to where her hands could grip the member she knew she wanted to feel. That movement alone was enough to throw his senses into an overdrive he wasn’t sure how to handle…but it was one that excited the hell out of his blood.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, feeling it the curious thing to do.

“Yes,” she replied, composure coursing through her veins. Her face light up a bit; her smile coming alive with an unexpected sense of excitement she had almost all but forgotten. And her energy level knew it wanted more, even if they had to keep it simple this night. Well, I mean this is the only life I’ll ever have to live. Why not take some chances and ponder the outcomes later, when I have the luxury at that time? “I am quite alright, Richie,” she said, certainty longing in her voice. “This is just new and, frankly, a little different for me, that’s all. But it’s something that brings back memories and such. To the point where I cannot ignore what is happening right now�"this, us here.”

She switched her gaze from his eyes to his erection, back up to his eyes and to his waist a time or two more. No point in lingering on about this, woman, she thought to herself. Do you want to do anything more with this or not? “Shh�"” he replied. “Enough talking is what I’d say.”

“You are right�"” she said. “Sounds that way�"certainly.” There was no point of talking anymore about the back-and-forth of what they were doing and why. That moment came and went a little while ago.

With that, she brought her hands up to his hips and waist. Working with the dim light giving a few breathes of life to the room, and considering the time, her fingers teased his hips and tops of his thighs. The slight swaying of his legs and hips to mere touch of her fingers was enough to elicit an “ahh” from his mouth. She knew he was going to enjoy this, and whatever else they may end up doing…be it a continuation of now or another time. She then roamed his muscles and physique a bit more, continuing to relish in his exasperations of warmth.

A few moments of light caressing and massaging later, her fingers found the base of his dangling erection. She then slowed her hand motions, the caressing still steady, making sure to evoke the right sensations she could only assume she was evoking inside him. Taking the shaft in her right hand, she used her left fingers to hold his balls in place, even if to gently tingle them with her touch. No excessive swinging for right now, she thought. While she tingled down below, she knelt a bit closer to his shaft. The mushroom head was now alive with pulsing motions, the blood coursing through it at a pace Richie was barely able to control. And Penelope could sense that. She placed her right fingers all around his member, holding them steady for a few moments, letting the sensation of her touch sink into his senses before going any further. This was, after all, new territory for them both. As her fingers began feeling his stiffened shaft, the excitement brewing in Richie was ever more evident with his ongoing mixes of “ooh’s” and “ah’s” and sighs escaping his mouth, the reactions heightening his partially impaling and worn out body. At first, Penelope used her hands to do whatever felt natural to her. (After all, this wasn’t the first c**k she’d ever seen.) She often softened her grip to allow her fingers the power to roll her fingers all up and down his shaft, given its girth, its skin type and its overall texture. Richie possessed a sizeable penis, a member with energy to it, definitely; she could just tell. She also knew that this was the first time for this sort of action to transpire between them. She couldn’t risk doing anything too unusual or any more awkward than it already could and may have seemed. Deciding to increase her strokes just a little for a bit longer, this was all she was going to give in to, for tonight anyway.

Anymore and it would have meant staying up much longer than either had anticipated for this “first”, albeit unusual, night of skyrocketing circumstance.

She figured there might be other nights or occasions where this sort of thing might happen, as she sensed the energy between them was substantially higher than even she expected there to be. Her stroking and soft massaging continued, allowing him to feel the sensations between her touches and his senses going into haywire. It was something she never anticipated doing herself�"giving this younger man a hand job in the comfort of her lake house bedroom, of all places. Nevertheless, here she was. And it felt as intriguing as it was inspiring, in new and partly confusing ways.

“How is this, Richie?” Mrs. Santoro said, not sure what his emotions would be or where this would lead to.

“Ahh,” he gasped in reply. “Warm, soft and welcoming…” Her soft strokes were definitely a new sensation even he couldn’t put into exact words. And he wasn’t about to start putting more words than those into this moment. Much better to feel and experience this than talk about it, he thought, as this beautiful woman was right in front of him as she was. “Here,” he replied. “Let me make it a bit easier, if only for a few moments longer.” And with that, he brought his hands together and placed them behind his lower back, widening his stance just a bit, ensuring his body kept a more secure stance while this continued. “You’re okay?” she asked, keeping her soft hands around his crotch, still experimenting with both his engorged member and the small balloon of a sack hanging below. “Oh, yes,” he said, his eyes half-opened and half in a dizzy state that said he was enjoying new sensations he, perhaps, had never encountered. “I may just be a little tired. It is late after all and, well, the girls might notice if we seem a little more worn out than usual tomorrow if we stay up any longer. Or for the rest of the days while we are here, for that matter, you know?”

Penelope breathed out a sigh of understanding and partial relief. Truthfully, she was way passed her bedtime as well, and knew this had to end at some point…hopefully, rather soon. “Yes, yes,” she said. “I understand what you mean. And it’s true�"they may notice indeed. That would not be too good, especially for me. Perhaps it’s best if we call it a night with this (she gestured her arms at their collective proximity). And besides, I mean, I am the one with more of the moral commitment here.” Richie knew by that she meant that she had a husband, one whom just so happened to not be there with present company, and a family…and all that entailed. However, at the exact moment they were both mixed up in, neither seemed to give all those other individuals much concerning thought. How could we, both of their bodies were expressing through all the nonverbal they could muster.

Richie nodded his head. “I understand,” he said, in a calm but matter of fact, direct tone. “Here, let me help you,” he whispered to her, raising his arms to her shoulders, helping her rise from her thighs to her feet on her legs, no doubt a little stiffened by the gregarious position they’d been stuck in for the last little while. Although, he thought to himself, she might be used to that, given her walking and leg, yoga-like exercises he’d seen her do here and there while spending time at the Santoro’s place on a semiregular basis. “Thank you, Richie,” she said softly back. Yes, they were both still nude and standing in front of one another; yet neither made any attempt to take the intimate action any further. Both could just tell, body language or otherwise. “Here, you’ll probably want this,” he said, handing her the robe that had been discarded earlier. His focus stayed on the garment versus her full figure. It was his way of being more respectful when he could have easily done things otherwise. “Yes,” she said, taking it in her arms, beginning to pull it on. While she began covering herself, Richie went for his boxer shorts and top, each carefully placed nearby. A few moments later, they were both in their natural sleep attire, more or less. Richie, able to make out the protruding n*****s from Mrs. Santoro’s robe, most likely from all the excitement that had just transpired, sat on her bed for a moment or two, hoping his nerves and energy would naturally wind down just enough to let him slip into his haven of sleepiness.

“Well,” he said. “Yes?” she replied, not sure what words needed to be said, if any in fact. “This was something else completely new and exciting all at the same time, I must say.” “Mhmm�"agreed.”

“I have absolutely no idea how we’ll manage the rest of the stay here after what happened tonight. But, I, for one, am absolutely willing and want to have more…”

A moment or two of silence came over them. Penelope knew exactly what he was asking and exactly what he was implying. While she couldn’t deny that nothing else might happen between them while they were there, she would allow herself to admit she agreed with him, if uncertain how and when. “I believe that sounds right�"”

She continued: “Let’s just continue with our stay as if we both had a good, first-night rest here. At least, so as to not overly concern the others while we are all together, least of all Noel. The girls, as I know them, are very quick to pick up subtle cues and even the tiniest hints of oddness; you can be certain of that. But yes, I cannot deny that I, also, am willing to experience the feelings from tonight again…however that is to be.”

With her reply, he smiled, ever so slightly, in her direction. His mind and body were falling asleep on him by the moment. Her expression looked tired as well. Awesome, he thought. Okay, ran through her mind. “Well then, Penelope,” Richie said. “Sleep well.”

“You too, Richie,” she replied. “And yes, for what it’s worth, I thank you for a night like tonight.” “My pleasure,” he said, smiling and winking at her. He took a calm, composed step in her direction and opened his arms up. She took the simple hint and raised her arms open enough as well, just too where hers would intertwine with his in the most basic of fashions and mannerisms.

Moments later, Richie was tip-toeing out the door, turned the hallway, and went to his room, striding ever so slowly and quietly. Especially at this new and deliberatively, unusual, time and position he found himself in, any sort of unexpected noise could rattle someone’s ears enough to wake and cause much more mayhem than anyone needed. Richie paused for a moment, calmed his breathe, and his alive and pulsing hard-on and found his way into his room. Just before opening and closing his door, he heard Mrs. Santoro’s door softly closing. No immediate noises erupted from anywhere in the immediate area.

Good, he thought, closing his door as gently as ever as well, time to pass the f**k out…and get ready for the next go around, of everything.

 

Chapter 11

            The window on the backside wall allowed for sunlight to come into the room, giving life to Penelope’s bed from an exquisitely delicate angle. Of course, it helped if and only if the blinds were set at a certain angle. Most of the time, they in such a position where the rays flowed into the ceiling of her quarters. And on a morning like this one, they had been set by Mrs. Santoro to allow only the “upper half” of her den to absorb the sunlight. On purpose. She knew when she crashed the night before that she didn’t want the penetrating rays of Apollo’s chariot to disturb her from the slumber she may or may not have received as she wished.

            On this sort of morning, though, the rays felt different. Because she felt different. She knew she was waking up as a new woman of sorts. The Penelope who arrived here was not the same one who woke up the first morning of the trip in the bedroom she and Jesse has designed and planned out with some effort. They had even gone to the lengths of an extensive search and hiring process for the interior designers and the furniture folks whom would ensure their lifelong-type ideas would be met. “It’s only a couple hundred, maybe a thousand or two,” she would tell him, knowing Jesse wasn’t always the keenest on dishing out the bigger bucks for things his wife chose to splurge on when she could. At least, that’s the way she was raised to believe those things, he would think to himself, when considering her selections for such things compared to his taste in the same department of life and living organizational selections. Ultimately, though, he knew his Penelope enough to know that when she wanted her things, even the nicer things that would make a simple room layout look exquisite like a 19^th century showroom, they were from an inner desire to make things look more “presentable” to the guests she (they) hoped to entertain and connect to her past. Besides, he wasn’t really in a mood nor had the need to argue to with her about such issues. “It’s a way to make you happy,” he would always justify to her, insisting that her ways could be met by his ability to not just make deals, but make necessary compromises for everyone’s happiness, even if it made a little dent in the wallet and accounts.

            At least, that’s the way they’d come to understand their way of living together and building of a life in coexistence.

            This morning, though, those conversations felt long since in the past. Penelope sensed that whatever had transpired and had all but taken place was a byproduct of the conversations she’d had with Jesse at one time. There was a (particular) feeling shifting through she wasn’t able to put into words at the moment, laying there in her haven of comfort, her resting sanctuary where she felt she’d, happily she had to admit, betrayed her body.

            Almost simultaneously, her eyes retrieved themselves back from whatever consciousness state they’d found themselves in. They began to process the sheets surrounding the light cotton-blended silk of her nightgown; the softness of the pillow engulfing her wondering thoughts and cupping her head as all-but-deserted emotions found themselves wondering back into her system she didn’t know she could experience, let alone would ever. She turned this way a little. Then that way a little more. Hoping the rolling would allow the physical mixture and state her nerves and body found themselves in to weave their way out of her system, the motions allowed her physical being to regain where it was and the situation she arose.

            She wasn’t sure if what had happened only hours before with Richie would occur again, perhaps not even while they were all still there at Ashton Grove. That was almost certainly out of the question…or so she figured it was. However, there was something exchanged last night that just convinced her enough that whatever feelings were treading through her weren’t going to “go away” just so easily. Even if she wanted them to; they were there to stay. At least, she felt they were. And, being the grown woman she was and having dealt with the sorts of things she had in her time, even she had to admit to herself that indeed last night might just occur again. In some way. Somehow.

            For now, though, she sat herself up on her bed, took a moment or two to regain her senses, and breathed a sigh of understanding. We are all here, and the day will carry on how it should, she had to tell herself, keeping last night’s incident at bay. She wouldn’t allow herself to entertain anything further about it. Not now, at least. “Breakfast�"what to wear�"what everyone wants to do�"” she murmured to herself, acknowledging the sounds in the rooms nearby, the faucets running the water in the bathrooms that filled the morning with sounds of people getting dressed and ready for another day of living. “Me too.”

            She pushed herself up and off the bed and strolled over to the closet where she’d put most of her outfits and proceeded through her usual routine of matching what was available versus what she’d planned, how she wanted to look, what the weather was supposed to be like versus what was known to actually happen while at the getaway house. The usual, she reminded herself. Of course, nothing about last night was “usual”. I’ll deal with it how I must when I must, she told her emotions. With that thought, she proceeded to dress herself and would eventually make her way to kitchen, checking to see if the girls and Richie had, indeed, written down what they would like for a breakfast treat, meal or whatever they would most feel like having.

            Elsewhere at the Grove, there was some waking hustle and bustle about in the rooms. Julie and Juliette were both casually rolling around their beds and rooms, in no particular rush to get themselves up and onward with the day’s happenings to happen. Noel was also wakening herself from her slumber. Known to always be the first to rise in a brisk-like pace, whether it was to go to a class, or working shift, a Church service or gathering with family in-town or simply meeting a friend or two about the town, the Santoro clan knew that when Noel was awake in the morning, a quick demeanor was all over her. That’s just how she was. Had always been, in a way. In that way for sure. Which is why it came as no surprise that she was the first of the three ladies to leave her cozy little comfort, Richie’s room as her mini-destination in her shortened stride. It was where she told herself to go. She hadn’t even thought about what time they’d all gone to sleep, finally, after they were done eating and had watched whatever it was they were watching. Those small details didn’t always concern her, though she was definitely the type to recall them when she had to as she was, in fact, a brilliantly smart girl whose mind was absolutely “up there”. Or so the periodic reports always indicated.

            Maybe I’ll just wake him up, she thought to herself, weaving her way from her room to the door where he was dwelling. And dwelling he was. It was bright enough in the hallways and outside, especially, to where she sensed, she knew, that his room would be as dark as possible. He liked sleeping that way. Noel knew how much Richie enjoyed his beauty rest when he could get it. Sure enough, as she slowly creaked the door to his man cave open, the light of the hallway lite the dwelling inside, giving her just enough light to see him lying in his bed. Not surprisingly, he was lying on his back, covered up to his collarbones in sheets and comforter. She couldn’t tell at first, but she could’ve sworn she saw a small tent pitched around the area where his hips were. Not entirely surprising, she thought, also having learned from different occasions here or there that he was the kind of guy who had that happen to him when he slept and awoke. You know, that kind. (Though his having to explain or justify the reasons for the tents was partly understandable from her perspective. He was after all, she knew, a guy. And a pretty honest one at that, she did acknowledge, even when attempting to wake him.) The rest of his body was pretty much outlined as she would expect: laying there in the bed. Presumably, he’d found the part of it he’d found most comforting to his frame compared to what he was used to when in his own haven.

            She stepped oh so carefully over to him, making sure not to bump anything on the floor as he was also the type to wake suddenly when sounds went bump too loudly. And such moments happened, expected or not, accidentally or not, they pretty much defined the least favorite way he wished to be wakened. It made him irritable, if only for a short while. If not just for a short while, Richie was the type to be grouchy for most of the rest of the day, if not partially, until he regained some of the rest he felt he “lost” or would, eventually, just let the damn upended feeling go.

            Either way, she was cautious to approach him. And felt she knew only one way she would have liked to have completed the task. It was a matter of how well she could employ her technique versus the reaction she might get. It did not matter, though. The day was beginning and she felt she was doing the right thing, even if it may not have been the most typical, straightforward way. It was just something she wanted to try, seeing as moments together may not have been at the most conveniently available while they were at the Grove.

            Noel stared at Richie’s bed and noticed his position: pretty much straight on his back, body straight and slumped in the sheets, taking in the slumber the moment had to offer. She wouldn’t have expected much else from him. She’d seen the way he slept in other situations like this; this was normal. Something she could handle.

            Her eyes, arms and upper body shifted their attention to the area where his waist was. Or, presumably, where it was supposed to be. She then carefully placed her hands over the comforter, making sure not to startle him. She knew how he felt about being surprisingly woken from his slumber. It was the equivalent of a minor, minor, minor-sized crime of sorts. At least, in Richie’s way of being, it was such an issue. Her fingers traced the area enough to where she could see the outline of his crotch. Her mind’s eye continued sizing up his figure, pinpointing where his body frame traced itself and his package was resting, albeit under the sheets and the fabric covering his skin. She decided not to alarm him too much; rather, she wanted to caress him to wake.

            She pressed her right hand a little more firmly over the area surrounding his crotch. It was just enough to where she knew he would feel the effects and not much more. She started moving her hand around a little, caressing his crotch ever so slightly; it was, in fact, enough to startle him. She felt his body begin to respond to whatever she was doing, or attempting to do, and almost got him to a little tease. It was on purpose.

            “Hmm�"?” Richie groaned, startled to see someone sitting beside him.

            “Richie…” Noel whispered back, just loud enough so she knew he could hear her voice.

            “What�"” he replied in a dazed fashion. His eyes battered themselves awake, his mind beginning its routine process of studying its setting, coming to grips with his location, the time of day, the level of fatigue his body felt, both from natural rest and, he knew under his skin, how rested he may have recovered considering what had just transpired with him only hours before, literally, and the fact that his Noel was, in fact, sitting on the bed with him, right by his hips to be exact. “Hmm, morning Noe,” he whispered softly to her. “How’d you sleep?”

            “I slept fine,” she replied. “And you? Feeling comfortable in this new little pad of a place? I know how much you do and don’t mind resting in different beds other than your own. They add a certain oddness to your sleep, I know.”

            “I slept well enough, yeah,” he calmly replied, which he knew was true. Of course, in the current situation where he found her, laying down as he was, exposed and all, he was not going to dare admit that while she and her girlfriends were getting their beauty rest in, her mom and he were actively partaking in certain moments of life that could not be known to anyone involved for sanctity of the moment they shared. Certainly not now, at least, he thought. It would have put so many dampers on the whole weekend and, God forbid, the short-term relations he had with her whole family. But, in his bed, with Noel sitting by his crotch, revealing to her what happened was just not something he was willing to concern himself with; not at the moment anyway. “It did take me a little while to actually get to sleep, you know,” he continued, “Knowing how I had to adapt to being here, in a new bed and all, finding the comfort zone of it.”

            “But yes, I did get some rest in,” he said, assuring her that he was, at least for now, calmly refreshed.

            “Good,” she said. “I thought you might have needed the rest. You look a little worn out when we all crashed last night. Figured you'd be out just as much.”

            “It became that way, yes,” he replied. Though it wasn’t entirely usual for her to wake him in this way, he was curious as to what brought her in his room, other than to maybe let him know everyone was getting up for some breakfast grub or to let him know about what everyone had already suggested to do for that day they were there. “So, what’s up?” he asked, deciding he’d had enough of the waking up nice and polite.

            “Well, I just thought I’d come in here and see if you were up,” she replied. He looked at her in a curious fashion. He knew, as well as she was letting on, that she probably didn’t go into his room “just” to see if he was awake. They were both smart enough to know she, and everyone else for that matter, would have heard noises coming from his room or the door open without her going in to have known that he was up. “Oh? Was that it?” he calmly replied, sensing she hadn’t said the real reason for her non-intrusion intrusion and whatnot, but wasn’t quite sure how to say what she was really wanting to express. He’d picked up on that little factoid about her. Actually, it was a pretty big factoid, but Richie wasn’t about to mention it explicitly there and then. He was more interested to see if she could work on that aspect of herself, with an opportunity that presented itself.

            “Well, no, not quite that alone,” she admitted, calmly hesitating to her real desires. “No.” She was switching her attention back and forth between his face & eyes and the area where her hands were moving. She knew this wasn’t usual for her either and, as much as she didn’t know how to react to being called out for doing something a little unorthodox for her character and all, she had to admit she was liking whatever it was that she was trying to do.

            “Okay then,” he replied, almost begging her to continue and express herself more fully and openly. He knew she wasn’t particularly known for that sort of thing. “No need to feel nervous about it or anything…”

            “Do you like that�"what you’re doing, I mean?” he asked, referring to where her hands her and how preoccupied they seemed.

            “Huh�"?” she asked, almost a little alarmed that she was on the spot for what she’d gotten herself into, not sure if she wanted to proceed or not.

            Richie sat up just a little bit, putting two pillows behind his head, so he could have a better view of whatever her hands were doing, even in the partially lite room. “Noel, I asked if you like what you’re doing: massaging and caressing me down there. Do you like that?”

            “I do, yeah.” Her tone was calm and fixated. Her body language was intrigued, yet hesitant. Still. He also noticed that while she didn’t seem the most excited or enthusiastic about the hand job caressing she was attempting to do (her inexperience in this department of life played its part there, he knew), she was trying to give him some attention in this regard. Even with the unknown events of just before at Ashton a calm and well-guarded secret, Richie, like any guy in his position, was happy to receive the treatment he was, regardless of the quality or method of delivery. “Then feel free to continue, if only for the short while we may have.” He didn’t say, everyone is awake and are probably going to wonder where we are for some breakfast and doing things today, so don’t take too long, but was implying it. His body language was good at that.

            She then threw her caution and inhibition to the wind and proceeded to do what her body’s nerves were telling her. Everything about the day itself felt gone with the wind in her mind. The guy in this bed in front of her became her only concern for the immediate moments.

            Grabbing the top of the comforter and the sheet covering his torso, Noel easily slid the sheets down to just passed his waist area, creating a small “pile” where the tops of his thighs met his waist. The easier access to his dark, navy blue boxer briefs springing to life. Her right hand went for the little hill of fabric arising from the small area between the muscular legs she knew Richie possessed. At first, she grasped the area protruding under the fabric, his c**k easily noticeable in the midst of the sheets, mattress and clothing that combined to make the sensual foreplay a part of the memories they’d continue to share together. “Ah,” he gasped, his slight reaction controlled and elicited as Noel was certainly wanting to do more than she probably could in the given time circumstances and all. She noticed and proceeded to slide her hand and small fingers over the fabric in a faster motion. Seriously beginning to wonder if the others would begin calling for her, and him, she then proceed to grasp his growing erection a little more forcefully, giving it some gripped tugging before things got so out of control that they’d been bumping and grinding before someone unconsciously decided to interrupt them, without their permission of course.

            “Noel?!” she heard one of the girls call out from the table area. “Noel? Hija?! Are you coming? We’re all serving…” she recognized her mother’s voice and knew that pretty much meant they were all ready and waiting for them�"her and Richie.

            “Ugh,” she groaned. As did he. “We should probably get going. They’ll wonder what’s taking us so long.”

            He smirked a bit in reply: “Yes, they probably will. Not that it’s a huge deal or anything. But with everyone out there, probably so.”

            Just then, they both turned their heads to the doorway, perhaps believing they heard someone walking down the hallway their way, making sure they indeed heard the calls. Typical thing for the morning breakfast announcement, Richie thought. He didn’t like it any more than Noel�"the necessary, unnecessary styled interruption. Especially as that meant he’d probably be walking around Ashton Grove and the outside yard or lake area with something of a hard-on between his legs and no immediate way to relieve it. Certainly he was not going to take care of himself seeing as there were, in his mind’s eye, women here whom could, and in all probability would, be willing to help him with that. Thus, he was willing to endure a little physical tingling, aches and pains of sorts, in order to arrive at a more masterful release of sorts. The sheer enjoyment of a moment or two that defined what it meant to be a human, alive with meaning and longing.

            “Well, take this for now and we’ll see how the day transpires, eh?” she said to him, her hand reaching under the fabric covering his waist and thighs. It lifted the material up; her head not actually leaning downwards to see what all was going on underneath. Rather, it was meant as a tease. And was it ever. Ahh, escaped Richie’s mouth. As quickly as her hand slid down below his sleeping armor, it just as soon escaped. The feeling and sensation of her hand grazing his skin, his most delicate patch of warmth and goodness, was almost too much to bear. He had to fight the physical urge to release more of his pent-up energy than he was able to contain, partly because he was still super aching from the hours moments in time before; partly because he didn’t dare have to nerve to act funny in front of Noel, only for her to suspect what all might have happened (his body language was always such a giveaway) and thus thrown everything else into an awkwardness he was by no means prepared to handle. “Thank you, little lovely,” he said to her. “It’s certainly appreciated. Though you should know that it’s only going to make me yearn for more of that and have trouble containing myself when I’m around you and everyone else. Wouldn’t you say so?”

            “Yes. I think that sounds about right,” she replied, her calm mutuality escaping her mouth as if expecting more but not convincing him that she was, realistically, prepared to experience anything more, this weekend and location or not.

            It seemed an ideal place, Ashton Grove, sure enough. Noel Santoro knew that just as well as Richie did; and Mrs. Santoro, and Juliette, and Julie, and whomever else they would bring as guests if, when, they all made the decision to visit as they did. She couldn’t help but notice, though, as they were getting themselves up and moving about the room, carrying on with the orderly business of going about the day and its planned and unplanned festivities, there was something ever so slightly peculiar about the way Richie was when she awoke him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, or him, in the spot-on sort of way. Yes. The words she couldn’t find to express to describe whatever it was she felt happened just then on his bed. It was as if he wanted more but didn’t, she couldn’t help but observe in her oddly surreal and realistically indifferent, mindful fashion. Almost as if his mind, even his, was somewhere else, she may have allowed herself to conclude, even if she didn’t trust herself to do so. Even as she felt his hand roam around her side to her back, massaging the smallness of it before crawling itself around to her front side, cupping her breast through the fabric of her half-cotton, half-polyester blouse she’d been careful to pack for the trip. Even as she knew the sensation she’d felt while reaching for him and being reached for in the most foreplay and innocent of inviting gestures was welcoming and warm, her female instincts just sort of triggered some new, possibly unknown sensations her mind’ vocabulary was unsure how to classify.

            Nevertheless, she tried not to let those waves and hills of uncertainty stroll through her much beyond that room, much less the bed. Oh well, it’ll probably pass, she felt in her thoughts. “Ready to head out there?” she asked him, letting all that be that for the moment. For now. “Yep, I think so. Besides, I am hungry,” he replied. “And it smells good in there.” She agreed. Of course, she had no idea that Richie was also carrying a masterful cloak of disguise tied around his neck, fully flowing down his back like that of Batman’s cape and partial cowl, not fully knowing that the other person he, in the deep-down recesses of his animalistic hunger, was really hoping to see again was awaiting them both only a few paces away. Better get your s**t together man, he thought to himself as they stepped towards the small chorus of voices becoming manifesto (?) by the moment. No need to be awkward right now. That can maybe wait until later, if at all.

            As he followed Noel down the hallway just a way’s until they reached the dining table where the smells of marvelous homemade quiches and over-easy eggs, glazed hams and wondrous tidbits of bacon bits filled the air and welcomed Apollo’s chariot that had completed its only lap of the gravitational spin moments before, Richie’s thoughts flashed multiple flashes simultaneously: how they all arrived at Ashton Grove together, he being among the welcomed guests of the Santoro’s; how he had been made aware that they didn’t always invite every guest or group of friends to their sanctuary of a home away from home and that receiving an invite was considered a unique privilege of sorts; how certain spontaneous, sporadic and wonderfully intriguing ideas led to unexpected but quite welcomed events that made the evening just completed one he would never forget. Not for a long time, without doubt. And how, for the moment purposes of then and now, he watched the cute and squishy, proportioned butt Noel possessed sway side-to-side with each of her walking motions. The swaying made him believe that, in spite of its cuteness and allure it gave him, there was something deeper inside of him that affirmed last night’s taboo-like ritual a rite of passage he’d been allowed to experience for God-only-knows-what-reasons…and was as awesomely enjoyable as it seemed. And he told himself he was allowed to experience it. For he was a human being, and damn it, it felt inadequate for him, hell for anyone really, to be made to feel only so alive. For the butt that bobbed hitherto in front of him was delectable, yes. But the one he was hoping to see more of belonged to another.

            And when they both approached the opening area to the table and were able to join the others, Noel and Richie both looked at everyone with welcoming “good morning” expressions, as if to say they were rested and ready to sit, eat and mingle how the conversations would allow. Noel glanced at everyone’s direction, taking everyone’s view, views, in. As did Richie. To his mix of credit and cool demeanor, he gave no direct notion to Penelope. Absolutely no need to make a scene here. “Hey, you guys,” she said, acknowledging them all. “Morning Mom. This all looks great. Thanks. I know you were probably up a little early getting it all prepped, as usual, and you may be tired later as a result.”

            “Oh, you are welcome my love,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “I’m happy to serve you all. You’ve always known that. I know how much you appreciate my cooking.”

            “Ah, good morning Richie,” she continued. “How did you all sleep? Do you both feel rested?”

            Rested, he thought. Now that’s a particular word to use, even in this sort of situation; one even he wasn’t sure was the right one to use. “Slept fine,” he replied. “Yes, same,” Noel added. Richie followed up: “I mean, it may have taken me a little while to adjust to the bed and all. But the sleep itself was fine. And quite the experience.” Without thinking much of it, all the women shot him an “interesting, what do you mean?” look�"the way he used that word, experience, was not exactly in line with the way people normally speak of sleep, vacation pad or not. “Meaning I had some dreams and the way I slept was just a little different than the bed I use at home. That’s all.” Okay, his explanation or whatever seems OK, they glanced his way. As they were all hungry and ready to chow down, none of the girls, much less Penelope, thought much of it whatever he said. They just figured it was a different night’s sleep than maybe he was accustomed to. Nothing more. At least, that’s the way he conveyed it. “If you say so,” Penelope said, noting what he said as if nothing more unusual than that was implied. As if knowing full well that she was involved in a night of promiscuity that even she had to hide.

            But they knew. Penelope and Richie. They knew. They were more than aware of what transpired in the wee hours of the evening before. And boy, were they doing an excellent job concealing any notion of what they’d experienced.

“I’m sorry Jesse couldn’t make it here, Mrs. Santoro,” Juliette said in her polite but direct tone. Every face present at the table gave her the same kinda disappointed but kinda not look that Richie had given her the afternoon before. It was one that said, we all know that your husband perhaps “chose” to work, being forced to confront his ongoing issue of bringing in the income versus spending time with his loved ones, in whatever capacity that entailed. “Yes, thank you,” Mrs. Santoro acknowledged her. There was a hint of partial admittance on her part, mind you, that even she, yes, wanted her husband to forget about bringing in some extra dollars here and there for the, in her opinion, better joy of enjoying the company of others, providing the type of meaningful stress relief that gatherings like these, like only these, could bring. It was something she had lived to learn with and accept about him, sadly but truthfully. And her eyes and facial expressions gave way to that unspoken truth.

“Not to be rude or anything, but did he have to miss out this weekend?” Noel asked, just to be sure she wasn’t being too off in her understanding of her father’s inevitable choice.

“You know how your father gets when it comes to having to put in the extra work to provide for us, my dear,” Penelope replied to her daughter, her quick-to-reply response especially noted by Noel, and Richie, who had this odd reputation of paying attention to more than he should have, at times. “He told me he didn’t want to miss, no, Ana,” Penelope continued. “To be honest, he was more upset at having to go in than he was about having to miss being around here. His boss, well, bosses, told him it could be a matter of going on his record there or coming back to haunt him. Or something like that.”

Her discussion of the matter lingered for a few moments. Even sank in with deeper meaning...something Mrs. Santoro would not dare discuss in front of her guests at her own secondary place. It was, frankly and truthfully, none of their concern. She made just indirectly made it so; perhaps without realizing it.

“Well, at least Richie was kind enough to give us his time this weekend and all,” Julie said, clearly wanting to shift the awkwardness of Mrs. Santoro’s subtle and inner reaction of her husband’s absence to something more to the possibility that she had married a not-so-outstanding fellow of a man, in ways. Richie heard Julie’s contribution and smiled. His presence was appreciated. “I was happy to come. And appreciative of the invite, for that matter,” he replied. “After all, it’s not every day that I’m invited to join in these types of outings or getaways.”

“He’s been busy with his work and adapting to the new city and all,” Noel chimed in, clearly feeling the need to establish her presence and role in her family as the one who actually made the effort to join when asked. “He tells me how the time demands of his Tech Specialist role is with Acceleron and how managing his Data Analyst graduate studies can be taxing on him.” That got everyone’s attention shifted from Mr. Santoro’s routine absence on to this young fellow’s ambitious sounding workload.

“It must be tough Richie, huh?” Julie asked aloud, getting an idea for who her friend’s beau really was beyond the occasional hang out’s. “Yeah, I hear from my coworkers and friends in my area that working full-time while attending college and stuff can be a hassle,” Juliette contributed. Their input was clearly getting everyone’s interest in the nicer, more conversational lingo worth pursuing versus the other elephant in the room. The “other guy,” who clearly made a choice of sorts.

Noel may or may not have liked the way his studies and implied career plans were overtaking the whole notion of a getaway weekend where thinking about the daily issues of work and study took center-stage, but she decided to hear it all out. After all, she wanted to know how confident this guy would be when addressing the topic and ideology of life plans and career aspirations in front of others. As if needing to convince everyone that she chose a guy who appeared to be as secure as the next in his attempt, or attempts, to work towards a type of living that may, ultimately, lead to providing for them both. In that regard, she was as smart as she seemed when listening to such conversations around open-table discussions. As if such discussion was the hallmark of cultured society. Besides, she thought, it’ll keep the discussion off her father’s lack of presence in her life. Or in her mother’s for that matter.

“Well, yeah, it can be tough at times, sure,” Richie conceded, more to be polite than self-assuring to the women watching and listening to his every move, getting a feel for this guy who may or may not play a major role in Noel’s world at some point. “I mean, it certainly sounds like it can be tough, I suppose. Not just to me or those who are skilled at that area of study and whatnot. But to anyone, really. The key, I find, is knowing how to balance your priorities and time manage the hell out of your schedule to ensure you fit everything in accordingly...pardon my language there.”

“Anyone, in my opinion, can work and attend classes at a school, university or otherwise. But to do that at the higher levels, where I am at for instance, really just requires that excess amount of self-discipline and full-fledged commitment that those higher levels of study require. It’s not so much reading a textbook and knowing the information on those pages, I don’t think. It’s more about knowing that you will be entrusted with that much more expertise when it’s all said and done to produce certain results elsewhere; having the honor and discipline to learn the respective craft are just key elements I and my fellow classmates have when we interact and pursue our studies.”

Okay, they all thought. He may be wordy and s**t, but at least he appears to know what the hell he’s talking about. Or so their looks conveyed. No one needed to say it. His response reciprocated their non-verbal reactions most suitably. Perfect, he thought. At least he could convey his position well-enough to where no one needed to further question him. For he knew their bringing up his studies was part-conversation, sure, but also to see how he was faring in his pursuit of those endeavors.

It didn’t matter, really. His response, that was. Richie had grown accustomed to people asking him those sorts of conversation starters. He was just never quite sure if they were looking for a serious and honest answer or some bullshit-sounding fluff pretending to deliver a message that said he had his s**t all figured out. Either way, he went for the home run response the way he knew he had to. Especially considering that the older male figure was not present to justify his place in the world of grown men, Richie kind of assumed the role of secure masculinity the ways he knew the women would expect him to. And judging by their responses, he hit a pretty damn solid homer at that. Well over the fence line. He couldn’t quite tell where exactly the ball had landed. But the way he delivered his little Master’s degree-prepared acceptance speech in front of a more intimate-styled crowd, he figured it was at least into the middle section of the lower deck, if not the middle. Perhaps one day I’ll speak about such matters from the uppermost deck, if things get to that point for me, he thought to himself.

But he quickly let that thought go. He was feeling arrogant in that note-to-self, and knew it. And he refused to think of himself as an arrogant individual. He knew he wasn’t. And didn’t intend to start becoming one now; not at this table, especially so soon after a wonderfully-adventurous twilight cemented itself into his body’s memory.

Noting the emptier plates and the food remaining just beyond them, Mrs. Santoro decided routine proceedings were in order. Understandably so.

With plates and dishes alike laying in front of them, Noel spotted her mother’s eye and knew her intentions without having to guess her thought. “Let me help you with all this, mom,” she said. It was not an attempt to divert the attention off of PhD-bound Richie any more than it was just focusing the attention back on the weekend occasion. She made sure to use the right vocal cord sounds to communicate that. She was not the jealous type nor did she want to be considered as such, even with two of her besties present. “That’d be great,” her mother replied. “Can we help with anything, too?” Julie asked, figuring it was the nice thing to do and would help get things rolling faster. Having made some of the weekend plans with Noel and her mother, Julie was aware of the other things they’d planned or wanted to do while at The Grove. “Only if you’d like,” Mrs. Santoro replied, not at all suggesting or forcing her assistance. “You are our guest, and where I come from and all, guests do not tend to the clean-up. It’s just not how we do it. I mean no offense by it. But I certainly appreciate your offering.”

“It’s not a problem, Mrs. Santoro,” Julie replied. She understood and knew the grown lady enough to know she meant nothing by it and didn’t have to justify or clarify said remarks otherwise. “Totally understandable. And you’re welcome.”

“Noe,” she continued. “Think it’s a good idea for Ana and I to go get changed and all for the rest of the day, if not for the swimming later?”

“That’d be great,” Noel replied. “I was just thinking we should all go ahead and do so while we clean up. It won’t take long for mom and me to join everyone. Don’t worry.”

“Care for me for go ahead and change as well? Or would you all like an extra hand in the kitchen?” Richie asked, unsure where and how he should best be suited for the transitional phase. “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me. Just thought to see if I could also be helpful.”

The ladies gave him a slight look as if to say, he’s here and partaking in the fun, offering to help and do his part as the grown man. They could tell that was something Noel and Penelope, perhaps even Mr. Santoro, and they were not completely accustomed to. Nevertheless, his offering was noted. And appreciated.

“No, that’s fine Richie,” Mrs. Santoro replied, clearly not allowing him to pitch in in spite of his willingness. Either it’s her pride in her own cultural norms or she wouldn’t accept one person’s offer when she’d just politely turned down one of the girls’, he thought to himself, noting the quickness of her response and the way she delivered it. “Noe and I can handle it. You can go ahead and get ready, like the girls.” Absorbing the response was the signal he needed: he understood where Noel got her stubbornness�"Mrs. Santoro was that same way. It was evident, just not something he was sure whether to call her out on. For that matter, he knew not to�"they were all under the roof of the Santoro vacation residence; calling people out for their own faults, however big or small in nature they were or appeared to be, was just not something he was raised to do. He knew better and, frankly, it would have put a damper on the entire rest of the time there, if not the time spent with Noel and her family down the line.

So, he let that be that. No point in arguing, he acknowledged to himself. Not worth the hassle nor the outcome, whatever that may have been.

On that note, Richie nodded his head, rose from the table area, and excused himself to his room.

The clanks and sizzz sounds of water falling from the faucet ensured him that things appeared to be proceeding like usual. Or so they all thought. Richie, being the ever so clever yet cunning sort of guy he had a slight reputation for being, figured there would be no harm in doing a thing of two a little off-script. A little out of the ordinary. He figured, why not? What’s the harm that may come from it?

Taking a few steps away from the kitchen and dining area, he proceeded to the hallway where he heard the girls’ voices laughing and having chit-chat about whatever the hell it was women discussed when they were in more intimate areas, particularly when those intimate areas involved the changing of wardrobe selections. Richie knew better than to be a peeping Tom with Noel’s friends, particularly when the opportunity seemed so inviting and plainly available for browsing. No, he confirmed to himself, not the occasion he needed to happen. Besides, if the previous evening was any indication of where and who his sights were set on, the rooms where Julie and Ana were going out their things were of general need-to-know for him, yet not of his peak interest. He waited for the kitchen sounds to come to an end before he figured to make his next little move.

Richie figured no more than a few minutes would be needed for the ladies to complete their usual process of dishes. They knew how to best clean them and would know how to make the quickest, little production of them. He had trotted into his room and could tell by the noises that that’s what the status in the kitchen was. “I’m ready,” he thought he overheard Julie saying aloud to no one in particular. “Yeah, I’m about the same. I’m just going to head on out and enjoy the warmer weather out there before actually do anything, you know?” Juliette replied to her. Well, it wasn’t so much a direct reply as it was an open response, more to inform her friend that she’d heard her and was going along with things. “I’ll be right there too!” Noel chimed in, walking over to her room from the cleanup. “But you all go on out. It won’t take me long. I’ll be right out.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Santoro added in. “I’ll be the same. I’ll join with everyone and will be right there. We’ll meet everyone in just a few.”

“Okay,” they all acknowledged.

“Richie, going to join them?” Noel asked him.

“Yeah�"” he quickly replied. “But wait, just a moment. Have to drop by the restroom first. I also won’t be too long. I promise.”

“Okay,” Noel replied to his acknowledgement. She’d known him enough to know that going to restroom just before or just after any meal was a pretty typical thing for him. Maybe even for a lot of guys and grown men his age or older; but she wasn’t sure about that part nor was she wanting to know that tidbit of information so soon after just having finished eating a meal. She preferred to keep her mind on the fun stuff ahead. “See you out there, then.”

“Indeed,” Richie said. And with that, he made his way to the restroom so she’d know of his immediate whereabouts.

Now normally taking care of his business was a few minutes process at the most. It wasn’t even something that involved too much complication. It was a quick in-and-out visit, to say the least. Richie was planning to just go in, change and then go join his generation outside for what he’d heard would be some badminton and bean bag sack throwing as well as some jumping and diving from off the slide into the waterfront and rope swing line that the Santoro’s figured would be a safe and fun way to make use of the inclined part of the yard and landscape. And of course, under any other sort of circumstances he probably would have done just that. But this visit allowed his curiosity run just a little bit. Maybe more than it should have.

The restroom in the hallway was no more than about 4 feet by 6 feet. Complete with a standing shower and the toilet, it was just the sort of space that the Grove needed when the other bathrooms were occupied and someone needed to have their access as well. The beige-lined walls had some floral designs painted on part of their walls and some art work framed photos of sorts in other, smaller areas. The towel sets, white cotton and impeccably folded and set on their respective racks, completed the linen’s look to make any guest feel a welcomed sense of calm and relaxation as if some royal family were treating them in a getaway French village cottage no less than 10 miles away from the town, almost provoking the country feeling in such a sophisticated little space. And the lotions and fragrance designed-aromas resting in the countertop coasters added a touch of glamour to an otherwise modestly decorated, charming spot where Richie was just beginning to exit.

He heard the noises of chatting and laughing girls coming from outside the back area, where he could only presume they had already begun playing a round of bean-bag toss or whatever else they decided to give a go for the first set of games. Their poolside attire they all seemed to be decked out only gave Richie’s implied notion they would be splashing around before not too long. Even from the inside of Ashton Grove, it felt warm out. He couldn’t quite tell, exactly. But the way the sun lite up the outside skies and gave a vibrant buzz to the ground and landscaping, he could tell it was going to be a warm outing, however long they chose to stay out.

Before he made his way over to the backdoor, indirectly in view from where he was standing in the hallway and restroom doorway, he recalled how Mrs. Santoro would be joining them just a moment or two later. He figured the dishes would be handled in a timely fashion�"Penelope and Noel, when she offered to help with them, were usually quite quick with them; or their dishwasher was for that matter. So, he decided to make a quick, seconds-only stop around the area where Mrs. Santoro’s room was. It may have been the middle of damn night when he’d last left that same sanctuary where wonderful things could have been, but he recalled the layout of the quarters enough to have had an idea where to go. Besides, he could always just tell the ladies he just needed a moment or two more to make sure everything came out, else risking an accident he didn’t want to chance the embarrassment with, if they questioned his delay in joining the festivities. (It was true, to an extent. The Santoro’s had noticed Richie could be the type to take a while handling his business. After all, what grown man didn’t experience at least some sort of digestive or internal-type problem at some point in their life?)

Richie cautiously took a step to his right. Then another. And one last one. Once he felt assured that he was out-of-sight, least for the moment or so, he proceeded to mince ever-so-carefully toward the doorway his adrenaline took him towards. Noticing the inch-and-a-half or two gapped opening in the doorway, he placed his eye to about 3 inches from the crack…he wanted his curiosity to explore the dwelling inside. There was no need to barge the door open and startle the madam mistress of the household. Richie saw her figure move in front of the dresser that was in half-open sight, shifting side to side taking in the sight of her figure as she was clad only in her underwear�"a matching, lightly shaded purple bra and panties with white trim around the waistline.

It was an exquisite set that showed off her figure as it was meant to: her curves shaped out the fabric of the panties and highlighted the framed stone columns that flowed beneath them. And her back rose with the aura of a woman who’d lived a life filled with experiences, memories, life-giving game changers and a sculpted presence that screamed, I’m a grown woman. Take in the sight, if you want and must, because I’ve earned this look I have. It is mine.

And the strap at the back held its contents just where they needed to be. The horizontal bar that kept the hooking straps upright over her shoulders accentuated the shoulders she possessed�"ones that also told onlookers that she, indeed, had earned the physical embodiment she carried every day of her life.

And her hair, from what Richie could observe, most definitely played its part in adding texture, appeal and a finesse of glamour to a mature woman’s look that might have otherwise not have been as big an ordeal as the sight in front of him was.

As would any woman in her situation and the circumstances of the day, Mickey moved her arms behind her to the middle of her back. She twisted a little this way and that, taking in the sight of the figure she called her own, pondering ways to trim down the little build up’s she knew she had; yet, had learned to cope with. She wasn’t a model or anything. She knew that. Thus, could not compare herself to those same types of women she had spent part, if not most, of her childhood envisioning as her own, grown up version. That was unhealthy�"and she dealt with that in the various ways women of her age or much younger did. Or so she thought.

She let those self-conscious ideas pass once she twisted herself back to her original stance. She grasped the clasp at her back, twisted, unhooked the garment, and proceeded to let it fall to the bed. In the next moment, her hands gripped the waistline trim of her panties and, with a cool and swift motion, removed them down to her ankles as she’d done any other time. Placing her garments in a little stack together, her emerald green one-piece awaited her attention. She collected it and positioned her legs for proper placement.

This was a private, routine part of her vast world and existence to which she and only she knew. For Mrs. Santoro was the kind of woman to let not even her husband witness her in said-transition. For her, this was the time when she was allowed to be by herself, for herself. And it was a private ritual, indeed.

The next moments saw the mother and housewife figure she’d displayed herself as transform into the grown woman preparing to involve herself in the recreational world where younger women at least half her age, if not more than, would be unintentionally yet directly showing off what they’d become.

That realistic notion didn’t bother Penelope. No. Hardly. It bothered her, maybe, that her figure may not have been what it used to be in spite of the attempts here and there to restore herself to her old figure. We all go through this phase, she thought to herself, realizing and embracing the reality that all women may become versions of themselves they did, and did not, hope to become. Not too bad, she thought to herself though. She could live with the image in front of her. Even if the verbal acknowledgements awaiting her outside would or would not substantiate that, she could live with what she saw.

Which is why when Richie made a slight breathing sound that hinted he was nearby, she jumped a little, having finalized her arrangement and the covering top�"a partial robe, partial overhanging blouse of sorts. Whatever someone wanted to call it, the light pink half-cotton, half-polyester material served its purpose.

“Hello?!” she said aloud, startled and in partial disbelief that someone may have been spying on her. Truthfully, her instincts were scared out of their wits. Naturally.

“Ahem,” Richie gasped aloud. No need to overly freak her out with a wordy response. His vocal reply was enough, he felt, to settle her nerves as to the strange intruder she believed him to be.

“Richie??” she asked. “I’m sorry. What�"is that you?!”

“Eh�"” he replied. “Yes. Yes, Penelope, it is me.” He honestly did not know whether or not this was a safe move or not. He may or may not have cared about his being there versus outside already, throwing a bean bag or hitting a ball around some pole, or another similar type of weekend fun thing. But his curiosity brought him to her room. He sure as hell wasn’t going to back away and pretend it was no accident he wondered to her little world of incredible privacy.

She stepped toward the door and opened it, quickly but with control. No need to make a bigger scene with raised voices than the semi-obvious factoid of both of their absences outside. She scoffed. “What in the name of heaven are you doing here, outside my room?” Her direct tone told him she didn’t quite appreciate his intruding on her like this.

“I was curious,” he replied calmly, reassuring himself that his actions were deliberate, even if misplaced. “Didn’t take me as long in the restroom as I thought. My mind became curious.”

She looked at him, confused. “I’m sorry. But I have absolutely no idea what you mean by that.” She raised her eyebrows, slightly lowering her jaw and clenching her lisp in a slight snare.

“Am I to understand that you basically went to do your business in the restroom and just, randomly I suppose, decided to walk over to my room to…what? Watch me undress or whatever it is you were hoping to see?” She looked him directly in the eyes. Any other look would have been pointless�"she knew he’d already seen some of what he wanted; she saw that in his eyes and expression.

“Well, forgive me if you want or not, but your door was slightly cracked open,” he began his reply. “And yes, I couldn’t help myself.”

In a flash of a moment, maybe a moment and a half or whatever it felt like, his arms held hers and had quickly spun her around. Richie took a careful approach to roam his hands all around her frame, intentionally leaving her oversized top where it was.

He didn’t mind she had her suit and covering on. It added to her appeal. Made her more desirable, as such.

He placed his head to the right of her neck, feeling her hands and arms gripping for his. He sensed as much as she may not have wanted this moment to have occurred, much less when and how it was, she was, in fact, going along with it. No mention or physical notion of a rejection or complaint came from her. This might be going along better than I had hoped, he thought.

He whispered: “After last night, my body wanted yours again. My insides are craving you, I mean in spite of the weekend and the others outside. It’s a rush for me, Penelope.”

“I hope that doesn’t bother you too terribly much,” he said.

“Richie�"” she replied. Her eyes were half-shut, half-open, the sensations she couldn’t lie to herself she knew she experienced in the late night not having completely dissipated from her system. And she acknowledged to herself: yes. It felt good. Whatever it…this…was. It felt good.

Damn it, she thought to herself.

“Richie,” she whispered back. “We can’t. Not now, I mean. The girls�"Noel�"are expecting us outside.” She gulped the fresh air, having to overcome her senses, it just for a few moments before things really got out of hand. “They know we are the only ones in here. And, trust me, they’ll suspect something if we don’t go out soon.”

“Especially Noe,” she continued. “Your Noe. She’s really very good at reading situations that don’t always appear right. I know her like that. You should know that, too.”

“Yes,” Richie replied. He slowed his hands to a near-halt. His body was demanding more. However, whatever sort of conscious was dwelling up and inside that mind of his and the heartbeat of a soul deep down in him told him that she was right. “Yes, I understand. Not the right time for this sort of thing; especially with daylight and everyone and the day ahead. Soon though…soon.” He had no need to argue. Not right now. There would be another, much more ideal and practical, time for this sort of thing, he knew.

“Let’s go ahead and head out,” he said, taking a half-step away from her, letting her arms and body compose themselves again.

“Yes�"” she replied. “Let’s.”

She scoffed in a slightly odd way: “You are something else, Richie. I must say.”

“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied. “I don’t quite know if you meant it that way or not, but that’s how I’m taking it.”

“I don’t know either,” she said, acknowledging her own uncertainty. Truth was, she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that little moment just there�"or what to say in response to it. It just happened, and that was that. And for goodness sakes, she wasn’t going to overthink that. “I’ll see you out there, Richie,” she finally said, breaking any little lapse of silence.

“Yes,” Richie replied back. “And I am looking forward to it.” She looked at him in an odd and peculiar way, noticing the wink he flashed her. She also noticed the half-smirk of an internal smile that stirred the insides of her cheek muscles. He really is something else.

 

Chapter 12

“Okay,” Julie said. “Okay. Here we go. Come on baggy. Get in that hole.”

“You got this,” Noel chimed in. “It’s hard to miss that sort of throw, even from�"what?�"10, 12 feet away? Shouldn’t be too difficult.

The girls had paired themselves up against Juliette, who’d already gone in lieu of waiting for Mrs. Santoro. The sun was floating overhead, sure as the day that was happening ensued. There was a slight breeze that awaited Richie when he arrived outside, taking the navy blue lawn chair that had been set to the side. And with the clouds in speckled spots here and there over the clear skies and the highlighted sun, it was sure to be an afternoon of laughing, smiling and good spirits. The Santoro’s, if nothing else, did know how to plan for a good outing, whether it was 5 guests or 15 or 50. Well, 50 may have been a bit much in their world. But with the likes of Julie, Juliette, Noel, Richie, and Mrs. Santoro outside and enjoying the scenic beauty as they could, who the hell was counting the guest list?

“Mom, did your friends mention to you if they could make it or not?” Noel asked, waiting for her actual turn again.

“Huh�"?” Penelope responded, partially caught off-guard by her daughter’s inquiry to the guests she had mentioned might be joining them once they arrived the night before.

“Remember? Debbie and Julianne? You mentioned you wanted to invite them. At least that’s what I believe you mentioned before we all came out here.” Noel was right. And for some unknown reason, she couldn’t quite figure out why her mother wasn’t able to recall her friends’ names. Normally she was very good at remembering those sorts of things. She didn’t think much of it at the moment, though she couldn’t help but think something else may have been causing her mom to have forgotten such simple information. She did not feel like pressing the matter much at that moment. Besides, it would have spoiled the mood even more than the conversation at breakfast or whenever in the same way that her father’s absence was noted. And Noel didn’t feel like reliving those conversational memories again so soon.

“Oh, yes,” Penelope said. “I do remember. Thanks for reminding me. I reached out to them the other day; just never quite heard back.”

“I wasn’t sure if it was a timing thing or just that they didn’t respond back to my call that they weren’t able to make it. Eh. Either way, I’m sure they had their reasons or commitments. It’s not like Debbie nor Julianne to just not respond to something. They’re usually pretty good at RSVP’s and invites.”

“So, they’re not just blowing you off, is that what I’m hearing?” Noel asked. She knew better than to ask in such a direct manner, especially with everyone present, much less inquiring about an unknown piece of the party puzzle that had no direct explanatory statement. But everyone there knew Noel to be quite upfront in her tone and delivery when it came to those sorts of inquiries, whether she meant to be direct or not. Nevertheless, the question filled the relaxing mood with a hint of unease tension; Penelope felt it deserved an answering statement that might satisfy the curious young minds she was around.

“Yes,” Penelope calmly responded, knowing her calm and certain tone would be the only real thing that could satisfy her daughter’s aggressive, yet innocent, inquiry of her mother. Besides, she was not in any mood to be challenged by her own offspring as if to say she didn’t even know her own friends’ personalities, the few she even had to reach out to. “That’s pretty much exactly what I’m saying. You know I would have already mentioned it if they informed me they were coming or not. I would have no reason to withhold that sort of information from you. Or you ladies for that matter. Or Richie, even.” She gestured her eyes and face to Julie and Juliette and Richie. It was more a truthful way of solidifying her need to be an honest and matriarchal woman than the uncertain of herself, which may have given impressions of other uncertainties in her life.

Perhaps her own style of pride or perhaps her need to appear as the competent woman she’d hoped she’d grown into, Mrs. Santoro was not the kind of woman to want to let suspicions alter her reputation as the woman she was. It was at that moment she looked at everyone gathered nearby, checking their eyes and faces to see whether or not their expressions were questioning hers. From her first glance around, no one seemed to being doing so. Truthfully, they didn’t seem to care enough to have questioned her explanatory-response. It really just came across as something needed to be mentioned as opposed to a justification needed for clarification. Besides, of all people, Julie and Juliette, much less Mrs. Santoro’s own daughter or Richie for that matter, were the last people to be concerned about questioning her, location being Ashton Grove or otherwise.

“It’s not a problem, Mrs. Santoro,” Juliette chimed in. She could tell there was a slight air of confusion and interrogation sorts of questioning on the verge of hitting center stage of the bean bag toss, something she wasn’t sure she wanted to spoiled the mood, which seemed to take a less-than-upbeat feeling than the misplaced cloudy one that the Santoro women were providing. “We get it. They’re just not here for this little gathering of ours. It’s all good. We believe you. No need to have to explain or justify anything to us. Eh ladies? Richie?”

“Yeah,” Julie added.

“I suppose so, yeah,” Noel mentioned. “Yes.”

“It’s fine by me,” Richie said.

“Okay,” Mrs. Santoro said, a calming sensation coming over her. She knew acceptance was abundant around these people, something that comforted her more than she was even aware. “Thank you all.” She wasn’t used to people just accepting what she said without having to justify herself this-way-or-that.

“Anyway, it’s your turn Mrs. S,” Julie continued the gaming activities. “That is, of course, if you wanted to play. It’s not hard.”

“I suppose so,” she replied. “How do you play…whatever this is? I don’t think I even know what this game or whatever is called.”

Julie laughed: “It’s just a bean bag toss, Mrs. S, is all really.” Penelope looked like she had no clue what was going on. Julie continued: “Basically, you stand to the right side of the big, wooden plank things with the three holes in them, for whichever side you are playing on. Then, you take the bean bags in your throwing or more dominate hand and aim for the three holes. Each one has a point value assigned to it: usually 1 for the lowest hole; 2 or 3 for the middle; and 4 or 5 for the highest one up. Each team of two gets two rounds of throws, I believe. Isn’t that right, Ana? Noel?”

“Yes,” Noel said. “Of course, there are variations based on whomever is playing or however they want to change the rules a little to fit their specific occasions. But that’s basically how it’s done.”

“The team that has the most points gained from the tosses wins,” Julie concluded. She paused ever so briefly to ensure Penelope could process the information without overwhelming her. “Don’t worry. It’s easy-to-follow and you’ll get the hang of it very quickly. It’s actually a pretty easy game to play, compared to like board games and other things like that.”

“Since there are only four of us out here right now,” Julie resumed the groundwork and structuring. “Why don’t we do three rounds of throws? Then, maybe, switch up the teams? Any objections?”

“Eh, no,” Juliette agreed. “I’m good with that. With so few of us and quick throws, the games won’t last very long. So, sounds good.”

“Yep,” Noel agreed. “That works for me.”

“I’m cool with that,” Richie added. “So who’s going right now, anyway?”

“I’m up, with Noel,” Julie insisted. “Then it’ll be Ana and Mrs. Santoro. Richie, if you want to throw one or two for either team for one of us, feel free to do so. This isn’t official or anything. Just a way we organized everyone.”

“No problem,” he remarked. “I’m sure I can find a way to fit in.” They all nodded collectively. Good, teams are set for this round, their expressions all conveyed. Except Penelope’s�"hers was something of an odd, focused reaction that said, perhaps, that Richie’s last little conversational line there had some other implication; some other meaning. But because no one really knew how he meant that nor what else he could have been implying, the girls all figured he was referring to the tossing and the two teams. Penelope, though, in her semi-puzzled reaction of an observational expression, couldn’t help but momentarily focus a brief thought on the night before, when she and Richie almost went to a place where the pleasure took over the logical reasoning prohibiting their actions. But before she allowed herself to reminisce even more than she could, she forced herself to focus on the tossing and the instructions she had just been given. Any other thoughts would have surely given a subtle hint away as to what happened in her room in the wonderful lust of the dark. Not was not the time. Everyone would have known something was up. No need to risk ANY of those speculations, she thought to herself. Just focus on the game and throwing the little scrunch bags. Thankfully, no one noticed her look any more than they noticed how warm it had gotten and their swimsuit-covered outfits of oversized beach shirts, sandals and curled hairdos.

“Okay cool,” Julie said. “Shall we begin?”

She tossed her bag with the same swinging motion that would embody the repetitive motions all the ladies would display as the game went on. It would also tell everyone who had better hand-eye coordination versus not; and would tell everyone who was good at the different sorts of games: outdoor physical-motion ones versus swimming; video games versus board. Those sorts of things.

Julie’s toss went towards at the board opposite her, landing just to the right of the middle and highest holes, sliding about an inch and a half down and to the right as settled itself on the platform. “Ooh! So close!” they all shouted. Mental note to selves: Julie has good aim. “A good first throw,” she said. “Next time I’ll get it in.” “Yeah, no kidding. You’re going to rock it!” Noel exclaimed. Noel knew she didn’t possess the most physically-accomplishing aura around. Thus, she always made it a point to excel in other areas where her craftiness and driven demeanor could serve her better; bean bag tossing was definitely up her alley, in that regard.

“Just like you, eh?” Julie said. “You’re up.”

“Indeed,” Noel replied. She positioned herself where Julie was moments before. Being about the same height, yet with a slightly wider complexion than her team mate, Noel knew she would have to compensate for her less-muscular arms by using whatever sort of physics-based motions she could muster from other parts of her body to get her bag where she wanted, much less needed, it to go. She cranked up her right arm two times, to get a mental “preview” sense of where her bag might go based upon its barely-there ounces of weight, trajectory of a thrown path, and projected distance, so forth. Science-minded types like Noel always thought in those terms as means of going through problem-solving situations where numbers and variables could be applied. It was part of her nature; her mother knew that, most of all. Always had known that. She had known her daughter’s mind was very “up there” from a young age. This game, she figured, would be easy-peasy in her world.

After the second crank, she let the bag fly. It hurled towards the board, visually passing the bottom hole with some speed. Everyone was waiting to see whether the middle or top hole would be its destination. It landed and bounced just passed the middle hole, clearly with enough momentum and speed in its motion to have kept going.

It hit the board and continued sliding, centered just at the middle-right portion of the holes’ alignment to suggest it would go in either the top or middle. Thwack! Slide! Drop! Plop! It trickled its way into the top hole with only a little ease�"it was not a straightforward in-the-hole toss mind you.

“Wow!!” they all exclaimed.

“Nice throw Noe!” Juliette shouted. “Yeah! Great job!” Julie added.

“That was impressive,” Richie contributed. “Awesome throw!” He went and side hugged her. It was not the typical sort of PDA he was known to give her nor the type she was expecting to receive. But she accepted it nonetheless, Richie enabling himself to feel her soft body pressing oh-so-gently against his, her hip and arm muscles creating a mesh of bodily contact that was unusual for him to feel. It was a small celebration of sorts; but, one she was happily willing to receive.

“That’s my Noel!” Mrs. Santoro mentioned. She went over to hug her daughter momentarily, before returning to her position. She figured she’d gotten the hang of how the game went and was ready for her toss. “Going for the highest points when she can; never settling for less than what she knows she deserves.”

Everyone gave her a half-sly smile of a reaction. Eh, proud mother, they all figured. And she was. Even if it was for something as simple as tossing a bean bag into the highest hole possible. But they let her glorify her daughter.

It was their place, after all. It was her daughter, too.

And it was a pretty well-known, unspoken factoid by pretty much anyone who’d ever played Bean Bag Toss that actually getting the bag into the top hole was as potentially difficult a thing to do as, say, making 50 free throws in a row in basketball when the person “shooting” the ball has only marginal, if decent, skill on the court: it could be done, with practice and all. But it was almost rather tricky. It required muscle memory, damn good precision skills, or both.

That’s why no one gave either Santoro lady any undue and unnecessary quips about Noel’s toss�"it deserved its little phrase.

So when Mrs. Santoro stepped up to make her toss, everyone was curious, naturally and accordingly, to see whether or not she would produce the same sort of result as her daughter. It was no competition, of course. It was all in good spirits and for good fun. However, being that they were the mother and daughter Santoro, the ladies all inherently knew that the madam would not be willing to let her daughter show her up on her turf, even if was just a game and there was nothing meant by it in the end. It was a European pride thing, Noel and her mother knew.

Richie, he was just sitting back on his chair, watching the ladies move themselves into position when their turns came up…as any crowd member of a sporting or recreational event would. His on-looking was as routine and innocent as it was just he sitting in a chair awaiting his turn to gather points for either team, whichever he would be involved with.

For now, though, his attention was on the participant about to unleash her attempt.

People who knew Mrs. Santoro didn’t typically associate her name with “athletic”. Her name wasn’t synonymous with “those” endeavors. Most people and individuals who knew of her knew she was far more into cooking new and original recipes, keeping a clean and stylish home, concerning herself with matters of European & heritage-related events as well as those of her neighbors as they may affect she and her family as well; also, she was known for her outfits and maintaining a proper and socially acceptable demeanor when in the view of others. Not that she had to, of course. She was just raised in & around a very upscale family home where doing the righteous and “proper” thing�"whatever that happened to be nine times out of 10�"was what everyone did.

Thus, the notion of her throwing a bean bag into a small hole, no more than 12 feet away from her, literally, on a warm, summer mid-morning while at a vacation home was a bit unorthodox for her character. In lieu of those preconceptions and societal roles and the reputation she carried for herself, here she was.

While the ladies were looking in her general direction and that of the wooden platform to which she was aiming, wondering how exactly the bag would look once it took its short flight, Richie’s attention was also on the mother’s stance. In spite of his arranged status as “audience member”, he clearly came across as, perhaps, the athletic type of all the folks gathered. He thought it was ironic how he hadn’t been asked to participate in the first around with one of the girls or the Misses. But who was he to argue? It wasn’t that huge of a deal to him anyway. Plus, it did, in fact, provide him the subtle opportunity to do what he was really doing in his seated position.

Yes, his focus was on the lady throwing, as were the girls’. But, truthfully, his was carefully crafted and focused on one in particular.

Richie’s eyes were in observation mode. He noticed the way Penelope was standing, attempting to balance herself in this newfound game of throw with coordination and aiming in such a delicate balance. She was used to paying attention to details, especially when it came to matters in the kitchen, when her recipes and attentive skills were heightened for minutes at a time. She positioned her feet and legs about shoulder-length apart, enough to keep herself in throwing motion. Her swimming robe was barely knotted enough to keep her fragile skin from too much skin exposure. It also brought out and accentuated her one-piece, highlighting her figure, as it would any grown woman. This is different, Richie thought and knew to himself. He knew who this woman was; she wasn’t just some random grown woman walking around the pool, nicely put together in some outfit, looking where her little Jack and Amanda wondered off to.

He noticed the way she swung her arms, one to keep her balance; the other for the bag. Her legs motioned this way and that as well, keeping the momentum going enough to ensure at least a decent throw. And the way her anatomical figure showed itself was accented through both her clothing & swimming attire enough to heighten his curiosity about what she might look like in other types of circumstances where said-wardrobe was and wasn’t an issue.

One motion. Two motions. Then, she released her bag. It flung towards the holes in a semi-convincing manner. One that said, I might not be the world’s best bean bag throwing champion here or anything. But I can throw a bean bag like everyone else and still hit a target, relatively. Yes, the bag hit the area around the base of the platform, landing just around the lower right-hand side of the circle, barely half of the thing creeping in. But not enough to where even gravity would be able to pull it in and down from the board. It just lay there, stalling. In an agonizing and spectacular fashion, almost as if begging Juliette to sacrifice higher points on her throw in order to double theirs with the two bags that would ensue.

“Ohh!” they all cried aloud upon seeing her result.

“Soo close Mrs. S,” Ana mentioned. “It was a really good throw, though. I honestly wasn’t sure how yours would turn out�"I mean you don’t seem like a bean bag-throwing type. No offense or anything.”

“Why thank you,” Penelope replied to her. “I appreciate that. And no, no offense taken. I wouldn’t know how seriously or not to take me either, especially not in this game.” They both laughed. “At least I sort of made it count for something, right?”

“Right,” Ana replied. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll do what I can to knock yours in and hopefully make both of ours count together. I think Julie and Noel are only up by 3. So if I can knock both of ours in, that’s 2-3. We’ll have a better chance to tie or win or whatever. (Lol) Not that it matters who actually wins or anything. But yeah.”

“No I understand all that,” Penelope said. “Quite frankly, Juliette, I don’t think any of us is here for bragging rights or the glory of tossing these bag things into holes.” They laughed again. Their laughter was one of happy joy, which told everyone that in spite of the circumstances of a few absentees, Mrs. Santoro had the ability to forget those other minute details and carry on with the moment; moments, that ensued. The calming sensation in the air resumed, in its own organic way.

Moments later, both Julie and Juliette were able to send in their respective baggies. Julie snagged two points from the middle hole; Juliette tossed her little thing into the air sequentially following the combination of Julie & Noel. She did either have very good aim or she just happened to have very good, precise luck as she was able to knock in Mrs. Santoro’s dangling bag, doing just enough to flop and knock it downwards into the hole where they both laid before the final little round got underway.

“Richie?” Noel brought his attention into the match up. “Yes? What’s up? You need me to toss one?” His questions implied his part to join in without having to ask; more to contribute to the game as the girls mentioned he could before they started.

“Yeah,” she mentioned. “You remember how we mentioned we wanted you to have a throw at some point between both of us? Well, here you go. What do you say?”

“Yeah sure,” he quickly replied. “I was waiting for the point when you or Ana’s group would ask me to hop in, actually. I remembered what you all mentioned earlier.”

“You good with it, Julie?” Noel asked, seeking her team mate’s approval, as if saying, I want your input and know he won’t screw us over. Not that winning was everything to Noel; she did, however, has this tendency to want her way when she could get it. And Julie, of all people, was not in any sort of mood nor had any reason to have needed to disagree with her.

“Yep,” Julie said. “Good with me.” Truthfully, she didn’t care. One guy throwing a bean bag at this great place when other things seemed more fun to do anyway was the least of her concerns right about now.

He stepped up to the platform where the ladies had been during the first two rounds. Standard playing procedure and all. “You all want me to aim for any hole in particular? Or just throw it and see what happens? Figured I might as well ask upfront, you know?”

“Just…” Julie began. She looked quickly at Noel, unsure what to say or how to react to that inquiry.

“Just make something,” Noel finished for her. “I mean, try to get at least the 2, if you can. But something would be helpful, please.” Although her tone was a hint more direct than usual in that request, Richie knew her enough to know that having a good display was important to her. He also knew she didn’t want to be on the short end of the brash jokes that would ensue should he not contribute points for her team, even if it was and wasn’t completely his fault if they ended up on the short end of things. “Okay,” he replied. “Think I can handle that.”

He knew the score was around 5-5 following both of the groups’ previous attempts. Or so he thought he heard from their expressions and point-collecting memory.

As long as I get at least for both, I should be OK. No one will b***h at me for helping them more than the other if I get at least one. Just get one, dude, he thought to himself, to calm any unnecessary pressure he felt in contributing a damn toss.

He wound up his arm, knowing full well his body language had to convey a sense of pure neutrality�"he would also be throwing for the other ladies and had no intention of making either group upset by his playing tactics and such. No need for that among these ladies.

He wound. Cranked back. Swung forward. And released! The bag flew, towards the board. Its height said it was going for the middle hole; not just the bottom one.

Within a second or two, the bag skimmed the middle one and dropped instantaneously.

“Nice throw, Richie!” Julie first shouted.

“Yeah, nice one!” Noel added. She jumped a short jump in the air, briefly throwing both arms in the air at the thought of possible victory.

“Thanks, girls,” Richie replied. “Just took a little concentration and physical focus, but it worked out!” “I’ll say it did,” Noel replied back to him. She gave him a half, side-armed embrace of a hug. That was perhaps all she could ponder showing him in appreciation for his effort.

Oddly enough, she gave no real other thought to signs of physical affection. Richie knew it was a simple little bean bag thing for fun. But, in his mind, he was wanting more from her. A display that said, thanks for being the great guy you are, playing along and possibly helping us win this. Nothing. Yet.

“I still have to toss for Ana and Penelope, remember?” Richie reminded them, focusing on the flow of the game versus the temporary feeling of potential bragging and momentary, recreational glory. “Yes, yes,” Julie acknowledged. “Of course. Well, don’t try too hard to throw too well for them.” The ladies all laughed. A light-hearted and carefree joke of sorts, Richie knew she meant, plain and simple, don’t give them three points, or we’ll probably kick your butt; maybe even your balls or something. “Don’t worry. I’m just going to toss their bag is all I’m doing. Just like I did for you all.”

No one minded his reaction.

But Mrs. Santoro was made mindfully aware that Richie was walking over to her group’s board when he said that. Oh, he’s coming over. Coming closer, that is, she thought in realization that his proximity may cause some misplaced, indirect sense of awkwardness.

Richie, on the other hand, looked fully set on creating another 2 points, at least. His demeanor gave nothing in terms of showing biased towards A & M’s side of the game. He knew, after all, how to be impartial in certain situations. In his mind, this was just another one of those. And yes, being nearby a certain Mrs. Santoro would be an interesting and delectable perk to making this second throw.

“Well, if you could Richie,” Juliette insisted before he let loose the second time. “Please aim for at least the same hole as you did just then, if not the highest. I mean, it really doesn’t matter to us what you get and all. But at least the same kind of effort would be appreciated and nice of you, you know?”

“I hear ya,” he replied. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything to purposely screw you all out of this little festivity. Promise.” He gave a slight glance over to Mrs. Santoro, knowing she would understand that his remark just then may have had underlying implications and meanings beyond just tossing the damn second beanie. But the look in his eyes suggested his focus was where it needed to be�"on the holes a few feet away from him and not the two that could be created or explored at another time, if or when exploration presented itself.

“Okay,” Penelope said. “Just give it your best again, Richie. Please.” She felt a bit “off” in suggesting that little comment of encouragement. She knew this wasn’t her situation or game to get into a debacle over winning or not winning. But she would have felt a little outside the group had she not said anything, giving the possible impression she didn’t care one way or the other. Truthfully, she did not. But giving the appearance certainly wouldn’t help anybody or anything at the moment.

He didn’t pay attention to her, though he heard her with a slight nod of his head.

He wound up his arm, once again conveying neutrality�"he was mindfully aware he was on the “other side” of the same ordeal as the other platform; just the second time this go-around. Everything else was the same.

He wound. Cranked back. Wound again. Cranked again. Swung forward. And released! The bag flew, hurling itself towards the board. Richie knew he at least wanted to equal the scores for both sets of ladies. So he certainly wasn’t trying for the lowest hole versus the middle or top. And his throw, alone, indicated such intentions. Its height said, middle hole, here I come; not just the bottom one. The top one, possibly. But probably not.

And just like the previous attempt, Richie’s beanie ending up flying high in the air, only to begin its descent fractions-of-a-second later. The middle one welcomed the bag on its left-center terrain of the board. Surprisingly, it landed about 55% in the hole, the other part dangling how it did. And of course, a moment after it stalled, gravity and the positioning of the contents (the beans and mesh inside) played their parts in letting the bag tumble into the hole, plummeting to the ground.

“Whoa!!” Juliette shouted. “That was really cool! Good shot. You know, a good toss. Thanks Richie!” She raised her right hand to him. Slap! He greeted hers, the high-five ensuing.

“Yay!” Mrs. Santoro yelped in follow-up to the younger generation cheer. “Nicely done, Richie! Good aim and toss.”

“Thank you both, ladies,” Richie said. “Just trying to help out how I could. I told you I wouldn’t do anything to compromise your score or game and all. The aiming and tossing was just the same as before too. So yeah. There you go!”

“We appreciate it, buddy,” Ana replied. “Yes,” Penelope said. “Thanks.”

“Aww,” both Noel and Julie exclaimed. “Ah well. We tied. No biggie.” They both laughed. They all laughed.

They all embraced one another in spirit of girl time and laughed off the unusual turnabout of how one guy’s assistance dictated the outcome of their event.

“Say Noel, ladies,” Mrs. Santoro continued, something clearly on her mind. “We’ve all been out here for a little while now. I’ll bet that water has to be nice and cool. What do you say we all go for a quick dip before the day gets away from us all?”

“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” Julie suggested, not even hesitating to want to jump in first if she even had to.

“Same, let’s all go!” Juliette added. “You going to join in too, Mrs. S?”

“Yeah? How about it mom,” Noel contributed. “I mean, what’s the point of offering or suggesting if you’re not going to go in yourself, eh? I’m sure the water’s great and we can all help with the meals and such when we’re done. Richie, you’re coming too, right?”

“Oh yeah, I could definitely use a cool down right about now.” They all looked at him and gave a half-smirked smile of a laughing reply. He definitely had a way of using his words for responses; that was for sure.

“Yes, I think I’ll join in too,” Mrs. Santoro said. “Why not?”

Without missing a beat, they all started skipping and jostling their ways over to the steps leading to the waterway. The sun was about its peak point in the afternoon sky above. Thus, having the warmest temperatures of the day while taking a dip in the water was on the menu for the plunge and splashing ahead.

 

 

Chapter 13

Amidst the afternoon warmth cascading down from above and the flowing gusts of wind circulating around the grounds, almost simultaneously the Michael Kors, Forever 21 and Banana Republic crop tops all fell from the girls’ bodies down to the wooden deck platform that led in one direction towards the built-in pool cemented into place with its rock and landscape design on the right; the lakeside front leading to the natural wavy waters to the left. It was a rather unique mix of architectural & practical genius as well as best of both options when the time arose for such activities.

Julie and Juliette felt a little more daring. They sensed Noel and Richie would keep it more sophisticated than them.

“You all going to try out the regular side over here, with us?” Julie said. “Or are you all going to play it safe and take the calm, pool waters for now?”

“Either way, it’s cool with us,” Ana chimed in. She really didn’t care either way what they chose. So long as they chose and did something to remain out there.

Noel and Richie looked at one another.

The lake waters did look inviting. Yes, without question they did.

However, Richie had some apprehensions about joining the girls in the natural lake waters. Something about twisting and splashing around in waters where you didn’t quite know what was beneath always got his mind going in the oddest and most reluctant of ways.

Some people had concerns about losing large sums of money while sitting at green tables and playing around with plastic chips with numbers on them, attempting to gain even larger numbers to their credit, only to (ultimately, potentially) come up short. Others had reservations against taking tours underground or in small, cramped spaces when they didn’t know the way out�"or it was cut-off from them, with or without their prior notice. Still others had inherent phobias about physical & external objects, or bodily injuries to which there was no curable prosthetic in the known market or manufactured shelves. Noel was fine either way; she just wasn’t sure which direction she should go: her gal pals or her guy. It felt like she was having to make an ever-so-minute choice of sorts…something she didn’t want to have to do. But knew would happen, regardless of her decision.

“Any preferences?” she asked him.

His response was clear yet flexible: “I mean, I’m more than okay, for now at least, with enjoying the pool side. If you’d like to join me, great and I’d be all for it. If you want to go splash around with your girls, that’s fine too. Your call, Noel.”

She looked at him in a very assured, yet what do mean kind of way. His response, in her mind, was as clear as could be, with or without the certainty in his tone.

“I’ll try out the lake for just a bit,” she replied. “And let you know how that is. That way, I can let you know if you feel it’s worth taking a dip in there. I know you seemed reluctant about that side for a moment or two there. I saw it in your face and eyes.”

At first, he didn’t reply back. He didn’t have to. But appreciated her feedback. “Okay. Cool. I’ll be in the pool, waiting for you all.”

“And you, Mom?” Noel brought her in to the mix. “Where are you going?”

Richie noticed that she had also removed her Banana Republic-styled, lightweight top. Her one-piece emerald green was neatly arranged on her figure, showing her older physique well, while carefully concealing just enough of her full hips and butt to make someone wonder what she looked like below the material as well as her bust, carefully placed within the upper portion, showing only about a half-inch of her cleavage line. Typical stuff for almost any woman’s swimwear, Richie supposed. Yet, nothing to get into a mental frenzy over.

“I think I’ll just lay in the pool for a bit,” Mickey responded. “You know I wouldn’t do too well in that lake water and all. It’s just not something I’d feel comfortable going near, let alone kicking about in, even for a few moments. It’s not my place.”

“Okay,” she replied. “Richie, you’re okay with that? With her company? While the girls and I all float about in the lake for a bit?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied. “I think I can handle that. I mean, you all will be nearby. So no real concerns there, right? And I’m sure we’ll all switch it up in a little bit, right?”

“Yeah, we should be planning for a switch after a little while,” she said. “I’m pretty sure we won’t want to kick about in the lake for too long. Okay, so we’ll see you all in a few, huh?”

“Yep,” both Richie and Penelope replied, casually.

With that, Noel turned, took a step or two towards the clearness of the shallow waters, and hopped in to greet the girls, already kicking and splashing about.

Splash! Swoosh! Slap! The laughter’s and giggles erupting from the girls in the water, playing experiencing moments away from their respective realities, allowing themselves the luxury to enjoy living in the moment overtook all of them.

Both Richie and Penelope could tell they were enjoying themselves. And they had no problem with any of it. They were, in their minds, in the safer place, where they were, in fact, by themselves…albeit in view of the others.

Richie hopped in the calmer of the two bodies of water. “Ah,” he exclaimed aloud. “Feels good, that does. Whew…” his sigh escaping from the body indicated the water lifting his body into its engulfed state of matter was just what his state of matter was needing to alleviate whatever thoughts and emotions were lingering in him, recently or otherwise.

“You’re okay with me joining you, Richie?” Penelope said aloud. She figured he would be, sure enough. Something in her needed his approval…as if saying she had to subject herself to some societal expectation by asking the man present if he wouldn’t mind an older woman invading his proximity with younger females lingering. She didn’t want to give any wrong impressions when out in a more “public eye.” It just wasn’t how she wanted to go about the proceedings, if joining a friend of the family with other friends could be considered “proceedings” in such an occasion. For God’s sakes, Penelope, it’s just a tailored little pool near the girls. It’s not as if you’re ready to hop in the sack with this guy right here-and-now.

“Yes ma’am,” Richie replied. “I’m okay with it.” His arm gestured to the other water area. “The girls are just over there after all.”

“-Are you alright with it?” he asked. He knew she wasn’t completely sure, given the previous nights’ incidents and all. But this was an outside, socializing sort of ordeal. No need to get into a fuss about whatever could or would happen.

She took a brief breath, allowing her nerves to unwind as they needed. “-Yes. I suppose I am,” she replied. “After all, the girls have been around me like this before. This just may be something new for you. That’s all; in fact, I know it is.” With further ado, her arms reached for the bottom of her lightweight top. They pulled up, lifting the fabric over her body in one swift motion. She took a moment to gather it in her hands and arms, folding the material as neatly as she could muster�"she was always the type of person to have the impulsive need to take good care of her wardrobe belongings. It’s just how she was. Oddly enough, she was less frantic about her appearance in front of a younger guy than she was in front of the girls. They were pretty much the equivalent versions of her younger self; least that’s how she was figuring it in her mind. One of whom was her own child�"nothing unusual to hide from her.

Her thoughts were more focused on keeping her attire intact. That was typical of her. Whatever, she thought to herself, it’s just Richie. He’s been around my family and I enough times to have seen my figure in other situations…just maybe not in a swimsuit. Like this.

“Coming in, then?” Richie asked. He was, naturally, looking in her direction, subtly taking in the sight she created & possessed for all of them to witness. She was still gathering herself together. “Yes.”

She stepped over to the calm waters playfully bouncing around the surface of her backyard water haven. “How’s the water?” she asked. “I haven’t been in there in a while.”

“It’s fine once you get in,” he calmly replied. “I mean, it takes a few moments to get used to it, of course. If anything, I’d say it feels something like mid to high 70s. But that’s just a ballpark number.”

He continued: “With the afternoon sun, though, it feels nice. And relaxing.”

She placed her right foot in, taking a moment or two to let the watery softness caress her epidermis in the most inviting and sensually soothing way it could. Ah, she gasped to herself. “Woo,” she let out a soft sigh of relief, allowing the breath to escape her mouth and chest with freedom. After the first few moments entered her system and greeted her skin’s grip, sending its respective waves from her brain, through its neurotransmitters, down to the tingling of her toes and nerves comprising her foot, she let her body unwind itself. Then, without hesitation, she placed her other foot alongside it. And stood there. Without realizing she was just standing in front of that guy, unconsciously allowing him to take in her figure and plant it in his visual memory, she stepped side-to-side for a moment or two longer, then decided to sink herself in. To the hips & waist only. Her hair was still too intact for her to have wanted to do any further sort of maintenance damage than it was probably already suffering by being out in the warm air that engulfed Ashton Grove.

“How does it feel?” she heard Richie ask.

“�"Huh?”

“The water, Penelope,” he calmly replied, without missing a beat as to the situation at-hand.

“Oh, it’s just like you said:” she said. “Nice, and relaxing. Takes a few moments to get used to. But yes, it feels just warm enough to be able to enjoy with the warm sun out and all.”

She took another moment or two, embraced herself, and lowered herself into the water to her waist area, sitting on the side adjacent to Richie. She knew to keep a reasonably safe distance from the guy, even if it was a simple outdoor water bowl. No point in escalating anything further than necessary right now. She wouldn’t dare dream of acting upon such things; not here nor now.

“Good,” he said. “Glad you enjoy it. I mean, if you don’t, that may be a bummer.” After finishing that little contributive proclamation of a reaction, he took the ample chance to keep his gaze on Mrs. Santoro. Speaking to her, let alone facing her direction and being in the same water as she was, it seemed an ideal and suitable time to have seen her in this new limelight. It was different, but intriguing as hell, even to his mind’s eye. Her emerald green outfit brought out her fair skin and blonde locks in the most accented of ways. It wasn’t altogether lustful or enticing. It was…alluring. Her resting nearby him just made his gaze and mind’s curiosity begin to unravel her even more than they were allowed, their current situation or not. It was a very precarious predicament to be in, he had to admit.

“At least the girls seem to be having fun,” he continued, not wanting to catch himself googling too much.

“Yes, I think so too,” she replied, not quite sure what else to really say at that point.

They were both looking at direction they ladies were in. Their voices filled the air with excitement and jubilance, yet controlled playfulness. Their laughter’s indicated all that.

“Hey Mom, how’s the water?” they heard Noel shout from amidst the splashing and screeches of laughs and squeals.

“Yeah, Mrs. S,” Juliette followed up. “Is it alright in there? We may join you all sooner than later. We’re all looking at each other like the water’s kind of freezing but kind of not. We just sort of assumed,” as she spat out some gurgled lake water containing who-knows-what, “that the pool would be warmer than over here.” Julie just lingered, holding herself steady as the inquiries unfolded one-by-one.

“It’s fine, girls!” Mrs. Santoro replied, addressing them all at once. No point in acknowledging them individually. They’re all asking the same thing, she thought.

“Yes,” Richie said, contributing and ensuring he was joining the simple conversation in a suitable, straightforward and non-misleading fashion. “It feels pretty good once you’re in and comfortable with it. Takes just a few moments to adjust to it…maybe more too because you’ll be coming in from out there.”

“But once you’re in, it’s nice, especially with the sun out and all.”

“It’s true,” Penelope said. “It feels good, girls, really. It’s just like the pool back home, basically.”

“Okay, okay,” Julie chimed in. “We’ll join you two in just a bit.” Soon as she finished saying that, her right hand formed a miniature bowl shape, turned itself sideways and scooped downwards into the specimen-murk of the swish-swoosh around it. She then hurled whatever was in her hand at Juliette; then, repeating the motion, aimed and smothered Noel in the same fashion.

“Hey! What the�"?!” one of them cried out.

“Ahh!” the other yelped.

“It’s on!!” Juliette snickered back. And before they knew what was going on, an all-out water splashing debacle stirred the surface and air where the girls were forming themselves. White-and-grey whiffs of bubbles, water pockets and swooshes filled their playground.

Meanwhile, Richie and Penelope observed the playful mayhem in their calm serenity. Neither Richie nor Penelope quite knew what to make of it�"of them�"so they just smiled to themselves and looked on in bewildered amusement. The voices and splashing water became so mixed up they couldn’t quite tell who was where nor who was doing what; they let go of their unease and uncertainties.

They turned their attention to the only ones not involved in the squirming: themselves. And began wondering what to do, in such close proximity. It wasn’t like they were strangers or anything. It just happened to be a bit of an unusual circumstance they found themselves in, however long or short this harmless interaction came across.

“May I ask you something?” Richie said, finally deciding to break the air of curious predicament floating above the miniature pool waves.

“I don’t see any harm in that,” Penelope responded. “Yes. Go ahead, Richie.”

“I’m just curious: was there a time when you and Jesse would find yourselves in this sort of ordeal, like we are here and now? In a pool with people nearby, that sort of thing?” It was a rather direct, yet thought-provoking, question, even he had to admit was something he felt sounded better in his head than it did out loud.

She looked at him with a hint of bewilderment. It wasn’t a strange or “don’t go there” reaction. It was just an altogether different sort of question than she was accustomed to being asked, never mind the type of question it was.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m sorry if that’s an odd or personal thing to infringe upon. It’s just we’re both here and I felt like saying it aloud. For conversation, really.”

“If you don’t want to answer or if it’s weird, I’ll understand.”

“I mean, it does seem a bit odd to ask, even for someone like you, Richie,” she replied. “And it’s certainly not something I’m used to being asked, even by some of my neighborhood lady-friends. But it’s an innocent question at that.”

He looked at her, waiting for her to continue as he sensed she had more to say. “Perhaps years ago, yes Jesse and I would do things like this, you know, here in a pool. And other similar things as well: walks on beaches, picnics out and about, dining out together when we had both the time and money to be able to do those sorts of things. But then, when our daughters arrived and life continued to take its course, our times together became, I don’t know, less frequent. I suppose we just ended up having more pressing matters than being able to spend time together, for ourselves.”

“That happens, I believe, when life happens as it does. One cannot always control such issues and things like that, like this. But they are nice and meaningful, I’ll admit, when they do happen.”

That was the most intriguing and retrospective thing he’d probably ever heard her say. “Sounds nice, I guess,” he replied, honestly not sure how to actually respond to that little “life” speech of sorts. “And full of mature wisdom in a few ways.”

“Do you ever miss having time like this? With him, I mean?” he followed up. His curiosity slipped a little bit, yes. However, with the way she responded and what she said, he could tell there was even more she wanted or hoped to say but couldn’t allow herself to…for whatever god damn reason was holding her back.

Whatever it was, he didn’t totally mind. But he just knew it was bothering her a bit; perhaps her pride won’t allow her to express herself how she really wants, he couldn’t but think, knowing full-well not to verbalize that out loud. Not here, at least.

“Richie�"“, she replied. “I am sorry. But that is none of your business knowing, let alone having the need to ask me. We may be here, but certainly you of all people, I imagine, would know when to ask certain things and certain things to keep to yourself. Am I right?” And her facial expression was making a note of it as well.

He recognized the polite boundary she was known to infringe when she felt someone was crossing a part of her personal boundaries she didn’t feel comfortable about. And that face meant he was asking something he had no reason knowing about. But, frankly, he didn’t care so much about the foundations of social etiquette. Whatever those were. Or were meant to be.

“I mean, in all honesty and simplicity, it’s just a question,” he said back, exercising extreme caution to hint at the fact that, deep down, he knew she and her husband probably had not been close in that way for some time. Or maybe they were just a bit too different to consider the fact that having physical intimacy with one’s spouse, regardless of the respective ages, was something that was totally natural and should be observed with graceful and beautiful reverence. And tradition as well, perhaps. Because not doing so could damage the connection the two individuals have and forever alter how they chose to continue living together, whether they are able to remain “happy” together or not. At least, that was all in Richie’s perception of the matter.

“You can choose to answer it or not,” he continued. “It may not be my business knowing, sure. I can completely and totally understand that. I’m just intrigued by this conversation; and my body is with the swimsuit you have on, and what happened last night is still lingering in my system. I’m just being honest.”

She looked at him with that direct look that said, I know what you’re talking about. But please, don’t be the one to constantly bring that up.

With the splashing still going on, and the laughter and squeals of the girls frolicking just within blurred sight, Richie and Penelope both briefly glanced at their direction, checking as to whether any of them had a direct view into their positioning in the pool. It was a subtle view, they figured. But they didn’t have direct access or an overhead camera to see their bodies in the water with the ability to monitor their physical motions any more than they could see the basic positioning of the backyard area.

Good, they can’t really see us that well, he thought. He turned his attention back to the lady sitting about a half-foot away from him. He’d casually strolled himself over to her spot as the conversation became a bit more heated and the water continued its splashing sounds in the natural world just beyond yonder.

I’m not sure here is the best place to continue doing anything, her look said, thinking to herself. I don’t even know if I want to but I suppose we’re hinting at it, aren’t we?

“Jesse and I haven’t done anything remotely like this in, well, quite some time,” she said, calmly replying to his out-of-place inquiry that just screamed: I will admit our marriage has changed. It is no longer what it used to be. He has changed. Maybe I have too. But we are, in fact, still a married couple. “I mean, maybe things between us have evolved and definitely changed. But neither of us has ever mentioned sitting here, like this. Not for a while anyway.”

He slid just a bit lower on the little cemented-seat area where they both found themselves and turned to face the wall, his back to the rest of the pool water & the lake area, for positioning purposes. “Then do you think he would mind if I did this…?” With that, he slid his right arm and hand ever-so-delicately and sporadically over to her body’s frame. He immediately placed it over her right breast, pressing & caressing it with the ripples and tumbling of the little waves engulfing them. She gasped a quick but quiet moan as her mouth half-propped open.

“Richie…” she gasped for a moment or two, taken a little by his sudden action, especially out in the open as this was. “The girls, Richie. Ooh. They…might…see…” He took note of her words, indicated by his subtle gestures and positioning. He was acutely aware that at almost any moment one of them could just glance over and briefly question what they were doing so close to one another. “It feels lovely,” Richie quietly said. “And wonderfully full.”

Fortunately, neither Julie, Ana nor Noel were paying attention to the two. They were having their girl time in their area.

Without bringing too much attention to his discreteness, he switched his position to her other side. He did and didn’t quite know what he was doing; nor did he have any idea what else could be done in such conditions: sunny out, the girls only a few yards away, he and the mother there, limited time at-hand. Not much, he thought. Best leave anything else for later.

“Richie�"“, she replied. “Please, don’t start this here and now.”

He switched to her other side and, without missing a beat, he quickly sent his other arm & hand to her other breast, feeling that one up as his body motions indicating he was, perhaps, maintaining his grip and posture while adjusting to whatever he was doing.

“I know you like it, Mrs. S,” he said. “I can tell. Your face says it feels good. But don’t worry, I’m not that crazy that I’m going to risk being caught out here doing…this kind of stuff.”

Her eyes spoke to him: what in the world does that mean, they were saying. Between the casual yet subtle groping within the motions of the ripples between them, the afternoon heat playing its part, and the girls appearing to be winding it down & getting ready to join them, she wasn’t quite sure how to process what he’d just said.

“I mean, I can’t lie and say it doesn’t feel good,” she reluctantly admitted. “But, here and now? This just is not the place for such things. Even you would have to agree to that.”

He thought about it, briefly; even he was having to control his thinking ability in spite of the predicament he’d begun to instigate. He already knew she was right, he comprehended. No sense in arguing that point right here and now. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “I would agree with you: not now…”

He casually dragged his arm down her suit and delicately slid it to just about where the tops of her legs met her waist and hips. He didn’t dare force his motion downwards any further. He knew that would evoke an even louder gasp from her and surely would have caused all three girls to jolt their heads at them, questioning looks aplenty, throwing the whole weekend into a s**t-show of confusion. He knew better.

Rather, he used his dragging arm motion to propel himself into an area of the sitting part where he knew he would be on her mind but also allowed the girls to join them without awkwardness ensuing. Or so he hoped.

“Hey you two,” Julie chimed in. The others were quickly following behind her. “Mind if we join?”

“Yeah!” Juliette said. “The water’s fine out there, but we all just kind of chickened out and wanna be in cleaner water! Is that cool?”

“Yeah, are we good with to join you both?” Noel added.

“As if we’re going to say ‘no, you may not’,” Mrs. Santoro said, calm as could be. “Richie and I don’t mind at all, do we, Richie?”

“Not at all,” he said. “The more the merrier, right? Besides, it’s not my house or anything. I don’t make the rules here. So, come on in if you’d like, I’d say.”

All the women looked at him in a…way. Not a funny way or odd way. Just a way. He always had a way of saying things as if he had any real say-so on group matters, especially since they’d all arrived and went from one thing to the other. But it wasn’t just the way he said those things as much as it was what he said that made everyone look at him as if saying, huh; whatever. As if he didn’t really know how to mingle around the girls when the things they all discussed were simple requests.

Didn’t matter, though. Both he and Penelope knew they were going to join when they heard them get out of the water, collected their towels and began walking their direction. Richie was just being simple and cordial. There was no need to be anything else, at times.

“Well,” Noel said, in follow up to his observations. “Here we are. How’s the water? Seems like you two were in here for a while, right?”

“Right,” her mother said. “It feels good. Might take a moment to adjust from out there, Noe. But it’s totally fine now.”

“Cool,” Noel said. The girls didn’t need any further invites. The moment they heard “feels good” they were already about to hop in.

Noel sat down in the cleaner water next to her Mom. Julie and Juliette were on either side of them�"Juliette; Penelope; Noel; Julie. Richie ended up remaining by himself; he seemed fine by that. In a guy-welcoming way, it was more to look at; but in that modest and respectably understood & unspoken way: more ladies joining, more swim suits in front of him. That was that.

Also joining were more conversations about girl stuff: who was considering dating who; how work had been for each individual gal; the latest fashion and store designs; what was on sale at the local Sephora; who had been to what new restaurants one of them had tried that the others hadn’t yet and could recommend as the next girls night out type of thing.

Of course, Penelope contributed to each little conversation not only as she could, but also when one of the girls asked for her opinion on this-or-that matter. It was mostly Juliette and Julie keeping the chit-chat going. Noel added her thoughts when she could. She was the least talkative of the three it seemed, sure; but what she may have lacked in social outgoingness she more than made up for with intelligent-sounding contributions. It was part of the main thing her friends liked about her.

And Richie? Well, he was just sitting. Listening. Watching the girls do what he could only guess girls enjoyed doing the most. And of course, he hid his glances at the eldest one for the times when the girls were having the most talkative of the laughs and quirky comments.

“I know, right?!” one would belt out.

“Girl, please,” another would say. “If I ate there more times during the week, not only would I gain like 5-10 more pounds on my already whack shape, but I’d have almost no money left over from eating out. You know?” Richie couldn’t quite tell if it was Julie saying those things or Ana or Noel; they were each simultaneously switching between one girl and the other his ears just heard voices altogether, one after the other. As he noted to himself: he just let them do their thing.

            He was glad, Richie was, that he was sitting across the way from Penelope and all the other girls. The bulge developing in his trunks was something easily and discretely hid from everyone’s view. No matter how much it may have been noticeable had even the keenest of the girls’ eyes wondered in “that” direction, Richie allowed his body and nerves to unwind itself. The tent was a motioning dissolvent in the waters below. And besides, his navy blue and yellow-striped trunks revealed nothing in terms of his anatomy.

            He was safe. For now, at least. And he was happy to let the women have their little discussions here and there. More time for his body and his mind to unwind themselves and focus on other matters�"namely, when the next occasion or two would pop up to relive the rush from half-a-lifetime ago.

            As the laughs and jokes between the ladies continuously filled the air, and the jiggling of the bodies each provided their own visual cues for the only male present in the water, Richie’s mind was already half-a-day ahead of theirs. Or so he thought.

He did notice a few things. As he was sure they all did in one way or another.

The afternoon sun was drifting downwards towards the tree line and horizon, creating the natural shadows and heat waves that resonated with dusk. The winds had settled some, only giving enough of gusts to keep the water stirring at the surface level. And the water felt a hint cooler, but not much more than a few degrees. Still, it was enough to make their individual bodies’ notice the differences. Richie felt his legs and arms rise with small goose-pimples and the hairs here and there feel more prominent in their roots. He also felt his package succumb itself to a “shrinking” feeling, although nothing was dwindling in size so much to where he felt the physical affects engulfing his skin. And the ladies, for the most part, had seemingly huddled together as if to form a warm body of water within themselves. Their heads of hair had become a hint more “solid” when plastered against their shoulders and backs. Their legs had all synced together in a more talk-show-couch-sitting-fashion rather than openly flowing outwards, letting the warm waters and afternoon sun give all the natural warmth and heating exposure they could muster. And, not that it was that painfully obvious to any onlooker or any of them deliberately staring at one another, but yes, some of their n*****s were exposed in their positions under their respective tops�"water temp dropping or who-knows-what was drifting through their minds as they all sat there in the sensual waters, in such close proximity.

            “So, what did you all plan for dinner? Or, I should probably say, what did you all have in mind for it?” Julie always knew how to ask such questions with a level of etiquette that made her friendship with Noel seem that much more real…not just based upon commonalities and such.

            “We brought some pizzas,” Noel said. “Four Cheese. Pepperoni. Three Meat. And a stuffed crust in case anyone wanted something like that. We figured a variety would be best. And that we’d have leftovers in case anyone wanted some more later.”

            “Oh! Yummy!” Julie replied.

            “Sounds awesome!” Juliette said.

            They were both always in an odd predicament about pizza and the appearance it would leave with them afterwards. But out here, at this place, they could have cared less with how they appeared to the others. Here, they felt comfortable around one another. It was something they always appreciated when visiting the Santoro’s Ashton Grove residence.

            “We were thinking around 6 or 6:30,” Mrs. Santoro said, continuing the dinner conversation to ensure everyone she, too, had considered all the meals that were going to be involved and whether that meant cooking or not, or simple preparation. “We could all eat and, if you all wanted perhaps, put on a movie or something. Something we could all enjoy watching. What do you all say?”

            “Hell yeah!” Juliette said. Normally the most notorious of them all to show concern for what she ate and how much, etc., this was one time she knew she didn’t care about the menu. “Sounds great!!” Nor did she mind the cursing. It was part of her expression and she was glad to have belted it out as she did. Ah hell, she was always feeling hungry at various times of the day, whether she had come to accept that or hadn’t.

            “Same here,” Julie said, in a calm but enthusiastic way that just said she pleasantly agreed and that was that. “Ditto,” Richie chimed in. He was more than happy to say his part and not much more.

            “I’d say let’s all go in, so we can rinse off and begin to unwind for just a bit,” Noel added. “Maybe we can even play Card Against Humanity after, eh?”

            “Wahoo’s!!!!” rose from all around the pool. It was going to be a great night indeed, they all felt. And Richie, along with the others, was definitely looking forward to the night ahead. For gaming and the excitement purposes that awaited�"both were inevitable. The look he was conveying to them, hidden pretenses or subtle meanings attached or not, said just that, especially to Penelope, also catching a glimpse of his look. They both knew something was going on behind those eyes of his. She just didn’t know what. Neither did he, quite frankly. But he knew he was looking forward to it. Immensely.

 

 

Chapter 14

            “That pizza was so good!” Juliette said.

            “Oh yeah, absolutely it was!!” Julie added. “Mrs. Santoro, did you all prepare it homemade like a lot of your other dishes? Or did you get it from somewhere?” It was an innocent and straightforward question with an innocent and plain tone that called for an equally straightforward answer. There was no need to be all polite or mischievous about where the food came from.

            “Thanks, girls,” Mrs. S replied. “Noel and I actually got those crusts from, where was it Noel, Trader Joe’s. The marinara and pesto-based sauces we made on our own from recipes we found or things we’d been wanting to try for a while and decided this little getaway would be an ideal time to try them. The toppings were a mixture of pepperoni, prosciutto, salami meats and sausage platter dishes we’d found from our various visits to the meat trays.”

            “We just decided to give some of them a try to see where they would go,” she added.

            “We weren’t quite sure if you all would like them or not,” Noel said. “But mom and I figured that with the sauces being standards of pizza stuff and the toppings being collective things we’d all eaten here and there before for different things, they would all work. Just on a pizza crust rather than separate dishes.”

            “Well,” Julie followed. “Whatever you all did to have made them, they tasted extremely great tonight. Like, really!!”

            “Yeah, most definitely,” Richie chimed in. “I mean, of all the pizzas I’ve eaten over the years, these ones tonight definitely stood out for their taste as well as the menu combination items. Really great stuff.”

            “Why, thank you, Richie,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “Noel and I had to put some ideas together before we could really figure out the best way to go about the whole pizza-making process. I mean, it’s not that hard once you know what you want on them, mind you. It’s just a little difficult getting to that point�"there are just so many options out there to choose from. Just saying.”

            Not that she had to prove any sort of point to anyone, but Penelope came across with her words as if cooking were this exquisite, finely-tuned thing that took a number of years to perfect. And that only certain ways of doing so would be satisfactory to those on the receiving end of meals.

            But really, Richie recognized to himself, it’s just part of her arrogance and cultural upbringing. Nothing more, even if she wanted it to come across that way. He wasn’t giving in to the subtle hints. “You’re welcome,” he replied. “They tasted great regardless of how much preparation and effort went into it all. I know you take a particular pride in your cooking specialties and these tonight seemed no different. We all thank you for your effort and considerations, of course.”

            Okay, dude, he thought to himself. Time to shut up about it. This is not how you normally talk and you know that. Enough flattering for the moment.

            Besides, this conversation seems a little awkward and entirely pointless, he continued thinking. “So ladies,” Noel picked up the discussions. “Cards or movie? What do you all think?”

            “I’m down for either one,” Ana mentioned. “It honestly does not matter to me.”

            “While a movie seems more relaxing and entertaining at the same time,” Julie started. “Cards feels like it would be way more awesome and ongoing fun for everyone to enjoy as opposed to just sitting and watching a screen. I don’t know. That’s just my thought. Noel? Richie? Mrs. S?”

            “I don’t mind what we do,” Mrs. S replied. “I’ll be fine with whatever. The cards game I’m not familiar with so I’ll probably just watch that one.”

            “Movie sounds good,” Noel said. “But I would prefer to play Cards against Humanity to see what all we come up with and where the fun goes with that. So that one is my choice.”

            They all looked at Richie as if he was the deciding factor. “Like Juliette and Mrs. S, I don’t really have a preference. I can be down for either one. As the last one to decide, I’ll let one of the hosts make the final call.” They admired his unselfish thought process, but were still in need of a decision.

            “Or for crying out loud,” Ana continued the uncertainties. “Noel, please just choose something. It shouldn’t be too difficult�"cards or movie?”

            “You’re right,” Noel regarded her. She was getting a hint restless herself, and the fact that no one seemed to be the one to make ‘the call’ kind of got on her impatient nerves just a little bit, as irrelevant as that was to occur. “Let’s do cards for two to three rounds. Then, if we all want to continue, we can. If not or if we’re all getting bored or whatever, we can just put on the movie. Sound like a good plan?”

            They all nodded their heads unanimously. No need for such a minor sort of disagreement or lack of decision-making to go on any further, they were all expressing without saying a word.

            _____________

 

            The suns’ rays slowly crept towards the tree line and the lingering horizon, following its routine practice that it had become accustomed to since before man had ever known what to call “sunset”. Inside of Ashton Grove, though, the humans inhabiting the comfy dwelling were wrapped up in the mischievous sets of 5 cards they were each given. They’d each played the game a couple of times and so were fairly acquainted with the rules and format of C.A.H. In fact, every time it was mentioned they all shared a mutual ‘YAY’ reaction knowing the funny s**t that was about to unfold; the strange and ensuing sayings that were about to escape their mouths as a result of the twisted minds the creators so ingeniously devised.

            They knew the rules well enough: each player received their hand of 4-5 randomly chosen cards. A center pile existed with all the main statements, fill-in-the-blanks and absurdities that the players’ responses were responsible for completing. The “host” player whose turn it is read the main card while the others completed that passage presented with their choice of card for it. The card (and player) that best fit whatever the statement read, according to the host-player, won that hand. The player that reached set number of hands first, typically anywhere between 2-10 depending on the number of players playing and how much time had been allotted for the game, won the game.

            They had just split the hands and Noel was chosen as the first host reader-player.

            “Let’s see what this first one brings to us: This is what happened when Michelle Obama was behind closed doors at the White House during Christmas Eve_____.”

            “Ooh,” Juliette chimed in. “This is gonna sound interesting and kinky, I can just tell.”

            Noel resumed: “A horde of gnomes bombarded her room and trashed the place. Weird.” She didn’t seem entirely convinced of that one. “The hostess indulged in her secret, chocolate-only swinger party. She read the Proclamation for India’s freedom in 18^th Century Mandarin. The uterus surgery she had scheduled was taking place in her room. Her sex-change operation was finally revealed to her lover after much speculation.” A combination of ewes and some ‘ugh’ groans came from the table.

            “Well. Those are certainly different, aren’t they?” Noel said aloud. Their murmurs and vocal reactions pretty much noted that no verbal response was needed. “It is Cards against Humanity after all, though, isn’t it?” she commented aloud, feeling the need to clear the air of the oddness that filled the air with disapproval�"the kind the game was supposed to elicit from its players yet the same kind that most people shunned as disgraceful behavior or plausible factoids. The disbelief on everyone’s faces implied they couldn’t believe the random pairings could be used against Michelle Obama, of all people, in such a way.

            She was just the kind of woman a normal, everyday person would expect to do “those” sorts of things, even if they were part of god damn Cards against Humanity. “Moving on though,” Noel continued, refusing to give in to more mentally awkward ideas about the pairings. “Hmm. Let me see…” she pondered aloud. “Between the secret party and the Proclamation, I’d have to choose�"the Proclamation!”

            “Wow,” Richie said aloud. “I didn’t actually think that card was going to do anything for me!” The laughs and odd smirks abundantly told the story that everyone else felt as shocked as he for picking the winning card, let alone that those were the ones paired. “Yeah, no kidding,” Julie said. “I mean, it seems like the most reasonably ‘not weird’ one of all the groups’. No offense or anything, Richie.”

            “None taken,” he replied. “I just figured it was another card to play and, when I heard the others, seemed like the most-non gross one on the table, I suppose.” “Yeah, I’ll give you that. It does,” Julie followed up. Everyone shook off the oddness of the hand, not figuring Mrs. Obama for the statements that made her seem like a freak behind closed doors, and instead continued with the hands as they were dealt.

            Richie read the next one aloud. And even though he secretly found it somewhat useful for his own purposes, he couldn’t help but scoff at its randomness: “What creates a romantic atmosphere? Getting hit on by the groomsmen. Grinding with the mother of the groom. Crazy DJ lights during the First Dance.”

            The women were both somewhat appalled by the options they’d mustered up. Yet they couldn’t help but giggle at the brash, sexual-based humor they insinuated. Their looks at said the same thing, essentially: CAH�"it is known for being the random and twisted game it is.

            They all gave their input, of course. “Oh, I like that one,” Julie pointed to the getting hit on card, figuring it sounded the most appealing to the women. “That one isn’t so bad, even if it has nothing, really, to do with the matching of the card,” Mrs. Santoro exclaimed in a neutral and observational-like tone. Frankly, none of them seemed ecstatic by the options. “Of course,” Noel chimed in. “It is up to the host-player of the hand who makes the decision, remember?” In other words, she was saying without saying it, it didn’t matter what any of their opinions were nor counted for, in this particular hand the only person whose views really mattered were Richie’s. “Not that we have all night to play, Rich,” she continued. “But would you mind making your decision sooner than later? Would be helpful in keeping the game going.”

            She had a fair point, sure. Albeit she made it in a not so subtle of a friendly way. She wasn’t particular known for being the friendliest when it came to decision making situations; particularly when the decisions at-hand seemed as simple and minor as choosing a damn card in a card game that was meant to contribute to light-hearted banter. It wasn’t as if he had to make a choice about this car or that car. They were just cards in a hand of CAH. At least, her expression conveyed all that to him, knowing he could take a little while to ponder over such minute things. “Okay,” he replied. “You’re right. No need to take an hour to call this one.” The girls all slightly rolled their eyes and half snickered their lips at his partially sarcastic acknowledgement to Noel’s direct honesty. They clearly had some communication and miscommunication…dilemmas…of sorts. Typical stuff of sometimes unusual couples, they all figured to themselves.

            His reasoning wanted its say before his verdict: “Crazy lights, for me, make the allure of electronic dubstep concerts the fascination they are. And while the grinding with the mother one seems more neurotic and almost completely out of sorts for what it is, it isn’t what creates a romantic mood in the bona fide sense of the phrase.” Evident smiles and partial sighs of relief filled the table as the common sense Richie graced everyone with his presence. Therefore, there is only one choice: “getting hit on seems to me the only way to not only create a romantic atmosphere, but it opens the doors for many other romantic atmospheres. All because the guy decided to be a little flirty and enjoyed it; and she felt the need to be desired as strong in her as she felt secure by him. With just a simple dose of flirtation, of getting hit on. It isn’t about the action itself. No. It’s about the need for what the action offers and the potential for all that it hopes to deliver. That’s why it wins.”

            And as odd as whatever the hell that bullshit was he just said aloud, something about the way he said it had such utter conviction and truth to it that, for the briefest of moments, each girl looked at Richie as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. As if he spoke of some type of love and level of romance most girls could really and only fantasize about experiencing but, for one reason or another, would not allow themselves to possess.

            Or maybe, if for the purposes of the game, they all felt that this guy, who came across with such varying personality traits and such intriguing charisma, was the type to want to deliver such romantic situations. Maybe not to them. For he was, in fact, dating only one of them. But to women in general, as if he held some secret to this magical wish of theirs, fulfilling some sort of far-off fantasy that, in their opinions, women had come to expect but didn’t know how to actually handle as cultural norms always gave them such wonderful allusions of his reasoning to a chosen card.

            “That would be mine,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “Or, I should say, the one I’m looking at.” They all shifted their attention to her direction, her voice increasing their attention for the situation at-hand.

            “Huh�"”, they all subtly replied? “I’m looking at that card facing to my right,” she calmly clarified herself. “Oh!” Julie said. “That’s actually mine! I guess I have the winner for this one. Nicely chosen, Richie.”

            “Oh, no problem,” he replied. “It was a good card.”

“-You all heard me just now.”

The moment he spoke that final word, his glance shot an ever so quick glance in the direction of the lady at the table. Something inside him said that every bit of his little speech there was just another indicator that he indeed had more intentions with the grown woman seated amongst the younger felines. Only, none of the other ladies thought much of his glance, if they even managed to have caught it at all, Noel included.

Juliette thought she noticed a little of his glance in Mrs. Santoro’s general direction. But without any sort of previous, realistic knowledge about their mingling’s and interactions beyond the walls and company they all held at Ashton, she had no reason to think any more of his words or what they may have meant towards her than Julie or, for that matter, Noel.

She had to admit that Richie was, for all context and purposes speaking, a reasonably to better good-looking guy than some of the ones she’d found herself hanging around recently. And while she would never verbally say it to her gal pal Noel, she had acknowledged to herself that finding out more about what he was like in more intimate settings and all was something she had some curiosity. But she wouldn’t even allow herself to entertain those ideas�"they were just a little too “off” for someone like her to actually follow through with. Besides, the evolution of her friendship with Noel, their mutually connecting piece bringing he and all of them together was, was a little too organically pure in her mind and heart to throw away on some urge-driven impulse, however planned or not those urges may have been.

“We did,” Julie acknowledged him.

“Yup. Yup,” Noel concluded it. “Anyone up for a third and maybe final round? Or do you all feel like just putting on the movie and leaving this be for the night, maybe picking it up tomorrow or another night?”

“Movie,” they all pretty much said, in a collective voice that shared no disagreement. Totally unanimous decisions were the best, Noel always figured, and appreciated about them.

“I’ll get the popcorn going,” Mrs. Santoro said.

“I’ll help you with the drinks,” Juliette suggested. “It’ll be easier to carry once everything’s been served or we know what everyone wants. Just wanting to help.” “Thank you, Ana,” she replied.

“What’ll it be? For the movie, that is,” Julie asked.

“Good point,” Noel said. “We have How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Avatar, The Crow, the original Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and Furious 8, the last of the Fast and the Furious series one, with Jason Statham and Dwayne Johnson. Or, at least, I think that’s that one.” She laughed to herself. No one would give her stick for not knowing which of those franchise films the two action movie stars were in�"they only made up some of the best action/fighting scenes in those movies. Besides, how could college aged-girls not remember the one where Dwayne Johnson was included, what with his workout outfits and oiled up body, it was hard not to remember his standout role?

“I’d say we only have two choices, really: How to Lose a Guy or Furious 8. Everyone in agreement?” Julie suggested. It was pretty much a given that those two were the favorites. Their reactions suggested the others weren’t even under consideration. “Show of hands: all in favor of Lose a Guy?” Julie and Juliette, along with Mrs. Santoro a little surprisingly, raised theirs. “We have a winner.” It was not a total shock but surprising that Noel didn’t prefer the rom-com chick flick. She didn’t have the greatest interest in movies that filled women with false ideas of what romance was and “how to” in the s**t-show we call “relationships.” As if a Hollywood movie had all the answers for how true romance and relationships should be, she always figured and argued. But her friends knew that about her. She didn’t allow herself to be in the ideas it promoted.

But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t see the movie. She’d go along with it. She just may have been a bit stubborn when it came to buying into those ideas. Perfectly fine and normal thing in her world.

None of them were surprised that Richie didn’t seem the most upbeat about it, either. He was fine with it, though. It told a story, if nothing else, the way he figured it.

But really and truly, he always sort of hoped the movie could show Noel how to be a little more giving and romantic in the areas of her life where she didn’t feel the need to give in said-ways. It just wasn’t always in her nature…something he’d learned to accept about her. It may have been wishful thinking, but it was who and how she was. And as the saying sometimes went, particularly in families here and there, some things never change.

Which is why he wasn’t totally looking forward to the movie for the movie itself. Rather, he was looking forward to the overall mood and setting the film would give�"not just for the emotions he knew the ladies would love “experiencing”, but the thoughts he was hoping to see through during or after the credits rolled.

“You okay if Noe and I sit together, Richie?” Julie asked, figuring he wouldn’t mind this little gathering for such a harmless request. Seeing that they were already planning to sit themselves together on the loveseat, he saw no real use in arguing their intentions. “Sure, I’m cool with that,” he calmly replied. “No problem here.”

“Thanks,” she said, more of a polite reply than an actual ‘thank you’. He really and truly didn’t care that she asked. Nor that it was a presumed request.

“Mind if I join you Mrs. S?” Juliette asked her.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “We’ll just have to share the couch, if that’s OK with you?” “I’m totally fine with that,” she said. “So long as we can share a blanket, if that’s OK with you?”

“Absolutely,” Mrs. S said. “Why wouldn’t I be willing to share?” They both laughed.

Of all of Noel’s friends, Penelope had a certain fondness and liking towards Juliette. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, exactly. However, she just got along well with the tall, dark-haired beauty.

The fact also was, as Penelope sometimes tended to forget, Ana’s background was something of a familiar tale to her own, the lady of the Grove: both were from families and upbringings that could and couldn’t offer them the opportunities at a “better life”; both knew what it was to live through life’s struggles of sorts, from men to life-altering sorts of decisions and circumstances that were and weren’t entirely of their doing. Even to things as abstract as religion and value systems and beliefs that shared a few similarities. Some differences existed, sure. That was partially symbolic and a given of the generation gap and differences. But mostly, their personalities just seemed to mesh well.

“Rich,” Noel said. “Okay with you to use the sofa seat there? I mean, you’ll have your own spot and all�"no sharing or anything.”

“Yep,” he quickly but calmly replied back. “I’m good with it. I should be comfy and cozy and all.”

“Okay, cool. Shall we get started everyone? Does everyone have everything they need or want?” Noel figured to inquire as the hostess. Plus, it got things along the way.

The nods and agreeing sounds all signaled everyone was good. She clicked the TV on, pressed play and let the night welcome the movie theater they’d created, allowing herself and her friends to unwind themselves from the afternoon and evening of happy and happening festivities outside and inside and the refreshing vibes that carried themselves with their little posse.

In truth, Richie was pleased to have his solo seat for the movie outing. It would allow him all the subtle and wondrous glances over to the way of the one female whose attention his nerves were focusing on more than the rest, including those of those on the screen.

In his mind, it would only be a matter of time before he could, and would, make his next move. One that he felt, and knew, would be worth the situation.

 

Chapter 14

            The final scenes were beginning around what appeared to be 11 p.m. or so. Benjamin, Matthew McConaughey’s character in the film, was wrapping up on the set for the new women’s jewelry advertisement. He started reading the article Andy submitted and was in her publication’s monthly edition. The scene carried over to Andy Anderson’s (played by Kate Hudson) office looking for the golden girl.

            Carry on to the bridge where McConaughey tracks down Kate Hudson in the taxi due to stalled traffic. When he confronted her about the publication and all that it meant, Richie could tell that all the ladies seated around him were looking at the screen wishing the same sort of heartthrob man who valiantly rode out to chase down the dream girl would come and rescue them in their own respective ways. At least, that’s the message he thought he saw from their expressions.

            “Man, I wish somebody would come and rescue me on a bridge and all,” he heard Juliette said aloud. He supposed she didn’t mind saying her thoughts as he knew she knew they’d all seen the film before then.

            “I know, right?” Julie mentioned. “I mean, we know it’s a movie and all. But still, if somebody were to do actually do that, it would really be something, huh?! I guess that sort of thing just doesn’t really happen anymore, if it ever really has.”

            “Maybe so,” Noel said. “Of course, if someone were to do that, they would probably get some sort of public citation or police ticket for obstructing the peace on public highways. You know, something like that.” She had a point of sorts, as was indicated by all the nods of supposed agreements. Yet, Richie thought to himself, leave it to his Noel to always consider and side with the realistic approach of romantic-type things versus entertaining the ideal and hoping to enjoy what could be versus what is and was.

            It was something he’d noticed but had never quite put into words about her. He always figured she took after her Dad when it came to such thinking. Mostly, anyway. For he didn’t really see much of Penelope in her. At least, not in the obvious way. Any and all glimmer of Noel resembling her mother took extra effort on Noel’s part and even that was a particular thing to witness. For one thing, sentimentality and emotional sensitivity were not nearly at the top of Noel’s most giving traits. But Richie had learned to let that stuff go with her, even if he’d wished for more in that particular department of their relationship. What was Mrs. Santoro’s basic belief about the realistic “way of things”, he thought to himself? “Such is life”.

            He had mentally amended their family phrase to say, more suitable to its origins, “Such is life, according to the Santoro clan.”

            “Just because the scene is showing what’s happening in the context of the story of the movie doesn’t mean the same sort of thing can’t happen in actual life,” Richie felt the urge to chime in. After all, speaking as the only male presence in the room (literally), he figured standing up for his own gender wouldn’t hurt. Not around these women, anyway. They didn’t seem to mind his opinions or ideas any more than they wanted to listen to their own spiels about what did and didn’t work in relationships�"as if any of them had long-time boyfriends to speak of and knew what the hell they were talking about. Okay, maybe he was being biased. Sure. But he had a little right to be.

            “I mean, it’s a movie, sure,” he continued. “But isn’t the romantic notion and gesture of the action taking place what the film is conveying, in spite of the situation. And, frankly, who’s to say we humans couldn’t use more of that genuine, romantic-type stuff in our worlds, huh? I mean, I get it may seem a little odd and somewhat dangerous�"stopping traffic and all on a bridge or wherever in the middle of a traffic jam to confront someone on the situational mix-up between business and pleasure. But if you really think about it, that sort of thing is almost so uncommon all we, people, seem to want to do is criticize the absurdity of it rather than appreciate the fact that one person is simply choosing to confess their true feelings for someone else, albeit in an publicly open and odd way.”

            “That’s my thought at least.”

            Once again, they all looked at him with surprising and bewildered looks. Okay, their expressions said, the guy did have a way of communicating what he was really thinking and feeling about stuff in their world without reservation. They would give him that much, at least.

            “And it’s a fine thought, Rich,” Noel acknowledged him. “It’s just that it’s a movie. A romantic chick-flick, at that. That sort of thing may be typically expected in these types of films.” Everyone gave her a please explain yourself a little more type of look. “All I mean is that that scene or whatever may be something that is set up for the movie. It’s not like those sorts of things actually happen in real life, or that we hear about them happening like that. I’m just pointing out the realistic nature of it versus the scene, that’s all.” Richie gave her a semi-odd look disbelief.

He almost couldn’t believe that his own girlfriend wouldn’t completely support or acknowledge his thoughts in a way that said she appreciated them, and him for them. Let alone respect the fact that he had his way of thinking. Nor would he dare give her an outburst, as tempted as he was to do so; but he could tell things with her were going in an odd direction�"one he was already sensing wasn’t going to be an entirely pleasant one. He didn’t consider himself the type verbally lash out at people for no reason. Nor he did consider himself the unappreciative sort.

But the cues were beginning to add up that this person in his life wasn’t always the best for him, in spite of her personality traits, flaws and ways of upbringing. He wasn’t quite sure if those things were such that he’d learned to live with for just the little while they’d been together and all or if they were signs of bigger picture issues which he and Noel had not discussed in more lengthy contexts.

Either way, it was as odd and awkward feeling a little conversation of differing opinions as it potentially showed. Of course, the fact that no one mentioned anything to either of them, or themselves, about their exchange provided the subtlest of cues that Richie knew something was up. Not the right place nor time, he thought to himself when deciding whether to bring that whole conversation up or not.

“Well, fair is fair,” he simply replied, not sure how to have taken her response in such an open location amongst close friends. “You are allowed to have your ideas as I have mine. In the meantime, does anyone feel like resuming the cards over there after the movie finishes?” He waited for a half-moment to see if there would be any instantaneous reply. Hearing none and no immediate response, he continued: “Or would everyone rather just head to bed after the festive day?” No harm in asking the most straightforward and obvious question as his way of showing he was aware of the proceedings.

“I’m actually feeling like crashing in a bit,” Julie said. “I mean, as much as another quick round wouldn’t hurt and would be enjoyable, sure, getting some rest after being out for so long, the meal and resting sounds like the best little recipe from all that.”

“Oh, come on Julie,” Juliette said. “I’m a little tired too, yes. I’ll agree with you there. But I’d also be up for another round of Cards before hitting the hay. It’s not like it’ll take another two hours, you know?” She had something of a little point, Julie acknowledged through her slight nod.

“Another quick round wouldn’t be so bad,” Noel added. “I’m down. Richie? Mom? How about you two? Care to join or are you all going to be like Ana and be the party pooper?” She let out a scoffed, but short, laugh at her harmless, brash joke of a question.

“I’m cool with another round,” Richie said. “It’ll help getting to sleep easier after doing some thinking following that movie and bridge scene.” He couldn’t help but add a slight quip of his own to counter and see-saw Noel’s brashness just then. No one gave him s**t for it.

“Yeah, I’d like to hear one more round as well,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “I don’t see any harm in that.” Everyone was a little surprised by her insightful remark. “I mean, we’ve all heard a few rounds of them already. It probably won’t be anything we haven’t been used to hearing before, right?” They all understood her without difficulty. “In fact, if you all don’t mind, I’ll be the host player.” No objections arose.

Fact was, no one could really remember whose turn it was, nor did they actually care. To them, it was just another little round to take up some time before they all passed the f**k out.

Mrs. Santoro pulled out the top card on the black deck and, taking a quick, deep, in-and-out breath, read accordingly: “Hey there, Young Scientists! Put on your labcoats and strap on your safety goggles, because today we’re learning about _________.”

A few moments went by and everyone put their corresponding, best last-chance-for-the-night selections in the pile. “Everyone good?” A “yes” rung around in the table area in quick mumbles.

“Hey there, Young Scientists! Put on your labcoats and strap on your safety goggles, because today we’re learning about _________. Reconciling quantum theory with general relativity. A supermassive black hole.” She paused momentarily before reading the next one, almost in disbelief. Her look said she wasn’t quite sure whether to be offended, flabbergasted or grossed out: “Uranus.” It happened again with the next one, only this time she had an even deeper look of disbelief and shameful shock. “Talking about the size of your penis on live TV.” Where do people find the nerve to come up with these cards, she thought to herself as she finished reading them all? It wasn’t even the cards that she has completely appalled with, either. She understood the game to be a brash and crude humor sort of game. But sometimes, the combinations were borderline twisted humor and just flat-out culturally wrong and offensive.

“Okay,” she said. “Well, those were certainly different than even I may have been hoping to expect for the last round.”

“Sure was,” Julie said. When she said the first two, they made total sense and, in all likelihood, were going to be among the preferred options, given the perspective of the host and reader. Everyone’s look assumed the same thing. The last two definitely sent some disgusted reactions and looks across the expressions.

Of course, the moment or two the last ones were read, the ladies and Richie all just looked at one another in the most openly odd way. Their eyes and faces signaled they knew the obvious: each one had the body part in the contextual statement. They couldn’t look at each other without thinking, oh, that’s referring to “my thing”. Richie felt the most standout, vulnerable of all. His said it all: we all, in fact, have the one hole that card was mentioning. True. But I have the only distinguishing one otherwise, which makes it more awkward for me. Ga, this game, his face said in disbelief.

“So,” Juliette said, not wanting the grossed out looks to get too carried away. “What’s your pick?”

“Yeah, Mom,” Noel said. “You’ve read them. Now you have to choose one.”

“Yes, yes,” she said. “I know how it works. I’m just thinking.”

“Give me a moment or two, okay?” she asked. They all nodded their approval. Not that they actually needed to give her one. They just did.

Mrs. Santoro’s eyes flashed across the handful of cards another time or two, at least. They were in a mix up of reading and visualizing the statements again for what they were and how her mind interpreted.

She already knew she was going to choose the one reading “reconciling quantum theory” as that had the most straightforward and suitable response she was willing to side with. However, she was doing a masterful job at covering up the “Uranus” and “…size of your penis…” ones her mind was seeking visual interpretations in her own, mature way. It was just something about the turn of events that had happened the night before and being in such close proximity to Richie in the pool earlier that had gotten her emotions a bit flustered at the thought of experiencing the young man in a whole new way, regardless of what she knew to be right or wrong…or whatever the hell those things were meant to imply. Random images of peoples’ butts flashed in front of her eyes, specifically the part(s) mentioned. Also flashing up were thoughts of the male anatomy…with Richie the only male present. Her mind gravitated towards him, forcefully or naturally. Pondering such things was almost entirely unlike her character. But something, something about the moment the cards presented themselves and her mind’s wonderings gave Penelope an unfound piece of exploration that she found both intriguing as hell and dangerously forbidden for who she was and the life she had.

Mustering the willpower to bring herself back to earth, she knew better. She indeed knew better. Of course she did. But, even at her age, a woman was allowed to have weird and kinky thoughts in such ways, weren’t they? And her brief glance over in Richie’s direction, however subtle or obvious in nature, suggested she was at least entertaining those ideas more than she realized.

They’re waiting for your response, she had to remind herself before getting more lost in any sort of heightened fantasies, particularly with a crowd gathered right in front of her.

“So whomever had the Reconciling quantum theory with general relativity had the right sort of thing in mind,” she stated aloud, proclaiming the unknown winner.

“Yeah, that seemed like a no brainer,” Noel said calmly yet confidently, implying how well she knew how her mother thought, seeing her card as her go-to response. “I mean, the others also definitely stood out, don’t get me wrong. But I know how my mom would probably react when I saw the others.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Julie said.

“Seems like the most straightforward choice,” Juliette mentioned. “The others were fine. Just a little whack for the game and what they were saying, ya know.” Even she was noting how odd they others did sound, as enticing as they seemed for the women gathered around.

Richie didn’t mention anything. He (looked like he) had no desire to be involved in the discussion involving quantum theory, anal body parts and male ones alike. His interest was in the selection. He wanted to see how reserved or free-playing the mother in the group was going to play along.

Her reactions didn’t surprise him. Not. One. Bit. But the look she passed over to him did stay in his memory. He caught it, just by a glance, but did.

And he thought he knew what that meant, but couldn’t be totally sure. So, he let it slide, especially at the game table.

“Well, it’s getting late,” he finally chimed in. “We all going to stay up a bit or head off and go crash?”

“I’m a little too worn out to stay up anymore,” Julie said. “I won’t last another 5 minutes out here.” They knew where she was heading in a moment or two.

“Yeah. Same,” Juliette said. Or so she thought.

“Rich?” Noel said. “You gonna crash too? I know I probably am…” Noel sounded half-awake when she said that, her eyes a little droopy and a brief yawn following her question.

“I should be, yes,” he replied. “It has been a long, but good, day. I could use the rest, like we all probably need I imagine.”

“Shall we help clean up, Mrs. S?” Ana asked. “Or just leave it for the morning?”

“Very kind of you to ask, as always,” she replied. “But no, don’t worry about all this. We’ll be around it in the morning. It’ll take 2 minutes to get it all fixed up. We’re all tired. Besides, we’re not expecting more company than just us here.”

Thus, the ladies all retreated to their respective rooms. It was getting late, after all. Julie and Juliette went to their bedrooms. Noel was in hers. Richie found his way to his. And, of course, Penelope found herself back in the comfort of her dwelling.

Not that any of them would eavesdrop, but little chatter could be heard from the rooms around the place. That could be expected, though. They were in rather close quarters to one another.

“That was a fun day,” Julie mentioned. “Don’t you think?”

“Sure was,” Ana replied back. “I especially found the pool as relaxing as the outdoor water. Don’t you think Richie looked hot, out there in the sun and water and all?”

“I mean, I wasn’t really noticing him that much,” Julie replied. “But now that you do, sure. I guess he did look a bit more glamorous than he normally might if we were all still back at the Santoros’ place.” 

“Maybe it’s just me but I don’t really see what or how Richie and Noel seem to mix as they do; you know, as a couple. I don’t know. What do you think?” Julie’s question must have easily rang true with Juliette because the moment she posed it, her eyes and expression shot out a look that just screamed “yes! I know, right?!” It was almost as if she was reading her mind by asking that...aloud anyway.

“Those are almost my same thoughts exactly,” Ana replied to her. “It’s like they are together and all. And that’s cool. But they obviously have some differences that either they haven’t really addressed, or maybe they don’t want to.”

“I mean, we’ve known Noe for, like, ever, right?” Juliette continued.

“Right,” Julie replied.

“And so you’d think we know who and what her preferences are like for the kind of guys she might be interested in.” Juliette felt like she was on a gossip roll. No need to dismiss the chatter now. It was feeling too much like what she wanted from the conversation.

“Maybe it’s just me but I Richie doesn’t exactly come across as the kind of guy Noel would want to end up with. Or maybe it’s the other way around? Like Richie’s with her but doesn’t really know why. Or maybe they just have something that only they know about, which makes being together for them what makes them work?”

“Maybe all that crap’s true,” Julie said to her. “Maybe not. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll never know for sure. Nor are we meant to?” Eh, that last remark sounded the best to her, so Julie decided to leave it be from there.

“You gonna shower and all? I figured we could probably use one after the quick rinses we had earlier after getting out of the pool with all that muck,” Julie said.

She always did have a simple yet clever way of keeping focusing on getting certain things attended to in lieu of conversations and wonderful distractions happening otherwise.

“Oh yeah,” Ana said to her. “Definitely, girl. No way am I going to let that other little one be my only rinse to cleanse me off. Come on, you know me: gotta be fresh and clean whenever I can, b***h.”

“Yeah, I know that’s how you roll,” Julie replied. “I’ve known you long enough to know you like to stay as fresh as you can get, even if you taking for-f*****g-ever to clean all ’yo s**t off.”

They laughed at one another. They could appreciate that no matter how much time might pass between them in their respective, and altogether different, lives, they each made it a point to “pretend” as if no time had passed between them and that they could drop all the nice acts between themselves and just...be...their own f*****g selves. They both intended for their friendship of a relationship to be as genuine as possible, even if that meant only seeing each other on the limited possible occasions they could. That was them: Julie and Juliette. Juliette and Julie. That was their thing. One they were particularly proud to call their own.

Juliette let the hot water pour over her, a bit more grateful now than almost every other time she’d been able to rinse off in recent memory. Perhaps it was the way she felt relieved at the thought of getting as clean and fresh as possible that enticed her to take a long time relaxing as the warmth cascaded down her long, straight hair.

Or maybe it was the happy notions she felt while having little gratitude-like conversations with Mrs. Santoro throughout the evening that made her relax a little more in this shower bed compared to most others she’d been in, hers or otherwise. She easily admitted to herself that, in spite of the odd circumstances they seemed to have placed upon themselves (really and truly), Mrs. Santoro was a glamorous and exquisite sort of woman much in her own way. She didn’t know the full details regarding Mr. Santoro’s absence.

Frankly, she didn’t care.

Even more bluntly honest�"it was none of her damn business why he wasn’t present. She noticed, just like the others had. She had no reason to have cared enough to have pressed the matter. It was, happily, not her concern.

Regardless of those sort of thoughts, Juliette had a particular liking to the older woman. And, standing in the warm water, cleaning her nude body, she couldn’t help but feel a strange and new sensation begin to stir in her.

Now, Ana never considered herself a lesbian. Not once. The thought or potential notion that she was even attracted to women, much less women she actually knew or knew well, was as far off her radar as obtaining a career in Washington, D.C. when she was barely making her through a political science degree at the University of Texas at San Antonio. I mean, kinda related, but in the end, not the same thing, she thought to herself, recognizing her slight attraction she couldn’t deny was there. Oh my god, she realized to herself, she had a slight, ever so slightly small one at that, at one of her best friends’ mom. How unheard of was that! Holy s**t, she thought! She let that thought linger and held herself steady in the tub. She told herself that if that little possibility of an idea was something worth holding on to she would deal with that moment of acceptance later, when she had to. But, for now, she let it go. Not before realizing that she had, in unconscious fact of her mind’s doing and physical reaction, slipped her right hand between her legs and was firmly pressing at the folded lips and stubby skin surrounding them. The pressing and circulating motions of her fingers began to take over between her legs, to the point where they were twisting and slightly massaging her warmth as the water continued to pour down her moist frame. 

Ooh. Aaah. Before any logical sense forced her back into routine rinse off, her hips started swaying and buckling. Her other arm and hand reached for her left breast, well saturated with warm water, her dark n****e and areola into the hardening and pointy stages. F**k it, she thought, this may not be the best thing to do for here and now, but my body wants to, so f*****g allow yourself to do so.

She continued her rubbing and massaging for only a few more moments...before she realized that, if she took too long, Julie and Noel would wonder what the hell was taking that b***h so damn long to get clean.

Okay, she’s a hot lady, Juliette at least acknowledged to herself, as she pulled her hands away from their sources of reaction.

Whether she was attracted to her or not, in that way, was another matter altogether. Whatever the f**k that s**t was or is or could be, she had no real intention of pursuing it any more than when her rinse ended. She just wasn’t ready for such an odd thought to stay with her.

I’ll just keep it to subtle looks, if nothing else, she thought to herself, and left it at that. Maybe she would go and “check on” the elder Santoro woman at some point, just for humor sakes. But it would be nothing more than her friendliness kicking in, if she was asked what the hell she was doing snooping around Penelope’s room if not for “women’s issues or things”.

 

_____________

 

Elsewhere in the hallways and rooms abound Ashton Grove, Richie was cleaning the body the way he wanted to: thoroughly; paying attention to every little crevice, every little curve of muscle. He was sure the woman he was wanting to lure in tonight would appreciate his being clean in all those certain areas.

His rinsing time was more straightforward. Of course, he figured when one was a male, rinsing off and cleaning was just that. Men, in his perspective, didn’t require as much direct maintenance as the counterpart species. They were simple like that. Now, in the department of personal grooming and maintaining their appearance, those were altogether different issues, albeit a bit interrelated. The showering up was as simple as one-two-three, he felt. Body soap; shampoo; conditioner.

Everything else was entirely optional. Rightly so. To each their own, as was the fundamental case with almost any individual decision worth making.

He made sure to have kept his cleansing brief; short and sweet to the point.

The girls were all finishing up their respective wipe downs. They could each tell through the showers running and stopping, the piping and drains buzzing with sounds of water flowing and spraying down into the respective bathroom areas.

Julie was the first to finish. “Well, Ana, I don’t know about you but I’m gonna hit the sack,” she said aloud to Juliette, who was still removing her make up as best she could. It was pretty loaded on her face, as was her thing. Since they’d known her, the ladies all knew that Ana usually had at least two to three layers of well-kept layers on. It was her sense of security, of self-identity. No one gave her s**t for it. It was what made her, her.

“Cool,” she said. “Think I’m gonna go get some water from the kitchen, just to have by the bedside, in case I wake up and need some.”

“Okay,’ Julie replied. “Whatever. Night.”

“Night,” she said back.

Two rooms away and half the hallway down, Mrs. Santoro was finishing up her own cleaning evening routine. Each and every woman had their own style when under the shower head. She was no different. In fact, even her husband knew she was rather particular about her routine.

The tub walls were lined with Dove this and that, Pantene Pro-V this, Crema de Sol lotions with lavender and mint-based fragrances projecting a garden-like aroma that let alone know Penelope Santoro had recently taken a little getaway to Ashton Grove. The mint and Garnier based-soaps were also among the body lotions that made her little shower area, well, hers and hers alone.

And Penelope knew how to apply each and every one of them, each in their own particular ways. She was very particular like that. The warm water cascaded down her grown body, soaking her hair to the sides of her face, dampening itself to the sides of her neck and around the sides of her shoulders and collar bones. And of course, the water fell oh so smoothly down her body, through the parted “line” separating her full and partly sagging breasts on to her flattened waistline and proportioned hips. She was shifting her weight between legs, watching as the water trickled down to her sizable snatch and the toned columns keeping her upright.

She wasn’t the biggest fan of her own hips. But after having children and her own genetics kicking in how they would, however, she’d come to accept that her hips were what they were. And the cheeks forming her butt weren’t bad�"they just weren’t the toned and “ripened” size she would have liked, for obvious reasons. Her self-acceptance found its peaceful way into her system more than misplaced envy when it came to such observations, though. Thus, she left it at that. Her body was what it was: her own.

She did her little things, exercises and such, to keep herself in something of a respectable appearance. But she didn’t have an emotional breakdown if she didn’t look the way she did when she was 18, 20, or 25, much less into her 30s. No need to get into a hype over such unnecessary self-comparisons, she thought. And she let those thoughts go from there.

Moments later, she turned the knobs clockwise and reached for her towel. She didn’t know what time it was. However, she was in no mood to rush getting to bed. She was, however, in a mood to put on her satin fleeced robe, her trimmed panties and nothing else. That was at least what she wanted to unwind herself in before really crashing for the night.

A little ways away, Juliette found herself wondering from the kitchen turning towards the hallways. Being in Mrs. Santoro’s little domain of a lair that was her cooking world, she thought back to her own little rinse off and the unusual, unexpected, attraction she spurred within herself for the elder Santoro lady. Oh what the hell, why not, she thought to herself as she pondered whether or not to go confront the hostess about the ideas roaming from her mind to her body.

It was late. Or getting there anyway. The kitchen clock read 10:48. She might still be awake, the family friend thought to herself as she contemplated approaching the hostess’ room without a previously-given reason to stop by. Sure, it might seem a little unusual at first. But Ana was sure that Mrs. Santoro wouldn’t mind her company, at least a little bit. They were on good terms anyway. It wouldn’t have seemed a big deal had the college aged-beauty stopped at her room, however long she intended or didn’t intend to stay.

She glided her walk towards the door she knew to be Penelope’s room from when they all arrived. And though her conscious said that whatever would come from her visit was purely curious in nature, she did, in fact, wish to spend a little more time with the woman.

Tap-tap-tap, her small right fist nudged on the door. “Mrs. S?” she said softly, not wanting her voice to attract the attention of everyone else and so cause more weirdness where there didn’t need to be.

She noticed it was opened a slight nudge. She didn’t know if it was something Mrs. Santoro did on a regular basis or something else. She heard footsteps approaching.

“Yes?” she heard her reply. “Ana? Is that you?” She opened the door a little more to confirm it was the girl.

“Yes, Mrs. S, it’s me,” Juliette replied. “I didn’t know if you were asleep or not.”

“Is everything alright? I didn’t expect to see you here or anything and I know it’s late…” the lady said, her curiosity and motherly instincts kicking in as to why the young woman was at her door.

“Oh no, yes, everything is fine,” she replied. “I was just getting water in the kitchen like I usually do at night when I want to have something to drink in case I wake up in the night with a dry mouth or need to recover from a bad taste.”

Penelope looked at her a little oddly, not understanding why the girl approached her door to let her know that little factoid. “Okay?”

“Do you mind if we sit on your bed for just a minute or so?” the girl continued. “Sure, I suppose that would be fine,” Penelope replied.

“I wanted to come by and just thank you for everything this weekend so far. You’re very hospitable and welcoming to us all. Truthfully, Mrs. S, you have always treated me with a polite and respectful way that I am not normally accustomed to, especially not back home or anything. I feel that ladies such as yourself, much less grown adults and all, are overly kind and good to the people they are close to in their live and deserve to be told so.”

Mrs. Santoro found herself blushing a little, taken by the girls’ words. “Why, Ana, you are very kind to say so. I enjoy having you around when we do, Noel and I that is; even having Julie here is a cool way for us to enjoy the company altogether. Wouldn’t you think so?”

“Oh, of course,” she replied. She took the nice reply as a typical and routine way of having conversation about the gathering, sure. But that didn’t stop her from what she was really getting at, whatever that was or was going to be.

“But no, Mrs. S, I really mean it,” she continued. “Not many people I know are as nice and pleasant to be around as you are. And, you know, you seem to do all of it with a naturalness that I don’t think many people have, let alone that I see. All the chicas I know usually do this stuff because they want something in return. You’re not like them.”

“You’re a good lady, that’s all I’m really saying here. A really good lady.”

Penelope started tearing up a little. She realized that she, too, wasn’t used to being given such compliments, let alone from a younger woman of her daughter’s generation. She didn’t think that girls her age and all knew how to acknowledge older ladies and women, like herself, in such complimentary and gratitude-like fashion.

“Ana,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “You’re going to make me cry a little. Like happy tears. Not the sad ones usually around bad, life-altering news. The happy ones when you get engaged or find out you’re going to have children, even grandchildren…those sorts of tears.”

“May I hug you? Just figured you could use one, is all,” Ana asked. She figured the woman could use one, let alone was probably in the mood for an embrace. “Yes, please,” Mrs. Santoro said calmly and with the assurance that was needed when ladies and girlfriends met and unfolded all their emotional ups and downs and highs and woes. “That would be nice and appreciated.”

Juliette scooted closer to Mrs. Santoro, who also in turn nudged a bit towards her daughter’s unique friend. Clad in her soft, cotton-stitched shirt and sleep pants, Ana didn’t usually wear a bra to sleep as she felt it a bit uncomfortable when laying in the bed in the one or two positions she’d become accustomed to resting. A bit more elegant and semi-typical of her personality and appearance, the fleece robe that Mrs. Santoro tied around herself covered the silk and polyester mixed fabric that was her nightgown�"a typical piece of attire for the way she was raised and culturally understood things to be. It was a part of her that Mrs. S took pride in and formed merely part of her self-identity.

In no major surprise effort, both ladies stretched open their arms, leaned their heads to one side or the other, depending on where they read one another’s movements, and pulled their bodies towards one another. Their chests slightly pressed against one another, heads locked closely together, they shared a sort of embrace that neither was completely expected to experience. But there they were, sharing a heartfelt embrace that, in all given likelihood, probably would not have occurred so easily in any other circumstance.

Of course, it was easier for Mrs. Santoro to hold on to Juliette and her smaller frame, with less clothing and stature, than it was for Juliette to cling to her friends’ mother. Mm, they both sighed in exhaling relief. And though they could not visible see one another’s faces, they could sense that they were both, in fact, sharing a mutual smile of understanding and welcomed affection.

Something in their body language exuded and embraced another thing existing between them: confronting and letting out the gratification and welcoming need for belonging both seemed to have misplaced in recent memory.

Neither woman was known for or would probably ever care to explicitly mention it, but they both longed for the appreciation and comfort that came with belonging to someone. Juliette more so than Penelope, for sure. However, even with Jesse playing his part in creating the life she and they had for themselves, there was always some other part of Mrs. Santoro that felt she needed more.

As if the realities of living and existing and having things in your life filled the material need for reminders of how good life could be, there was always something Penelope felt was a void in the existence she knew.

Juliette was less so of the needy type, mostly due to her age and circumstances of not having been involved in more serious relationships. She had had some here and there, she had no problem telling people of the need-to-know information. However, she had just never quite felt that deep down need that she knew existed way down in her gut�"the same one that, she could only figure, dwelled in many women’s urges and fabrications.

Yet there they were. Hugging. And hugging in a meaningful way that was of total mutuality.

When holding one another, Juliette couldn’t help but feel, let alone recognize, how full Mrs. Santoro’s chest felt, pressed against her own. Although her chest wasn’t as developed and full as the fully matured woman’s, Juliette always liked the b***s she possessed.

Not quite small and barely there, yet not so outrageously full and gargantuan that they spilled out of every dress or top and bra she owned, hers were a respectable size for her frame. She had no real complaints about her breasts, other than she knew they weren’t the biggest or “most desirable” pair around compared to, say, other women she’d known from various walks of life. Still, the comfort of her friend’s mothers body cradled against her own felt satisfactory enough for the moment.

Mrs. Santoro also couldn’t help but notice that the girl felt soft and nice wrapped in her arms. She’d never really noticed her frame that much or way, of course, having never been so close to Ana other than the simple proximity of gatherings with the girls and such. But, now that she was, in fact, holding the female in her arms in this sort of way, she did admit to herself the girl felt nice and warming.

It was a feeling she learned to appreciate and enjoyed for what it was. Oh hell, she thought to herself while the girl was entwined in her arms, live a life and enjoy the sensation of the warm embrace of someone other than your husband and family.

It’s true. Mrs. Santoro’s mind zipped through multiple and various recollections where gatherings and mingling’s with nearby friends and family spawned hugs and little affectionate motions here and there. Short hugs and smooches on heads and cheeks were rather typical behaviors she was very familiar and routine.

This was different. Not in a bad or weird way. Just a different way. Almost a warm and unexpected way that said they may have just been something else in the hug neither was quite anticipating.

They oh-so-slowly loosened their grip of each other. Slowly pulling their bodies away, but only by a few inches as was typical when people whom have hugged are physically in one another’s personal space. Appreciation and longing filled the expressions on their faces, from the way their eyes looked at one another and felt the moment they found themselves in to the way their respective skin tones gave a flustered look neither woman was expecting to emit from merely hugging one another.

Close girlfriends they didn’t consider themselves…at least not quite yet. They hadn’t known one another all their lives or anything as such to lay claim to that particular title. Good, mutually particular friends they qualified for, albeit a generational gap binding their mutuality.

Both ladies noticed their hands were still lingering on each other’s arms (shoulder and bicep/triceps areas, mostly) when Juliette decided to make a little, yet big, move she pondered but wasn’t sure whether to attempt.

Her smile faded a bit as she brought her hands to Mrs. Santoro’s neck and chin area.

Mrs. Santoro looked at her with a slightly bewildered and anxiously upbeat, yet certainly-uncertain “let’s try this odd thing” look that just said she felt she knew what the girl was going to do and wanted but wasn’t sure whether it was acceptably warranted, loosening down her own smile in the meantime.

Juliette threw out any further feeling of hesitation. F**k it, she told herself, and went for it.

Placing her hands into a grip-like hold on Mrs. Santoro’s facial area, she leaned in her lips to the woman’s face. Mrs. Santoro’s face did a partial, slight retreat and looked quite surprised when the younger girls’ lips pressed against her own.

Then, Juliette held her face and her lips against Mrs. Santoro’s, locking them in a kiss that sent unexpected shivers of thrill and surprise through her veins and “rush” feelings of excitement through her mouth that said, this feels so good though I can’t believe we’re doing this.

Mmm, she started to moan as her soft lips pressed against her female counterpart. Mrs. Santoro’s mouth felt warm and soft, with a hint of blissful moistness that could only exude itself with the feeling and sensation that was locking lips with a woman. Their breathing intensified as their lips did not initially revolt back in separation.

“Mm�"” Mrs. Santoro got hold of herself just a bit with her slight retreat. “Juliette, what was that?”

“Oh come on, Mrs. S,” Ana quickly replied. “You can’t sit there and tell me that you didn’t at least ask for that to happen, much less like it or anything. Or are you going to sit there and tell me that wasn’t something you wanted to do? I could tell you were curious about doing that, at least.”

“Ana,” Penelope replied. “Even if I were giving you those vibes, however intentional or not they may have been, the fact is I’ve never even thought of being with another woman in that way, let alone kissed one, much less one so much younger than I.”

“Mrs. S, do you find me attractive? I mean, like for real? Like, if you were younger and all would you care enough to want to be with me�"you know, ‘that’ way?” Juliette asked her, plainly and without reservation.

“I mean, you’re younger and all,” she quickly replied.

“You know what I mean, Penelope,” Juliette said. “I find you very attractive, in your own unique way of course. Not that it’s a humungous deal or anything I’m just asking whether or not you find me attractive the way I sometimes see you.”

She couldn’t deny that Ana was, at the very least, a catch of a girl in her own way. Whether she was attracted to the kind of girl Ana actually was, that was a whole different story. But sure, she had seen the girl enough times to know she had a certain appeal, even if it wasn’t entirely obvious and plain-to-see.

“I mean, sure,” Penelope said. “I think you are attractive. No telling whether or not that means I’d be like gay for you or anything. But, sure. You are.” She couldn’t even believe she had even used the word “gay” in a sentence so openly�"anyone who’d known her would know she was, perhaps, the last person in the world to explicitly mention that term. Much less aloud.

“Then�"” Juliette continued her motions to the hostess.

“But�"” Mrs. Santoro tried to contain the younger girl.

“Shh�"” Ana continued.

She pressed her lips against the older woman’s again, this time with full-fledged energy and a direct sense of purpose. The woman’s mouth was less hesitant and more inviting this second chance go-around.

Although Ana was instigating mouth-to-mouth, Penelope’s instincts were kicking in, embracing the fact that for the vast majority of her life, she’d done the “nice and safe” thing by sticking to cultural norms and levels of accepted behavior. This was just one of those unusual and rare moments when, against every ounce of rationale thought in her head, she figured to let the woman inside of her crawl out and enjoy the fact that she was a grown woman capable of making her own choices. Enjoying the flattering and surprise moment she’d never done before�"making out with a cute and welcoming 20-something year old woman�"was definitely a new thrill she could live with come 20 years down the road.

Mmm. Smack. Suck. Swap-swap. Swap. Smooch. Their lips kept the motions flowing�"age didn’t matter nor did experience. They’d both been with men and had enough ventures or occasions where knowing how to handle make out sessions wasn’t a concern. It was the thrill of doing so with one another that made this one a particularly wonderful, albeit improvised and unique, episode altogether.

As their lips kept up the swapping sounds and jostled for positioning while exchanging saliva, gathering the texture and moistness of the other ladies’ mouth, their hands found themselves doing what their instinctive urges encouraged them to do: roam for whatever they could feel and wherever they could within “reaching distance.”

Mrs. Santoro’s blondish and full locks swirled in and around the facial frame of both she and Juliette while Ana’s darker, longer and straight locks simply swayed some this direction and that with each swinging movement of their faces.

Mmm. Ahh. Ooh. Suck. Smack. Smooch. Haah.

 

“Oh Mrs. S,” Ana gasped in emotional relief. “I’ve never…quite…thought…” she trailed a bit, searching for words while her mouth was preoccupied. “…we’d…be…doing…this…all this,” she could barely muster from her own mouth as her tongue and lips searched for the older woman’s.

“Oh,” Penelope replied. “Neither…did…I... But isn’t this something different…and even a bit fun?” she mustered in reply, knowing they were both just sort of lost in their own locked world of newfound sensations.

Almost instinctively following such verbal exchanges, Ana’s right hand found itself roaming to the creased opening in Penelope’s robe. Her exploring hands did not hesitate in their discovery.

At that point, all her rationale thinking was pretty much gone and her female urges and curiosities had taken over. It was just as she knew it to be�"her young self exploring an older figure in the most exhilarating of ways.

“Juliette, ah, please don’t get too carried away,” Penelope said, in obvious response to the sensation of the girl’s hand exploring the opening of her sleepwear and the territory beneath it.

Juliette pulled away ever so slightly to meet the older woman’s eyes in her own: “don’t worry, Mrs. S. I’m not going to lose all my control right here and now…I’m just going to take things step-by-step as long as we’re both willing to do so. That okay…?”

The hostess nodded as she noticed the girl’s hand slipping down her robe to her nightgown area, placing it right around the area where the woman’s breast filled the top. Oooh, Mrs. Santoro moaned a quick sigh. She hadn’t had someone, let alone a younger woman, touch her body, much less her breast, in such a way since�"technically�"the night before. But this was a much different night than its predecessor…or at least it felt that way.

“Don’t worry,” Ana whispered to her in her right, her head nudged right up against the grown woman’s face. “I have a feeling I know what I’m doing and that you’ll like it, whatever may happen here.”

“You’re probably right,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “I’ll confess this is a whole new thing for me so I’ll just have to go along with…ahh…whatever you feel might be best to do. I have no real expectations here. But…” she continued.

“…yes?” Juliette remarked.

Penelope continued: “I don’t think we should go all the way with one another. You know�"have like…women sex. Like, as in, do a lesbian fling or anything…I’m not sure I’d be OK with that much just yet.”

Ana looked back at her in her eyes: “Yeah, I think I can understand all that. I’m not exactly suggesting we go and become full-fledged lesbo’s right here and now either. I’m not saying we will or things will get to that point. I’m just saying it’s OK to have a little fun, even if it is something simple or one-time only. Just go with it, more or less. Sound alright?”

Their eyes shared an understanding that they were both on the same sort of page�"that of certainty and uncertainty; of curiosity as well as the withholding feeling that things weren’t going to escalate out of control between them. Not after tonight, at least. “Okay,” the mother replied. “I can live with that…”

And with that, their female instincts of what they thought each other might care to do began taking over, knowing neither was looking for a 20 or 30-year commitment to each other versus a short, little while of natural fun.

 

 

Light-hearted music filled the nearby dwelling containing Richie’s bed and traveling items, including the vinyl, rectangular-prismed tote bag and accessory necessities he needed for everyday use�"phone, wallet and the like.

Right now, though, while Richie did mention to everyone he would simply be in his room, unwinding from the fun-filled day that was, he neglected to mention that Noel would have his unspoken permission to come visit him if she felt so inclined.

He knew that in spite of all her public-appearance type of toughness and straightforward, realistic sense of things she presented herself as, she also desired the presence of company that had nothing to do with girl time nor female gossip.

Noel was sitting on Richie’s bed with him. Among the beige walls and the light brown furniture filling the room with civilized pleasantries, the young couple was comfortably laid out upon the faded green and auburn-designed comforter. The mattress, though not to Richie’s particular comfort level, more than sufficed for what it was. It did, however, provide something of a balancing layer for them as their bodies embraced, swapping oral exchanges and casually grinding upon one another, feeling the need to bud out from their last little venture down Physical Intimacy Lane.

Mmm, ooh, aah, smack, slurp, whew, sigh. Richie knew Noel’s body enough to know when to continue with steps forward when they explored the intimacy department of their own, personalized mall. Sensing no hesitation from her, Richie held himself on his side as Noel was comfortably positioned on her back, her head resting easily on the pillow(s), cradling her body parallel to his. His head continued to lock down towards hers, easily aiming for her lips as they continued swapping tongues and their oral fixation; casually but purposefully, his right arm slid down towards her collarbone area, then the softness comprising the top of her chest.

Not one to sleep in a bra, Richie easily slid his hand over Noel’s shirt, caressing and massaging her left mango-sized breast through her top. It wasn’t a spectacularly standout b**b. But, Noel did possess enough of hill-like b***s, collectively, that rose atop her chest to where Richie could cup and fixate his fondling motions without hurting her or causing her pain…something she did appreciate about him when it came to their bedroom adventures (even if she didn’t always mention it verbatim).

She looked at him with longing in her eyes.

And he sensed it too. He knew what that look meant.

Without missing a beat, Richie slid his hand underneath her shirt and slowly traced his fingers up Noel’s abdominals to her sternum area. Noel, wanting a hint more flexibility from the motions, raised her left arm above and behind her head. She adjusted herself to place her right arm just underneath Richie’s left armpit area, thus providing comfortable relief from his pressure as well as more convenient access for his curious body movements.

Little, fun adventures like these did not occur every day with them. It wasn’t that they didn’t enjoy having the fun entailed; they just didn’t always see the need to hop into the sack like all the time. An every-once-in-a-while ordeal was welcomed. Every single day, at every opportunity�"no, no. They didn’t consider themselves that horny or obsessed for that sort of committed dedication.

But as it was, Richie’s hands found themselves traveling northward to the lovely mounds of warm & soft flesh Noel possessed. Not one to harp about her body like other women may have, Noel knew what sort of breasts she had. She just didn’t make a big deal to brag about nor exploit them�"she wasn’t raised with that sort of cultural normality. They were there; but to show them off shamelessly was not part of her DNA.

Richie enjoyed them, though. They were a solid handful and firmly positioned with no real sag to speak of nor any weird deformities or anything that remotely resembled abnormalities. They were there and had a relatively nice appearance, in their own ways. He never really complained to Noel about them, unless a guy could considered sometimes hard and pointy versus flat and unresponsive n*****s protruding from the mounds as a “complaint”.

At the moment, though, they felt quite the soft and lovely pair to be massaging and caressing. And Richie knew it by the soft and pleasurable moans escaping Noel’s partially opened mouth and her closed eyes; it was a rather unique look she gave. Their peachy-creamed tone coupled with light pink n*****s centered rather well were more than enough to keep Richie’s attention with them when the occasion called for it.

He leaned down to kiss, suck and slightly tug on them. Ooh, aah, ooff. Her lovely reactions were the only things he wanted, let alone needed, and cared to hear at that particular moment. When he bobbed his head downwards, then back up, and down again, take her b***s in his mouth, he saw her natural squirming and body sway with sensation movements�"he figured he was doing something right.

He then took his same right hand and traced it down to her waistline. It wasn’t long before he was circling the area where her panties were underneath the fabric of her sleep pants. And, hearing no real objections or sensing no hesitation movements, he pressed a little bit around her crotch area.

Not more. He wanted to see what reaction he’d get from her heightened mood.

“Ooh, Richie,” she squealed out in a light-hearted moan.

“Mmm, yes?” he replied. He admittedly had no idea what she was going to say. Not knowing always threw him on a loop. But it usually wasn’t a big deal after knowing. She propped herself up onto her elbows a little, gesturing that she wanted to communicate something to him so he wouldn’t be caught off guard or anything. He sensed her movements and repositioned himself accordingly.

“I don’t want to go all the way tonight,” she calmly mentioned. “But, I do want to have at least something of fun while we’re here. Just want to be clear with you as to how far I’m thinking we should take things, you know, given where we are and the circumstances. I’m just wanting to be upfront with you so you’re not thrown off or anything in case our urges take over and all…”

“Does that sound alright with you babe?” she asked, just wanting to confirm that he indeed had heard what she just said and that his mind wasn’t elsewhere, unable to focus because of his thoughts or emotional stirrings inside him.

Admittedly her words caught him off guard, sure. It’s not like he wanted to be respectful at the lake house and obediently comply with her wishes�"damn it, he was a guy and he, just as well as any other he supposed, had male urges. A weekend lake house seemed the more ideal of locations for such things to transpire, planned or not planned. Expected situation or spontaneous and driven by instinct.

He did the only thing he felt he could do (in his position): complied.

For sake of complying and continuing what they had, he pretty much knew by her saying that she’d already made up her mind that she wasn’t going to allow herself to lose her womanhood here and now, with everyone present, potentially creating a whole bunch of awkwardness that she “could have” avoided simply by communicating. As much as he wanted more and was, truthfully, hoping for that given his current mood, the look in her eyes and body language suggested otherwise. He did, in all honesty, know not to argue with her on such matters when an argument wasn’t totally called for, much less given the occasion.

He lowered his ego a bit and accepted her wishes, however it may have diluted whatever was flowing through his veins.

“I mean, yeah sweetie, I can live with that,” he calmly replied. “I wasn’t sure if we were going to go all the way while we were here, to be honest, but I suppose that’s fine. It’s not like we needed to come here and spell it all out by doing it here, you know?”

“We are, in fact, at your parents’ getaway house which means we should at least control ourselves enough to respect their roof and the invite we all had here.” As soon as those words came out of his mouth, he realized he’d probably just said the ironic statement of the year in the world of his personal life and the relationships he’d carried with the various individuals involved.

More to the point, once he’d said them aloud, he knew that the previous night’s ordeals with another woman in the household pad only made him seem like that much more of a jackass�"something he might, if not was all but guaranteed, to have to explain if things ever got that whack between the members of the Santoro family.

But, for there and then of their little adventurous situation, he was more than OK just saying ‘yes’ and leaving things be there. There may be other times to do more, he reminded himself. It can wait.

“Okay, thanks,” Noel said. “Just wanted to make sure you’re on the same page as me. That’s all.”

“I am,” he replied. “I get it. Letting me know is about 100 times better than merely assuming I’m going to read your mind and know what you want.”

“Okay then�"” she continued.

“Yeah�"” he replied.

“You want to be on your back or you want me to be?” she asked him, curious as to where and what they wanted to try next.

“I’ll lay down if you’re cool with that,” he said. With whatever they were wanting, hoping or going to end up doing, he wanted to be sure to have saved his strength for those moments and such for then. This could be her turn to be ‘up’. “Yeah, I’m good with it. Lie down,” she whispered to him. “And, let’s try not to be too loud, eh? I don’t think we’d want anyone to hear us and be like, all ape s**t wtf is going on here, right?”

“Right,” he acknowledged.

With that, he flipped down onto his back, and let her do what she thought felt best for her.

She lowered herself over him, making sure to groove downwards his straining erection contained within his boxer briefs. “Would it be more comfortable for you if you, I, kept those on? Or just took them off altogether?” she whispered to him, softly so as to not make any sudden disturbance-like sounds.

“Off may feel better, actually, if you don’t mind,” he quietly replied. “Off it is, then. Here,” she resumed. “Let me help.”

She rose off him for a brief moment or two then grabbed the waist hemline of his fabric. She helped him ease his body up just a bit so as to expose himself fully to her. Although it would have felt the easiest thing in the world to have refrained, especially given the company lying dormant (or supposedly so) nearby, at that exact moment and point he didn’t care so much. He felt the cool air engulf his body just enough to where his skin felt the sensation of it crawling over him like an invisible blanket. It only added to the mixture of the rush they found themselves in with whatever they were going to end up doing momentarily.

She took a moment or two to take his package in, always in slight bewilderment at what he had and deciphering how she would go about meshing with it. She wasn’t quite sure she knew what she was doing. And he knew that as well. But, he gave her the understandable benefit of the doubt that they were both growing in this area of their (respective) lives�"neither of them was a professionally trained expert or anything. So they just did what they felt was OK.

She took her hands and caressed him a little, eliciting a slight moan and softened breathing from him that told her she knew how to get his blood going and his adrenaline-filled excitement brewing. Her fingers barely traced over the outside areas of his shaft, up and down the underside of his stick, making sure not to accidentally tug or nub his skin the wrong way as she knew he had a sensitive package and even the slightest touch or touches could trigger uncomfortable reactions.

Those same fingers simultaneously found their way to his ball sack and the little valley area where his whole anatomy down there rested, knowing that if she caressed his skin in and around his grown muscles and hips, doing so would just as well continue to build up his energy and cause him to give more specialized attention to her.

From Richie’s perspective, this was more than sufficient for what he could only figure, later, they would be able to partake in. Nevertheless, he was enjoying every moment of it�"being the feeling, emotional-type of guy that he was, particularly one who enjoyed these types of moments and sexual explorations as much as anybody, an occasion like this would only add to the happier memories he enjoyed and would take with him once they all left Ashton Grove and awaited the next go-around.

In the meantime, Noel knew that the simple foreplay and teasing would only last so long with him. Richie wasn’t the type to particularly take the build-up stuff all that well; she knew he could tolerate it all, sure. But too much or that much and he would start to feel even more angst-like tingling than he, perhaps, already was.

She decided that was enough and make a procedural decision. Her hands and arms went down to the bottom of her shirt, grabbed the thing at its bottom by her waist, and lifted it up in one smooth motion, exposing her respectable melons in front of him.

Before he could take in her sight with too much of the drooling that may have ensued, she lifted herself up and over him, to straddle his waist. Her panties were of a silk and polyester material and actually made her hips, butt, upper thighs and crotch area stand out more than if she had taken them off. Plus, she knew the material would probably make the temptation for Richie to stick himself in her less difficult with the material as an active barrier. Besides, they’d already discussed that and came to an agreement�"no need to send mixed signals now.

“You want your c**k downwards, babe, or up toward you?” she asked him. “I’m okay with either one. It’s up to you and what you feel will be most comfortable for you. Really.”

“Upwards facing me will be better,” he replied. “You know it typically curves that way regardless so it’ll feel better and easier following the natural curve of what it does.”

“True. Okay,” she whispered back. “That’ll work.”

She let him position himself to where he was feeling relaxed and comfortable with himself as she slowly cradled her body over him and his hardened member. Taking a moment or two to settle herself, she was extra cautious about her positioning so as to not irritate him while they went about their foreseen motions. Her whisper was right on cue: “How’s that feel? Are you okay with this? How I am?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m good with it. It all feels good. And you feel warm.”

And with that, they began their swaying and grinding motions, buckling their hips, meeting each other’s thrusts, being careful not to squeak the bed or frame too much nor causing too much noise. It was late and they both knew too much sound would trigger the disturbance neither wanted.

What began with Richie carefully placing his arms to Noel’s sides, slightly gripping their way over her hips and the outlining portions of her cheeks with simultaneous motions, became a groove of Noel casually strolling into an upward and downward thrusting motion. Almost reflexively, they began a horseback riding momentum in which the strolling became small degrees of thrusting, and thrusting, and more thrusting.

Richie noticed Noel would occasionally swing her head backwards to the point where her forehead faced the ceiling and her hair evenly flowed straight down the smooth of her back. That’s when his hips began sending upwards thrusting motions to meet her bucking hips, as his arms reached up past her waistline, grabbing hold of her pouncing-like melons that stood out from atop her smooth and cream-toned upper body. Their motions continued in such synchronized patterns as they both began reaching the same sort of ecstasy-like surreal feeling coursing through their veins.

Soon, the bouncing motions of the bed, the softness of the mattress and comforter holding them up like an illustrious canvas all combined to produce the soft, whimpering ooh’s, aah’s, sighs, whew’s, and aghhh’s their vocal reactions could muster up. For even the briefest of moments that, in the scheme of the grandeur of things that really mattered in this life, Richie and Noel’s collective instincts rose to tell them that being at Ashton Grove at that time of day, the up and down dry humping and the love-making situational prowess they engaged themselves in and all the joy, exhilaration, suddenness and impulsive desires running through them both, ultimately comprising their innate act was nothing short of being alive; if, only, for the moment, moments, it was.

It’s as if time has ceased to become some important thing and the only thing worth holding on to was, in circumstantial fact, that moment in that moment. In spite a few of their key differences and some of their varying opinions, both members of the young couple embraced their need for “this type” of loving nature that had, somehow, originated within themselves, however organically or systemically it had developed. And their repetitive movements only showcased their desires manifest…for as long as their energies could last and however long they chose to stay in that, and similar, position�"respectively.

 

 

            With the clock showing 12:42 a.m. and the ladies well aware that they were beyond the point of staying “good, family friends” of one another, Juliette looked at Penelope in a particularly new way. Having just shared a completely unexpected-yet-nicely surreal lip lock with Mrs. Santoro, Ana’s and Mrs. S’s eyes held an expression between them that just spelled an unknown curiosity that neither could quite put into words, but were absolutely nonverbally conveying.

            It was written all over both of their expressions. Without question, it was there.

Their looks gave every detail of that excited curiosity away like an outdoor-enjoying child learning he was going to get to ride his new bike for the first, maybe second, time.

Before making any more sudden moves or the like, Juliette leaned her face in towards Penelope’s in a smooth and direct motion. When Penelope realized what the girl was probably intending to do, let alone wanted, she created a half-smirk of a smile and leaned her own face towards the girls’. Damn, the younger of the two thought, she must have really enjoyed that first little go of making out a moment ago. Why the hell else would this grown woman she’d known for a little while continue doing this sort of thing?

Ana slowed her movement as their faces approached within an inch or two of one another. Their lips leaned towards the other person’s mouth as their faces naturally leaned to one side or the other, one to the left; the other to the right, depending on who went which way first. There was, seemingly, no awkwardness in their motions, other than they were particular family-like mutual lady friends in a non-mutually common predicament.

But when their lips met again, the sucking and caressing sounds their moistness collectively made filled both the ladies with an electric presence and feeling that neither could deny existed between them. It was like the taste of sweet wine strolling towards the edge of the wine glass, the drinkers’ lips and mouth ready to be flooded with the savory sensations that came within the delicate mixture of grapes and combined aromas and herbal balances contained within.

Then, for another good moment or two, the ladies just held their lips together, exchanging a mutual mmm and heavy breathing that came when two close people decided to cross a polite boundary to become something new altogether. With their lips locked and faces practically on top of one another’s, their hands did a little exploring, having lived through the first of a handful of oral embraces that brought about the new definition to their…relationship.

“Mrs. S?” Juliette whispered while still slurping away at the elder woman’s wondrous mouth. “Yes, Juliette?” the mother mustered in reply. “What is it?”

Juliette held her lips for a moment before going for her next kiss. She opened her eyes ever so slightly before speaking again: “I was wondering…” she began.

Mrs. Santoro’s eyes looked at her with curiosity galore. “Yes…?” she had no idea what the girl was going to ask nor had in mind but she was certain it couldn’t be anything too odd or bad.

“Would you mind…if…I feel you? Like your body, some?” she calmly asked, knowing she was, essentially, taking another huge sort of risk in not just their specific, friendly relationship but the way Juliette would be treated and viewed from the Santoro family from that point, from that night, onwards. She knew that, perhaps, even before she actually asked the question. She had a feeling that even pondering it was a risk in and of itself.

But, it was one she was willing to take. The boundaries were open to what could happen, she felt. But the boundaries as to what was allowed to actually be taking place, that was another story to which she knew she was heavily flirting with.

“�"Okay, Ana?” Mrs. Santoro began replying. “I know this whole thing may be completely new, and altogether different, for both of us. I get that, yes. However, in my world and the way I am seeing things here, there are some lines I don’t mind crossing and, how would you say it, ‘exploring’?”

Juliette’s gaze went directly into the woman’s eyes, as if she was willing to accept whatever the woman was going to say regardless of what it was; as if her very response was something she needed to hear in order to move on with her life…whatever direction that might take her.

“But I can tell what this (she gestured between them) might mean to you,” she continued. “Soo…I suppose…my answer to your unusual but simple request…is…yes. I’m sure I can live with you doing that, even if just for a night like tonight.” Okay, even she was not sure what the hell that verbal response meant or was supposed to mean. But she didn’t care to further explain herself than she already had explained her response to the honest question that deserved something of an honest answer.

“Really?! Are you sure you’ll be okay with that?” Juliette’s surprise response even caught Penelope by a little surprise. “I just wasn’t sure what you’d say or how you were going to respond. That’s all. I hope you aren’t disgusted with me or anything by asking or saying that out loud.”

“I mean, it’s a little strange to ask,” Penelope replied, acknowledging the girl’s unsure but curious position. “Yes, I will give you that. But, frankly dear, we’re both women here and we have the same sort of stuff underneath. It’s just a little different for each of us, that’s all. Soo, go ahead…”

“Okay,” Ana replied. “This should be interesting…”

Her hands brought themselves to Mrs. Santoro’s face once again, grasping her by the chin to her lower cheeks. This time, there was no real sense of hesitation by either woman. They shared another quick kissing embrace as Ana’s hands slid down to the woman’s robe and began parting it down the middle, carefully noting the way the fabric slid open and the ease at which that motion occurred.

Ana tugged her lips just a hair off of her lady friends’ mouth just enough to where they could still feel one another’s breathe without touching, the lingering sensation filling the atmospheric realm that filled the space between their oral landscapes.

Her hands, meanwhile, were traveling south at a slow but certain pace. Even with the evening nightlife filling the scenic aroma all around them, the sounds of the nighttime natural world a few yards away, separated by carefully-carved walls and a lucratively-designed interior, the ladies were lost in their newfound zone. Her hands were completely absent-minded to the natural wonder all around them, focusing on the natural wonder that was awaiting her touch. Ana’s hands and arms understood that Mrs. Santoro’s robe and evening attire was locked away by a semi-secured knot, carefully centered as it should have been.

They proceeded to unravel it in a smooth-maneuvering motion that told the older woman she at least had some idea of what she was doing…even if they, collectively, did not.

First came one twist; then the other. Then, before she really knew what was happening, the folds found themselves unfolded. The little gap at the top of the material found itself becoming more like a little gateway for a stream of skin to reveal itself to her wonder. And Ana was looking at the older woman in a way she, perhaps, would never have otherwise. She found herself wanting to see what the woman looked like and possessed underneath those garments, having always seen her figure from her various outfits only, never really questioning what exactly lay beneath all of it.

No, she knew she wasn’t gay or anything. But damn it, this was just one of those times that seeing another woman, especially one as charming and illustrious as Mrs. Santoro was (or could come across), let alone a woman she actually knew, was proving itself even more tempting, exciting and altogether (a bit more) surreal than she could have originally imagined.

Nevertheless, her hands did the rest by what they knew how to�"parted the opening to the woman hiding beneath the layers. Then, looking right into the lady’s eyes and face, knowing this moment might change things between them for, possibly, an awful long time to come, she guided the fabric altogether off her shoulders, leaving merely a silky-like evening dress hanging by Penelope’s shoulders. The robe met gravity with a casual fall from grace to the woman’s waist area, collecting itself in a bundle that could easily be removed with another swift and non-complicated motion as seen in plenty of love-making scenes between one gender and the other, or two of the same genders, depending on whatever tickled your fancy.

“Please…” Juliette whispered to Mrs. Santoro, as if needing her approval would lessen the severity of the occasion they already found themselves in.

“…okay…” Mrs. Santoro whispered back, the tone and delivery of her reply indicating that, admittedly so, even she not only didn’t mind showing off her woman goods to the younger generation but was, in a strange way, eager to do so.

Without a moment’s pause, Ana reached for Penelope’s nightgown straps holding the piece in its place, gathered them in her delicately-placed hands, lifted and pulled them up and just over the curving holds of the woman’s shoulders. Knowing the material was constrained a bit to accommodate the slight tugging, the moment they surpassed the curving landscape of her physical makeup, Ana let the material fall, sliding it down with gliding direction as it passed over the hostess’ arms, down and past her elbows to the area where her forearms met more of the removed material.

In the same motions, the young one obtained her first view of the woman’s fully-grown breasts. It took a moment or two for her to regain her senses as her eyes remained locked on the full and rounded globes hanging in front of her. Penelope, on the quick other hand, held a slight smirk across her face, a welcoming and open crease of her lips to greet the girls’ expression, as Juliette’s eyes gripped themselves enough to have gone simultaneously back-and-forth between her chest and smiling glow. Before either woman was able to or did utter a word, Ana removed her hands from the woman’s straps, letting the attire fall where it would, and sat herself back on her heels, letting her legs rest themselves in a half-stretching sitting position.

“Ana?” Mrs. Santoro whispered to her young lady friend.

“Yes?” Juliette replied quietly, not sure what the lady could possibly be wanting to ask her at that moment.

“Do you…like…what you see?”

She was tilting her head in a more direct stare at her lady counterpart�"somehow, she felt OK by whatever she knew was happening, was actually happening.

Her question caught her somewhat by surprise. It was something she supposed sounded a lot better a question in her head than it did spoken aloud. Nevertheless, it was a fair and reasonable one to mention, given their predicament.

Juliette’s eyes switched from Mrs. Santoro’s face & smile to the generous-looking and glowing chest she revealed to her. “…Oh yes, Mrs. S,” she calmly replied. “Your b***s are lovely. I mean, I know what mine look like. But yours just seem, I don’t know, a better pair. Like a better complexion for you than, maybe, might do for me? But yeah, those are nice.”

“Why thank you dearest,” Mrs. Santoro said. “I honestly wasn’t sure if they would or could be considered ‘lovely’ or ‘likeable’ or any other descriptive word like that again.”

A look on Ana’s face hit her just then. And Mrs. Santoro picked up on it. No explicit words were needed, necessarily. But the older lady could just tell that the young girl’s expression was begging to mention something about it, given their…unique and interesting…situation. Quite frankly, it was one neither of them had ever really considered something they’d be involved in. But, as Juliette might be the first one to point out, you only live once, right? So why the hell not? Ana’s face hesitated a half-moment longer, then looked slightly down; she then raised her face to meet her friend’s mothers’.

Slightly hesitant, still, she mustered up the words: “Would you like to see mine? It would only be fair, I feel.” The younger woman had a point. And although Juliette wasn’t entirely expecting to be so sudden in her moves, she felt it a reasonable exchange of gestures and courtesy.

“I suppose that wouldn’t hurt,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “Okay…sure. Let’s see them. Want or need me to help you?”

With some hesitation but eagerness, Juliette reached to the bottom of her top and clinched the material. Folding her arms, she looked right at Mrs. Santoro and began pulling up. Knowing there was no bra on underneath, she felt a strange rush as her top lifted, exposing her skin to the woman. She knew she had never quite done something like this before, so the feeling wasn’t entirely too uncomfortable or anything. Nevertheless, she felt, hell she knew, it was a little too late to turn back on this particular moment now.

Her hands and arms raised themselves with a certainty that came with undressing in front of someone else�"warm, sensational and filled with a peculiar confidence she couldn’t quite put into words but knew was there. And before she really knew what was what, her arms were raised above her head and her top was removed, exposing herself from the waist up to Mrs. Santoro.

She just sat there, tossing her shirt to her left side, allowing the woman to take in the sight of her daughter’s friend in that capacity. It wasn’t anything unusual-unusual. No. They were, after all, two women “just” sitting topless in front of one another.

Yet, it was. It absolutely was.

This was certainly not like they were teammates on the volleyball team or anything and had just finished up a very competitive matchup, the girls all hitting the showers when it was said and done and were their natural selves as they rinsed off in the same vicinity post-game.

This was...personal. More personal than other types of hookup’s for Juliette or a date that went to this type of point for Penelope in her past.

These ladies were in a particular type of ordeal. Neither knew what to call it�"even with a presumed “label” or “term” to describe their predicament, according to relationship or social science/dating-based references.

It just...was.

Knowing the hostess had known the girl for a few years, as long as her daughter and she had been friends and all, the sight took her a little by surprise. “Well,” Mrs. Santoro said. “Ana. You certainly are a little more impressive than you’ve seemed with the outfits you wear around my house when you visit.”

Juliette couldn’t help but finding herself blushing. “Thank you,” she replied. She wasn’t quite sure what kind of reaction she was going to get from the older woman nor what kind of reaction in general the woman was going to have. “Wasn’t sure what you were going to say, or how you would say whatever-it-would-be.”

“I mean,” Mrs. Santoro followed. “It’s certainly not like either of us was ever planning to sit in front of one another topless or anything. I certainly never really thought this sort of thing would happen.”

“Ya know,” Ana replied. “Neither did I; but I couldn’t help but notice, like in a woman’s insightful way of course, that you always seemed attractive and all. But I just never quite figured we would actually do something like this.”

“Yes, I understand,” Mrs. Santoro replied. Regardless, she looked at the lovely, smaller, but nicely developed, pair of breasts the girl possessed again, taking in the unique sight. They certainly were something, for who she was and the figure she possessed. What with their dark n*****s standing out from the mounds of glands nestled below a flattened sternum and collarbone combination, they rose atop her chest in pert, perky softball-like shapes that, Penelope could have figured, would have made anybody lucky enough to see them like this want to go to town on them. They pretty much begged to be kissed and sucked�"all that sort of stuff.

Hey, Penelope may have been a married woman with daughters and family and all. But she was, in fact, still a woman. Which meant she was capable of recalling what it was like at Ana’s, or must have felt like, in similar sorts of situations. And damn it, they were there. That situation, she knew, would absolutely stay between them and them alone. The freedom to enjoy it for the moment was there for the taking. Lord Jesus, she told herself, forgive me but, really, why not? Just go with it, Penelope.

The ladies both looked at one another with mutual expressions, eyes and skin color and all. Sometimes, when all was obvious or plainly obvious, no words served a thousand times more powerfully than their presence.

By instinct, Juliette raised her chest, lifted her body and scooted herself a hint closer to Mrs. Santoro than she already was. Yes, the younger generations’ notion and whole “personal space” boundaries was long gone. “May I?” Juliette asked her, motioning her arm to the woman’s chest. “I suppose that’s fine,” Mrs. Santoro replied, not verbally admitting to the girl she was actually a bit excited to see how this would feel and go.

Almost simultaneously, Penelope positioned her arms a bit behind her torso and upper body, half to support her positioning on the bed, half to give the girl more convenient access to whatever her eager youthfulness was causing her to go. Even better and more astonishing to take in, Juliette thought, still relishing in the sight of the lady’s chest, not fully embracing the openness of the normally socially-acceptable & reserved woman’s habits.

Her right hand, though, needed no further permission nor directional guidance. It found its way to Penelope’s left breast, cupping the warm gland in her palm from its bottom “right” side.

The first touch of the woman’s skin in her hand sent warm shocks and jolts through her arm muscles that flowed throughout the rest of her body. And that, mind you, was a mere touch. The women’s breathes simultaneously went from shorter and deeper mixtures to ooh’s and ah’s.

Soon as Juliette’s hand completely cupped Penelope’s breast in her hand, what she could grab it for that matter (mind you), she gave it a soft squeeze, a light caress, pressing her palm into the fully-established gland. It felt full. Warm. Incredible. Soft. A hint mushy. But full of excitement, especially with her n****e consequently grinding its way around the girl’s softer, younger hand. The warm skin felt incredible as the two pairs of epidermis’s made contact.

Ana knew a woman’s body was softer than a man’s, without question. But she had never figured just so delicately warm and inviting something like this would have been. Here she was, touching Penelope’s breast and caressing it as if it were the bag of flour when she was preparing a recipe; or the groove of her legs when she rinsed off in the shower any regular night of her life. The texture of her chest was in another category of touches that, even in her most far-reaching recollections and memory, few other things compared.

Her left arm and hand instinctively mimicked the same motions as her right. They reached for Penelope’s other breast and felt that one. This time, there was no verbal mentioning if the girl could or was allowed to�"Mrs. Santoro understood what the guy wanted and just went with the flow of her motions, pushing her chest outward for greater, more convenient access to her normally covered up area of inner temple worship.

Ana’s hands had hugged girls and women all her life. She was accustomed to the close-proximity contact of her same gender. But rarely had the embraces gone so far as to what she and the older lady were experiencing now.

Ooh…aah…escaped from Penelope’s partially opened mouth. Her half-closed eyes were fighting the balance between the rediscovered pleasurable feelings coursing through her veins and upper body and the reality that this girl may have, as was her instinctive feeling, wanted to have done this for some time. However, without certainty of that and not wanting to disrupt the moment, she let that questionable thought elope her cerebrum. And let Juliette continue her touching ways and discoveries.

Oh hell, she knew what they were doing was (probably) wrong on so many different sorts of levels. But at that exact moment, she did not care. Enjoying the moment purely for what it was and how it made her body feel was enough to let other thoughts of right-and-wrong slip from her mind.

Besides, the girls’ touch on her breast felt rather incredible. Her hand was warm, soft and gripped her mound just enough to where it reminded her of a light massage blanket on her skin, set to a “low” setting, allowing the skin to soak up the heat that dispersed through the bare touching. The smaller, curious hands Ana possessed continued their kneading and groping of the older hostess for a bit longer, still not completely in belief that this little eventful situation was taking place, even while it was! Her senses completely lost themselves in the motions of the grown woman’s chest, if only temporarily unaware that her own thinking abilities reached a somewhat “suspended” state of being. Only slightly impulsive, yet instinctive, movements were dictating the girls’ motions for the time being.

“Does this feel okay or good, Mrs. S?” Juliette asked. “I haven’t really done something like this before, let alone with someone I know a little more personally. So I have no idea what works and doesn’t, you know?”

Following a slight moan, she replied back: “Oh yes, Ana. It feels fine to me. Great, actually.” She wasn’t sure whether or not to continue, but figured to hell with it and…just…did.

“In fact,” Penelope continued. “I’m not quite sure I’ve ever really been touched there with so much delicate and fragile warmth as your hands are providing to me now. And no, I’m not just saying that because you are here with me now. I really can’t fully remember.”

“Okay, cool,” the young girl replied. “Then I hope you don’t mind this…”

“Wha�"” Mrs. Santoro briefly replied. But before she really knew what the girl was getting at, her hazel eyes drew themselves to the girls’ motions.

She couldn’t quite believe even she was doing, or about to do, what she was. After all, she knew (or at the very least didn’t consider herself to be) she wasn’t a full-fledged lesbian or anything. Not really. Not at all. But this was, in fact, the exact sort of thing she knew they did. But without grasping that whole notion for what it was, she found her face coming within a breath or two of the older woman’s bust. Juliette leaned her mouth downwards towards the woman’s chest. She parted her lips just enough to where the woman’s flesh begged to have attention paid to it…as much as the girl desired or could muster. It was begging, wanting the girl to greet it with an open sense of loving caress that, the woman supposed, only other women would understand.

Without a clear-cut thought running through her head, Juliette took the woman’s mature n****e in her mouth, fascinated by how it would not only taste, but how it would feel. Her gut was ready to embrace the sensation that awaited her. She took it in, closed her lips around the protruding bud and encompassing areola, and gave it a suction cup grip, ever so slightly pulling the flesh into her mouth and moist mouth. And held it there. And held it. And used her tongue to carefully caress the nub with rolling flicks and teasing tugs this-way-and-that.

An mmm and sucking sound squealed from the girl’s mouth, fairly confident she knew or had a firm and sensible idea that she knew what she was doing with this particular action. Penelope’s mouth, meanwhile, was half dropped to the mattress holding them both in place. In partial disbelief that this was actually happening, her body was shooting off new and recurring sensations the instincts running through her knew they hadn’t experiencing in God knows how long.

Yet, here she was.

The sight her eyes captured looked incredible enough, for what it was: the girl’s long, dark hair rolled down her head like a waterfall of locks around her sculpted face, gently swaying with each bobbing motion of her lips. Its round anatomy carefully positioned itself around her busty chest, knowing her face was locked on the glands atop her chest.

Penelope placed her soft and proportioned hands over the girls’ hair, pulling her closer to her full breast, as the girl continued to latch on. The sensation was rather incredible�"the warm suckling feeling as the girl’s mouth absorbed and nipped gently on her n****e, taking in the warm flesh; then, alternating to the other one, the same motions and movements replicated themselves.

Penelope had been used to such physical feelings in the early days of being a mother…

However, this was by far and large different.

This was something else, entirely. And, deep down, she knew she hadn’t quite felt that sort of sensation in an unknown number of years. Of course, that was just a ballpark estimate for what it was. The feeling of sight of Juliette going to town on her chest was absolutely something to behold. Penelope was at least willing to acknowledge that, but in a good and surprisingly way. An unexpected way. But as the girl was latched on, something else stirred inside her. Something even she was not quite expecting.

No, it wasn’t the warm sensations rooted in her chest, coursing through her veins. Nor was it the tingling feeling toying in her mind, informing her of its visit to her waist and below. No; what was hinting at her was something else…

She didn’t quite have the desire go too far with her daughter’s friend. That would surely have placed this whole predicament she already found herself in a whole other realm of “what’s going on here”. But her woman’s instincts were kicking in; they wanted to feel the young girl in the way that newfound lovers felt one another, exploring an area of curiosity that, she could only presume and assume from her own experiences, were intended “for their eyes only”. How to bring it to Juliette’s attention without sounding too much like a desperate mature woman, let alone an older mother and all she was, would be tricky… for the wording, she figured.

But, at this point, she reminded herself this was Ana, one of her daughter’s friend. And a trusted one at that. Surely it would not have seemed nearly so awkward as to the way it might sound asked aloud, let alone with the intention behind it. Oh, hell, Santoro, just ask, she thought to herself, as Juliette’s hair and face were still playfully lapping and flicking away on her upper body landscape.

“Ana�"?” she whispered, before it got too late on them and the chance may have passed her by.

“Mm, yes, Mrs. S?” Juliette replied.

“I couldn’t…help…but wondering something,” she began. “Okay. What is it?” she heard the girl reply.

“I was wondering if you’d…oh my…this is a little embarrassing to say…even for me…” she hinted back, while her body’s focus was on the prime young female giving her good treatment. Even pondering the idea, for her, was something she’d never thought would come across her mind. Certainly not�"but she had. Now, mustering up the courage for the question she possessed was the other half the battle. Here goes nothing.

“Yes�"what’s up? What’s going on?” Juliette slowed her movements, ensuring her eyes and mind were paying attention where they were needed.

“I wanted to know if you wouldn’t mind me feeling your chest as well…and, well…if I could feel the area between your legs, if just for a short while?” She let the question linger there for a moment or two. She knew it probably took the girl by surprise, if just a little bit, as her body sort of halted itself altogether and focused on what the woman was, indeed, asking. She pulled herself an inch or so away from Penelope’s chest ever so briefly. Oh s**t, I’ve gone a little too far now, haven’t I? Mrs. Santoro thought to herself, sensing this was a defining moment of sorts for her and the way Juliette would treat her from that point forward.

“It’s just that I was curious about that sort of thing. I don’t think I’ve ever done something like with another woman, let alone one I know well and all. And, I don’t know, maybe I just wanted to give it a try? To say I’ve done that sort of thing?” There was no lie in the woman’s eyes, even with her sly half-smirk of a smile creeping across that grown face of hers. Juliette could tell she meant it, even if she was hesitant about the way she asked. Damn, the young lioness thought to herself, this woman is curious as f**k and she sure has let go of whatever sorts of ways she had before a weekend like this! But she was digging the way this was going, even if she knew neither of them were totally gay. Ah f**k it, what’s the worst that could happen? Eh…never mind that thought, she reminded herself. Girl…just f*****g go with it, s**t!

“Eh, Mrs. S? Penelope…?” Ana whispered back.

“Yes, dear? What is it? …what do think?”

“I’ll admit that’s a little unexpected to hear from someone like yourself and all, ya know? But, actually�"hell yeah!”

She continued, backing up a mere 5-6 inches to be able to chat with her about it: “I’m down to give that a try. S**t, I was kind of hoping and wishing I might be able to do something like that to you. You know, at one point or another. I mean, not like I really go for that sort of thing or anything. But, it does sound like something I could and would want to try with someone I know�"and I know you, right?”

“Right,” Penelope responded. “You do.”

“I do,” Ana said. “Soo, yeah. Yes, let’s try that. I’ve always seen the sorts of outfits and such you wear and have sort of figured at what you might look like beneath them. Much less actually feel or taste like. Eh, were you thinking now or, like, another night?”

“No, no. Now is what I had in mind,” Penelope replied. “While we’re here and, you know, in this moment like this�"you and me. And, like you, I also don’t really go for this sort of thing either. I mean, you know me enough to know that. But I figured to at least give it�"”

The girl cut her off by placing one hand over her mouth. The other jolted towards the direction Mrs. Santoro wanted.

“Mrs. S�"shh,” Juliette said. A slight ahh escaped the grown woman’s mouth, caught a little off guard by the impulsive gesture. Yeah, I talked enough, she couldn’t help but realize in her mind’s together-but-not-entirely thoughts. “Just let me do what I think feels best. And follow my lead…okay?”

“Okay…” she cooed her reply, sensing the girl’s hand and fingers fumbling their way to the heavenly gate that covered her inner warmth, her most private area where only certain individuals were allowed to enter.

“May I…ooh…do the same with you?” Mrs. S whipped out in plain talk. “…yes, you may…” Juliette replied. She felt there was no reason they couldn’t be fair to one another in this moment of mutuality. It was only fair. Hell, it was something they both knew they wanted! Why the f**k would she not let the woman return the favor?!?! Better to feel it back and give to her as she gives to me than it be a one-way street, she remembered to herself, acknowledging that reciprocating actions were 1,000 times better in the end-result than not.

Penelope let her hands find their way down to Juliette’s private area, just as the girl (almost instinctively) knew where and how to position her own hands. It was a woman’s touch and woman’s thing, she supposed, of the circumstance and whatnot. When she heard a slight ahh explicitly elude from the young temptress’ mouth, and seeing the physical reaction written all across her facial expression, she knew she was doing at least something right.

She knew what she was doing wasn’t rocket science or anything. However, she did know and understand that women were, or could be for that matter, very particular about how they preferred to be handled “down there.” And Penelope figured that Juliette was no exception. Just enjoy this little thing you’re doing, dear, she told herself, as she attempted to bring back the younger, perhaps more alive and single version of herself from an eon of a lifetime ago through her movements.

Their mutual movements and rhythmic motions compelled them and their curiosities. Their bodies’ wanted to feel as much of the newfound sensational play scape as could be tolerated. Hands roamed through the muscular eagerness below their warm skin; and their fingers discovered new things about the other lady that they couldn’t quite fathom as possible otherwise.

Whilst their bodies did all their bodies knew how to do, much less could, the night and its wonders beyond understanding trickled onwards, allowing the midsummer night’s eve and the energy the darkness brought forth to encapsulate them in ways nature only could allow. Their senses lost way for their surroundings. Deep breathes, sheer inhales and exhales of raw passion soon took over them both. Their motions swayed them this way and that, and their breathes were the last thing either remembered before they drifted off in that heavenly state…

 

Chapter 15

            Only a few bare moments of unconsciousness and mindless images strolled through the darkness of either lady’s minds from the time they drifted off to the time just before the crack of dawn, when Penelope’s phone alarm buzzed barely loud enough to stir her from the slumber she succumbed to.

            “Huh?” she cooed to herself, reaching for the small beeping thing only an arm’s length away. Oh yeah, she recalled to herself. And suddenly her brain recalled why she had, indeed, set a disturbance to have awoken her when there would have been absolutely no f*****g reason otherwise.

            She’d leaned up and over only enough to grab the device. Soon as she lowered herself back to wherever her body found itself, she saw the other person in her bed with her: Juliette was still there. And they were both still in the same attire as when they crashed: panties only.

            A cheeky smile rolling through her lips in that satisfying way only such moments could possibly muster, the mature woman knew she had to send the hungry and eager lioness back to the cub’s den. There was absolutely no way anyone else gathered at Ashton Grove that weekend could know about the promiscuous fortunes, or misfortunes, this wife and mother of two had with a “close friend of the family.” Nor would they need to. Hell, even Mrs. Santoro understood that even something as naturally lovely as this was could be considered completely “unacceptable” in the world’s most people knew�"one Penelope knew all too well and one in which she considered herself well-accustomed.

            Nevertheless, in spite of what had happened last night, she knew what had to come next.

            “Ana…?” she whispered to her daughter’s friend.

            No response.

            “Ana�"” she nudged her a little that time.

            Hmm, cooed the young lady. “huh�"what�"”? Everything in her eyes said a girl even as adventurous as she was had only half an idea of where she was, much less what she was doing there.

            After looking around a few seconds more, not totally recognizing the room nor its interior design, they found the only recognizable figure her eyes knew without having to think�"Mrs. Santoro. “Oh,” she whispered, with a half-sly smile peeling into her lips. “Hello pretty lady.”

“�"Eh, why is it so damn dark around the room and all? I mean, I thought the sun would have been up, you know, like it is when someone wakes up and all…”

            “…And normally it would be, yes, dear,” Mrs. Santoro replied to her, in her quietest-yet-partially-motherly voice she could muster. “No, I set my alarm before we…eh…started. I wanted to be sure you could make it back to your room just in case we had fallen asleep here. You know…with whatever we ended up doing.”

            “It was just an adult’s precaution. Not that I didn’t trust you to not get caught or anything. Hope you understand,” Penelope continued.

            Ana just looked at her with a soft expression, taking in the grown woman’s words. She’d always known Mrs. S would never have a reason to lie. And, all things considered, she figured the lady wouldn’t start at a moment like this. Certainly not her, of all people, the lioness thought to herself. Nevertheless, her younger mind comprehended the lady’s words just enough to know what she meant: an offering to return to her own bed while everyone was, presumably, still crashed out so as to no raise any suspicions about why Ana would have appeared from Penelope’s room versus her own, especially with Julie sleeping in the bed right next to her, causing even more immediate presumptions about where Ana was and what she was doing in the hostess’ room in the morning.

            “Yes, Mrs. S,” the girl replied. “I understand what you’re saying. At least I think I do, yes.”

            “Okay, good,” Mrs. S said. “Was hoping to hear something like that. I just didn’t want my words to seem too weird or anything. But I figured they wouldn’t for a girl like yourself, one who has probably experienced different things than I in this aspect of life�"”. The girl put her hand to the lady’s mouth, as if silencing her. She raised herself up a little, her bare breasts hanging in the air, paralleling themselves to Penelope’s fully developed bust.

            “Mrs. S,” Juliette said. “You don’t have to justify nor explain your reasons to me. I’m okay with what you’re saying. Really. If I were some random “Jill” or “Heather”-girl you’d met at some cocktail party last night, maybe then you would certainly owe that woman an apology of sorts. But this is me you’re talking to.”

            “It’s cool. No worries,” she continued. She leaned in to give her older family-friend a soft and slight kiss on her lips�"one that was met and clung to by Penelope for what it was. After they separated their swap, Ana played it cool: “I’ll just head back to my room in a second and that will be that�"no unusual switch to the morning. We can just tell the others, if they even bother to ask that is, that we both slept quite well and enjoyed the pleasant dreams we had, even if we each happened to appear in each other’s.”

            “Okay,” Mrs. Santoro replied.

            She had to ponder that verbal idea and those words for just a moment, knowing she wasn’t the one creating the new-yet-unforeseen plan of action, even though it seemed and sounded as solid any she could muster herself in that little moment.

            “I do suppose that makes sense, yes.”

            “Oh Mrs. S,” Juliette said to her, “Of course. You know it does. This may have been a new thing for both of us, yes. But creating a side-story that fits into what we’re both hoping for is something I have no problem conjuring. Don’t worry.” The girls’ look assured Mrs. Santoro that she knew what the hell she was talking about.

            “But dawn is coming quickly. I’ll head out so no one hears anything weird or awakens too early…”

            They looked at one another, shifting from conversation to the surprising events of moments awhile ago. Mrs. Santoro looked a little more surprised of the two. Ana, meanwhile, had something of a satisfied smile resembling a grin of sorts across hers. Their little fling, however deep or discretely standalone or continuous it may have felt and all the uncertainty that would be associated, breathed itself into a lifeform, existed and was now fading into a memory all in its own bank.

            And they both knew it.

            Penelope felt the need to say something, at least: “Last night was�""

            “It was great, wasn’t it?” Ana continued; her interruption almost deliberate.

            “�"yes,” her older friend replied. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever try something like that again, will we?” her tone half-curious and half-certain that the reality of their little predicament was purely a chance encounter that occurred by just that. She certainly felt she would want to experience that, or something similar, again. Where, when, how, (possibly) with whom she was uncertain. Without doubt. She was grown enough to be assured of those things. But her instincts would attempt to persuade her otherwise.

            “Maybe we will,” Ana leaned onto the bed with her shirt in her hands, still clad only in her panties before she opened and went through the door. “Maybe we won’t. Who’s to say? I mean, I am usually around you all enough to at least have that option. But, yes, I suppose we don’t know for sure, do we? At least, not like for real. Huh?” She at least wanted to end their time together on a happier little note…whatever that was supposed to be or mean. Good God girl, you’re acting like this woman is your one true lover and you’ll never do something like this again. With anyone. Get a grip of yourself! “But I wouldn’t worry about that, Mrs. S. We’ll be fine while we’re still here. I promise. It’ll be alright.”

            “Yes,” Penelope replied. “It will be alright.”

            “I really gotta get back to the room,” Ana mentioned. “I’ll see you in a bit…”

            And with that, she went to the door, clung her wrist to the handle, pried it open ever so steadily, went through it, closed it with the gentlest of attentiveness, and paced herself back to her own bed. All she could do was hope that Julie hadn’t awoken yet or moved around enough to have noticed she wasn’t in her bed. Oh well, Juliette thought to herself if that were have happened. I’ll just tell her I went to go pee and was taking a long time with it…she won’t think much of that sort of thing.

            And she proceeded about her plan like the young stallion she knew herself to be in certain situations.

            As for the lady of the house lying latently awake in her room, there were a number of odd thoughts vying for her attention at whatever-the-hell-time it was that brisk and plush morning-to-be. For now, though, she knew it was time for a quick rest. Hopefully no one will catch my drowsiness here or there tomorrow, she thought to herself, before putting her linen-clad nightgown top back on and crawling back under the covers.

            As her eyes began drifting back to sleep, the last remaining specks of conscious hobbit-like ideas that pranced around in her mind’s eyes were two people: the girl who was just in her bed and the young buck of a chap she found new life in with the guy sleeping a few rooms away, also (technically-speaking) involved her own offspring. Jesus Christ, what a bind I’ve put myself in, she couldn’t help thinking to herself. This isn’t really ‘me’ though, is it? Is it? …or is it?

She gave the air a semi-concerned look as she deciphered between the idea behind those sets of questions and the real possibility she might have to come to terms with and accept that she may, in fact, just be changing. In ways even she wasn’t quite prepared to handle nor ready to confront.

For now, she reminded herself, rest. That’s all you need to do.

And a deep feeling of rest, like so many of her naps before, greeted her with open arms. Penelope was there at its gate with a mutual feeling in her gut, ready to drift away into its gardens and pathways as if taking a pleasant stroll across the soft grains of the beaches of Andalusia, her native Spanish homeland embracing her as its own.

_____________

 

            Sounds of girls having morning chit-chat about how they slept filled the walkways when Penelope finally came to a little later that morning. She looked about the room, filled with its sunlight and the fresh feeling of a new day arisen.

            Her mind could only give a few moments thought to the second round of what had transpired the night before. First, the completely unexpected predicament she found herself in with the only male in the getaway. The next, an experience totally unlike any other she would have ever expected, let alone anticipated, of herself.

            She didn’t quite know whether to feel the shame of allowing herself, a lady known to most as a ‘proper’ and classier member of the community, to become subjected to such adulterous actions; or releasing the sighs of liberation from the way she was to, perhaps, a way she was curious about, and, deeper down she knew, allowing herself the knowledge that, as a grown human being, it was OK to feel the f*****g feelings she was without concern for the reception of the masses.

            In that moment, however, all she could actually feel was how difficult it was to lift her grown self out of her bed; the next, how odd it might be to face the younger crowd gathered so close. They had all played their parts in creating the awkwardness that was going to (possibly) ensue, sure.

            For her part, her conscious made her confront the fact that she was, in fact, the commonality binding the moments together.

            Here we go, she thought, gathering herself up from her dwelling. The motions of covering herself in morning sleepwear, namely her layered gown and thicker robe, allowed her brain to focus itself on the concrete steps needed to continue through her motions. That’s what I’ll do, she thought to herself to ease her self-created strains. Go through the motions and carry on.

            A few steps into the day ahead, Penelope found herself approaching a table.

It was the same one, filled with the same young people. Same type of setting. Just a little further along in the getaway was all.

Only “this time”, her eyes immediately noticed her two “new”, completely unanticipated lovers gathered. Not next to one another, of course. But there, nonetheless. In her next two partially swaying steps, she reminded herself: no need to be awkward about anything unless you make that way. Or they do, she reminded herself. And she didn’t figure that either one of them, Richie nor Juliette, would dare to bring up such awkward and uncomfortable suggestions of their flings with her. Subtle or not. She certainly had no intention of making any scene there and then.

She knew better. There was a time and place for everything, she had come to believe. Or almost always she believed. That notion certainly applied at this table. This little mealtime gathering.

“Good morning everyone,” she said aloud, beginning her introduction to the group and claiming the attention simultaneously. “Morning!” they all replied. “-hi Mom,” Noel mentioned as well. Her reply carried a half-second of attentiveness to it. A daughter’s reply to her mother didn’t strike anyone as unusual. They may have been surprised if she hadn’t said so. Penelope’s physical nod to her daughter was acknowledgement enough. “How did everyone sleep?” she continued. A small and steady chorus of “fine” and “peacefully well” rang about the table.

“Yourself?” Juliette asked in reply. Her tone was one of pleasantry. No one took it as anything but.

“Well too,” she replied. “I was able to rest. Had some moments of tossing and turning; but rested.” No one gave her second looks or questionable glances. “But that can become typical when you get to be my age�"family on the mind; future events happening; different things that can keep any grown adult from getting a restful night’s sleep.”

“But fine for what it was.” Her little speech was something they’d come to expect from her. After all, Mrs. Santoro was every bit known for being as properly proper in the right situational moments as she was for giving her little perspectives and opinionated insights into things when allowed the appropriate opportunity.

“Good,” said Richie.

“Nice to hear, Penelope,” Julie mentioned as well.

“Good to know, Mom,” Noel added, neither unsure what to really to make of her spiel yet not caring for what she said as she was in her own wake-up mode…which was, simply put, not always the most upbeat nor charismatic to greet the world.

“Sounds lovely,” Ana contributed, giving her a slight glance of ‘oh really, after what we went through, eh’ expression as only she was able to muster.

“Yes,” she said, noticing it and agreeing with her concretely, refusing to give in to any underlying gestures. “It was. Have you all had something to eat already? I know I’m the last one to arrive; usually I’m the first to rise and prepare things for everyone.”

“Yeah Mom,” Noel quickly replied. “We’re all good. We found what we needed. And, seeing as how you were taking a little while to get out here, just put things together how we needed and began. We figured you wouldn’t mind. Not with us, anyway.” Her last little notion brought about a slight chuckle from everyone they all understood.

They knew Mrs. Santoro was notorious for showing her generosity for others through her cooking talents and hospitality.

“Okay,” she replied, letting out a slight sigh of relief. “I suppose I’ve been saved the little moments of misplaced embarrassment I would have normally felt about now.”

Collective giggles and quirky laughs rang about from everyone. They also appreciated her sense of practical humor and humility, coupled with her modesty. It’s what made her such a good host as well people-person. Or at least they all believed her to carry and hold such values.

Just because someone consistently presented themselves in one light did not mean that consistency would always remain. Sooner or later, that person might reveal part of themselves they don’t want shown. With or without knowing it. Intentionally or not.

Mrs. Santoro preferred to keep herself in a “pleasant” column when possible. Exposing her flaws, or what others would consider flaws she possessed, was not something she was…intentionally…accustomed to. It just wasn’t. Pride or not, personality or not, just wasn’t.

And those who knew of the hostess, let alone knew her well, knew that about her.

Of course, those gathered around the table didn’t bother calling her out for it. Why would they? She, or she and her not-present husband for that matter, were kind enough to have them over to Ashton Grove. The fact that they were there was proof enough that she was a good, if not decently considerate, human and, to her personal credit, kept her good side as the one she routinely kept in everyone’s minds.

There was no need to jeopardize any of that with a sly comment, they all considered, that would alter that perception of her. Richie or Juliette least of all.

Thus, the rest of the ensuing conversation was simple enough: pleasantries about who enjoyed what so far; what they most enjoyed about being out at Ashton Grove, considering it wasn’t the city life they were all more accustomed to; and whether they would miss being there upon return to their respective normalcies.

Things like that.

“Maybe we could all share a thing or two about the weekend thus far?” Richie brought up. “You know, for memory keepsake?”

“Not a bad idea, Rich,” Julie said, acknowledging his gesture with her follow-up. “Yeah, why not?” they all agreed.

Particularly, swimming outdoors was mentioned among the girls. “It just felt peaceful”, was the main benefit the benefactors mentioned; the commonality. “I’d say savoring the moments with time away from the hustle and bustle of being in the city does it for me,” Richie added. They all nodded their heads, acknowledging his singular point was another one. And a damn good one at that.

“I would say,” Mrs. Santoro began, “That just being out here works for me. That and seeing everyone having a pleasant and relaxing time adds to the flavor.” They all gave her assured glances, knowing full well that her delivery was every bit as sincere as the words themselves. It also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Penelope was known for commenting in such a little gathering so as to not provoke any second glances…not that she wanted to.

Mrs. Santoro couldn’t pull off subtly well, even if she wanted to.

Especially not with the way her two encounters had gone, unexpectedly or not, her subtly was straining to hold itself together. Instead, the lady reached for the pastries in front of her, scooping out some of the egg and other condiments laid out before her.

Every ounce of her energy shifted itself towards her focus on the meal in front of her and the notion of getting through this occasion of such close proximity so as to not give away hints of awkwardness to anyone who might have noticed a discrete glance or look stroll across her face.

For goodness sakes, she felt exposed in her skin, I’ve been intimately involved with two people sitting at this table, she thought to herself while carrying on around with the social predicament.

Taking a deep breath to absorb her food, focus on the chewing and eating, and hearing the chatter among the girls was enough to get her mind off of the two people she’d seen in different lights in such consecutive fashions and project herself into a state of normalcy…whatever that was (these days).

“So, does everyone need to be getting back anytime soon?” she figured to ask the valid question and as the only presiding adult-adult in the group, maintaining her sense of responsibility for at least then and there.

“Actually, I could manage to stay around here another day or so,” Julie said first, calm as could be, as if already accepting the invite.

“I’m also in no particular rush to get back right now,” Juliette replied. “Plus, being out here has really started to grow on me a little, ya know?” She delivered that last question of a part with her typical surprising-yet-certain twang she was known for when she’d felt she discovered something new and profound in her life worth holding on to.

“How about you, Noel dear? Anything with school or work or anything you need to be getting back for? A Test or some major assignment, maybe?” Her mom knew how to ask the right questions in the right ways without being too imposing.

“Nah, mom,” she replied. “I made sure everything I had coming that was or is due soon was submitted before we ventured out here. And no, I’m good at work for a few days so I’m fine staying another day or so here. Are you cool with it, Rich?”

“Yeah, I’m good with it,” he replied. “I don’t have anything big to rush back to�"work projects or otherwise. And being out here has been nice and relaxing and I’d prefer to stay out and enjoy it a little more, if I could. If we all could.”

“What do you say, Mrs. Santoro?” he calmly continued, not missing a beat in the group thread. “Are you in any rush to return? I only ask seeing as you brought it up and figured you needed to.”

He asked in a certain manner, but curious and mindfully respectful.

In no way did he imply anything nor suggest she had other motives for wanting or needing to leave “so suddenly” as the others might have phrased it. His was a simple question. No more.

“I mean, part of me is thinking back to home and whether or not it’s being maintained, by Jesse or a neighbor we usually would ask to help watch it for us if we were out for a few days.”

Everyone just heard her out. There was no need to question her.

“But I am feeling as comfortable being out here as I probably have been in a long time, I must say. And seeing as how everyone else is OK with another day at least�"yes?�"I suppose another outing here wouldn’t hurt anyone. Besides, I could use some time out here to feel a bit like myself again�"working and appointments and the hustle and bustle�"”

“�"Yes,” she stated, plain and simple, “let’s enjoy another day, shall we?”

And with that, the girls and Richie all shouted in an-almost unified and jubilant, “Yes!!!” all while raising their arms and fists in the air, mocking how athletes tended to release their joys at showing triumph over their adversaries, then thrusting their arms back to their sides in a locked “L” grip-like shape.

“Yes,” Richie chimed in, just to add some substance to her declaration. “Let’s.”

 

 

            The evening’s festivities came about when all the ladies ordered two pizzas from the legendary Swift’s, a local hot spot for pizza takeout’s in the surrounding neighborhood just after the dirt road leading to Ashton Grove found its way back into the world consisting of highways and access roads abundant.

            They had spent the day playing a few rounds of bean bog toss, played with the polo ball set outside the Santoro’s conveniently kept around for such occasions as the little gatherings they were having.

            And when the teams had become fairly evenly matched, like when Julie and Noel had paired up and outdid Juliette and Richie or Mrs. Santoro was able to knock a few points up on the score over her daughter, overtaking Richie and Julie as well, the small Jacuzzi felt like the right place to settle down.

            Of course, the day’s activities were just ways to enjoy the day without the fuss of all that was awaiting them upon their return�"their real lives with everything they knew.

            “What’s everyone feeling like having?” Noel asked, insisting on showing her hostess manners, no less in front of the queen of such generational hand-me-down’s.

            “Pepperoni for me,” Juliette began the order list.

            “Yeah, me too,” Richie said. “Yes I know Rich�"” Noel chimed in, a hint unnecessarily. “You always get that.” Her tone filled the room with a slight arrogance that wasn’t exactly welcomed but wasn’t dismissed without some half-snickered looks. It was just…there.

            “Well, you asked, so I gave my input,” he responded, calmly noting his tone. “And Italian sausage and pineapple too, if it’s not too much trouble.”

            “No, no trouble at all,” she replied, adding it in.

            “I’ll have some green peppers, mushrooms�"yeah, probably just veggie will work for me,” Julie mentioned. She was going to say all the other options on that particular favorite, but decided calling it what it is was the easier thing to mention, especially with Noel writing it all down, than going through the things one-by-one.

            “Veggie works for me too,” Noel added calmly, noting how someone else already mentioned her flavor, thus making it easier to include. She enjoyed when things were simpler and generally straightforward; they made her life easier to handle.

            “Okay,” Noel said aloud, gesturing to the list. “So I have: extra Pepperoni; Italian sausage; pineapple; extra veggie…”

            “�"Mom, did you want something as well?”

            They all looked at her eagerly, knowing she hadn’t put in her request. Their looks indicated child-like grins and surprises, as if waiting for the birthday girl to blow out her candles and open the presents, giving them all permission to continue playing.

            “I’ll just have some Pepperoni and some of the veggie you all order,” Mrs. Santoro replied, in an agreeable tone. They knew she wasn’t much for pizza; even if she was, she absolutely was the type to make it from scratch as much as possible.

She didn’t believe many of the pizza places around the area that her family lived offer what she called “quality” in that department. But that was neither part of the need for now nor the request. She let her look go.

“You sure Mom?” Noel questioned, knowing that was her mom’s typical response to said-food. “Yeah, Mrs. Santoro,” Juliette added in, sensing her host wouldn’t receive her share of the meal fairly without input. “We’re all adding to the meal. We should have enough.”

“I know, I know, my dears,” she replied. “I’m just a bit particular when it comes to all this eating out stuff and wouldn’t want to agonize my belly during the night if I can avoid doing so now.” They all gave understanding half-glances, attempting to understand and empathize.

She stated, as if in conclusion: “I do appreciate you asking, but I’m sure I’ll have just a few and that’ll be it for me.”

Again, no one questioned her nor pressed the issue. Damn it, they were going to be hungry soon and were, really and truly, just concerned with how soon it would arrive before chowing down.

“Alright,” Noel replied. “You’re good Mom. We understand. Let me go into the kitchen so I can hear on the phone better and all that.”

“Noe?” Julie added. “Yeah?”

“You going to need any help or anything, like driving to go get it and whatnot?”

“�"good point. Hadn’t thought that far in advance yet.”

“I’m sure I will,” she quickly replied. “Let me place the order and get all the specifics and I’ll let you know, cool?”

“Cool.”

With that, Juliette mentioned aloud: “It may be a little while before it arrives, right?” She heard mumbled and a few “right’s” echo around the room. “Would any want to join me in the woods for a little walk, just to dry off and get some air before the sun goes down and we settle in for the night?”

They looked at her with looks of what are you thinking.

“No really, we take just a little stroll, like before, come back, head in and rinse off and hopefully settle down before dinner arrives for our last little day together. What do you all say? Who’s with me?”

They all agreed to join in. It was, after all, their last little outing there for who-knew-how-long-of-time.

“Would you mind if I get my light overhead top to take with me when we go?” Penelope asked. “I don’t always do that well�"my skin doesn’t�"with the sun out and wouldn’t want to cause any unnecessary irritations and such. No?”

“No,” they all agreed and motioned to her. “Go right ahead.”

“In fact, would you guys mind if I put on my sandals while she does that?” Richie asked. “It would just make the walking out there a bit more comfortable on my feet; I wouldn’t have to worry so much about some wooden splinter jabbing my foot or insect biting me, ya know? Don’t want to risk that.”

“Go ahead,” they coolly replied. “Fine by us.”

“I’ll be right back,” he said. “Promise. I know time’s slipping away and all…”

And with that, he thrusted himself out of the controlled water in about the same direction that Penelope had previously been. Of course, both of he and she were heading towards the same area, so that didn’t surprise any of the girls.

Once inside, Richie indeed made his to his room, knowing full well where he put his sandals last. He mentioned he would be right back and had no intention of misleading all the ladies with delayed apparel trips. It was just a pair of sandals for f**k’s sake�"no need to stall. Except he passed by a certain area on his way back out and half-glanced at the area outside, using his peripheral vision, to notice that no one could directly nor plainly see them, much as he observed (in a general way) before entering the household.

He heard the sounds of what he could only describe as a woman changing her attire, or at least adding to it…? He wasn’t completely sure. Either way, he felt certain Penelope was nearby, very nearby. And he felt the need to move closer to where the sounds were producing themselves.

He glanced over to her room, peeked inside the doorway, and noticed Mrs. Santoro was, in fact and simply put, adjusting her sun top over her shoulders and to her frame, making sure it would cover the areas she didn’t want fried.

He was noticed she wasn’t in an ideal position to notice him enter. He would be quick.

He quickly and quietly approached her, even in his sandals, meshing his feet into the bottom plush of the slip-on’s, pressing them into the carpet to minimalize the “popping” sounds. He stood about six to eight inches behind her when his arms reached for her sides.

“�"ah”, she exclaimed, feeling his hands grip onto her hips, her own reaching for and holding them in place, restricting their movements further. It wasn’t so much the grip that caught her, but the suddenness of his motions that caught her off-guard. “�"Richie, please. This isn’t the time nor the moment to continue this. Everyone’s waiting for us outside. Expecting us.”

“I know they are,” he replied, calmly. “I’m not intending to keep either of us here for very long.” His hold on her remained, slowly caressing her hips and the upper, outside areas of her thighs. Almost simultaneously and without worry or regard, his arms and hands shifted up to the area of her chest, only barely fondling the area around her bust so slightly. That was deliberate, he knew.

Her hands met his, calling upon her inner conscious and strength to not give in to the desires filling the room, giving way to whatever could or may transpire in moments of time.

“Oh, you’re not, are you?” she said, mustering up the words as she was trying to keep their focus on the walking ahead. “Then why’d you come in? You know they’re all waiting for us�"ah…” their movements were making even in the simplest of physical actions and discussion seem 10 times more difficult to do. Her eyes began to half-close, taking in the sensations of a younger man holding her in such a way.

“Self-discipline,” he said, crisp and focused a tone as any he’d produced, considering the circumstances. “I was in my room getting my sandals as I’d mentioned. Then,” he continued, while slowly moving his hands around her in circular motions, “I was walking back to join everyone. I glanced by your room and noticed the door propped ever so slightly.”

“The guy in me couldn’t help but peek in.”

“Richie, we have to be going. Out there…please,” she said, focusing her eyes to her whereabouts, her brain focusing on the walk, sending its signals to her hands and arms to strengthen their collective hold and steer both their movements to the doorway and the outside world, again.

“No you’re right,” he said, his tone thickening and body language backing off, casually but intentionally. “Let’s head out there. I’ll go first if you’d want to follow closely behind? Don’t think either of us would want to make anyone any more curious than they probably are about ‘what’s taking us so long’.”

“�"right?” he said, verbally needing and wanting the assurance they both were thinking and, in truth, probably assuming.

“Yes. Right,” she said back. He is something else sometimes, she thought, collecting herself before reforming the group. Having to put any odd thought of what was and what might have been in her temporary memory, her eyes aligned themselves to the agenda ahead. A walk is ahead; time to go walk.

 

 

Chapter 16

            The afternoon sun squeezed its way through the green and pale leaves grasping for their lives amongst the branches of the juniper and narrowed cedars. Little cascades of dirt bumps and hills and grooves along the water way surrounded Ashton Grove, along with the random tree stumps and grassy mounds. The little trails that did exist, however noted and distinguished compared to their natural counterparts among the roots and branches fallen, were just distinguished enough to have allowed humans to walk single-file for a few miles, if that.

            It was the type of “trail” that existed and was utilized by those who knew of its existence. It wasn’t some city-installed or equipped trail where the random mass of daily folk could pay it a visit every dawn and every sunset, plotting their activity in to the rest of their daily activities. And all that entailed.

            This little thing of a walking pattern, so affectionately named “Ashton’s Girl” by the Santoro’s and the Miller’s, the Lancaster’s and the Dougherty’s (the other, nearby households whom cared enough to identify the spick of walkway for all intents and purposes) on the green, wooden little sign posting at the opening, occupied a width no more than 3, maybe three-and-a-half, feet and went as far as anybody could tell.

            It was the sort of little walking trail that existed from the recurring walks engraving themselves on the dirt and grass and had just, sort of, come to exist…it had no official maintenance nor did it belong to any governing body of people as far as the locals knew.

            It. Was. Just. There. And utilized for what it was and by those who insisted.

            On this particular afternoon, the company of Noel, Penelope, Richie, Julie, and Juliette all found themselves in a position where they, indeed, were among those who insisted that such an occasion warranted itself.

            Thankfully so. They all had a look about them that just seemed…not busy and completely comforted yet relaxed and happy to not be busy. It was the strangest of expressions to anyone unfamiliar with the group, let alone their endeavors in the last 48 hours or so. Julie and Noel seemed to be the most tranquil them all; Julie the most, if not the only. The look upon her face�"a tranquil certainty.

            Noel’s look, if it could be distinguished and identified under her large, black sunglass frames, resembled a calm disposition of indifference; neither nervous nor completely at-ease, as if accepting that she was meant to be there at that moment yet couldn’t quite accept even that.

            Juliette had an unusual mix of exhaustion and physical fatigue, curiosity and intrigue as to how to feel about this whole weekend…thing. After all, she had gone out there with the closest of the few friends she really had. She was grateful and happy about that, sure. Absolutely. Who wouldn’t be, she thought to herself. But the recourse of that evening thing she had with Mrs. Santoro�"something neither lady had planned or suspected would happen while there�"popped back into her head. She figured nothing much would come from it; after all, she knew she wasn’t a lesbian. Not by any stretch or actual lifestyle, no. But damn, she is, was, one hell of a sexy woman. A slight smirk strolled across her face just then, as her mind relived about 10 images of that room and them.

            Luckily, though, no one was really noticing her facial features nor expressions; thus, they didn’t pick up that crazy, yet not-so-subtle, look. She figured it wouldn’t be anything to fuss over after a week, let alone years down the road.

            Of everyone there, Julie displayed the most relaxed expression. Her hair looked clean; body language strolled over the cascading strolls the natural landscape presented; and her face and everything about it radiated a natural calmness that she had to admit she hadn’t felt in some time. She actually couldn’t quite remember the last time she had actually felt that calm�"it had been an ongoing situation that long coming.

            Richie looked relaxed yet focused. Not that anyone was really looking at him, but his expression was hard to read. It was as if the worries and oddities waiting to greet them all upon their return couldn’t touch him; neither did he seem, entirely but happily, estranged about the trip out there. His body looked relaxed�"his motions and strides looked secure about the moment.

Yet he gave the impression that something was on his mind. None of the other ladies could tell, really. Not that they were in an investigative or inspecting mood; they weren’t. It was more the mere looks, like they would give to any one of them, incidentally thrown his direction that may have given his attention away�"if he seemed distracted somehow, that was.

As for Penelope, she was just getting used to the actual walking…again. She’d done her share of walking all throughout her life. That wasn’t a problem nor an issue. Hardly. It was being preoccupied with her thoughts�"all that had been happening and could­�"mixed with the life she had when she and others weren’t at Ashton that kept her main attention; it was the way the ground grooved so much as she kept adjusting her feet and legs in their planted motions, maintaining her balance, all while taking in the warm sun flashing down.

She didn’t mind some outdoors here and there; most people were unaware of her unwelcomed feeling towards the heat. And what that could do to her skin and all, not just from an external perspective, but an internal reaction one as well.

“Not to discourage everyone’s moods or anything,” Julie started. “But what’s everyone looking forward to once all, you know, return to civilization?”

It was a fair question, they all knew. “I mean, after all, we are going to be returning soon enough. Right?” She did have a fair point, even if she wasn’t trying to make one.

“A warm bath, to start,” Juliette replied first. “Then, hmm. Let’s see. I don’t know…maybe calling up some of my other home girls to see what they been up to.”

“Getting back to my AC and warm blanket on my couch, I think,” Julie spoke next. “Yeah, those sound nice.” She laughed: “I don’t know why I’m thinking of such simple things. Maybe I just miss having those little things I enjoyed in my world that made it what it was, is.”

“And then, maybe I’ll call Josh over and see how he’s been. He’s probably been wondering what I’ve been up since being out here.” Not surprising to everyone else, Julie always had this honest way of being simple and straightforward when it came to the men in her world and the things going on with hers. She didn’t carry much drama with her; it was something they all appreciated.

“Resting in my own bed again,” Richie added next. “I don’t know about you all, but I probably miss that the most: my own bed.” They all heard in his voice it was a genuine response. He had both Noel and some free time out here; so something from his own little world seemed a perfectly suitable response…if that’s what they were even looking for, that was.

“That and maybe also having a good shower. I mean everything here is completely fine and relaxing, Noel and Mrs. S, don’t get me wrong. And it’s appreciated. Absolutely. Sometimes, though, and I may only be speaking for myself versus all men, but a guy just needs his own bed and the comfort feeling with that contained wonderland.”

They all seemed to take his point fine.

“My bathroom counter with my toiletries and blow dryer, I think,” Noel said. “Then, maybe the feeling of some clean clothes; you know, the ones I deliberately left behind when I packed for this little outing.”

“Oh girl, please,” Ana chimed in again. “You and I know both know I’m also like totally ready to get back to all my little make up’s and kits to put my face on again. It’s not like I would really have to say that for it to be an issue or anything. It’s kind of a given with me, yeah?”

“Yeah, girl,” Noel replied, looking at her friend’s direction, taking in a moment or two to realize where they basically were in respect to where their house-place was and where the trail could be taking them.

Her mind quickly noted that, in spite of their clearly observable direction and all, none of them really mentioned a defined, set course for where they wanted to go, let alone how they would get there. Normally, a little detail like that wouldn’t have bothered her. However, with the sun only going downwards, the late afternoon sun setting in and the bodies beginning to fatigue, without doubt, she figured knowing how far they were going, let alone where they were headed, would be crazy helpful at the moment.

“Yeah, I think I’m looking forward to the same things,” her mother replied. “I mean, I’ve enjoyed this little outing too with all of you, yes. Please don’t misunderstand me. It’s just sometimes we, city girls, can really enjoy and want our little things. You know, all those things that made living in and around the city a little…more…usual, I suppose�"the bathroom countertops; the streets and lights; restaurants and parks every so often; sky-rise buildings too. All that…”

With each aspect of life she brought up, it almost seemed as if Mrs. Santoro was not only missing the life she had outside of Ashton, but was forgetting all about the few days they’d all spent together. Richie noticed her delivery and couldn’t help but think, it’s amazing how much one little question can transform a person altogether. But that was meant for, he felt, an altogether different conversation at a different time and place. The time here, much less this collective walk, was not it.

He didn’t press anything about her input.

“Yeah I have to say I am missing my little sample kits and blankets and all back home,” Noel added. “I mean, you all know me that I wouldn’t harp on those things much. But a lot of me finds myself missing that stuff as my routine, ya know?”

“I’m also missing the restaurants and being able to go to work, staying busy with all that. And definitely finding somewhere to order some good takeout or have an amazingly good dinner, like a tapas place or fine Italian meal.”

“Don’t get going there, Noe,” Julie said, with a slight burst of a laugh. “If you do, all I’m going to be thinking about from now until we actually do go back will be food and all the good dining we have there. It’s only going to tease me even more than you already are, girl!”

They all let out a giggling laugh�"more of an honest reaction than a teasing contribution. Of course, they all knew if any of them was going to bring up something food-related, it would probably be either Juliette or Noel. They were known for having appetites that, when they hit, hit hard.

“Okay! Consider that little conversation closed…for now!!” Noel replied. Her quick-witted sense of quirky humor trademarked itself onto the little path that day. Yeah, they all knew Noel could be sassy when she wanted to be. But they figured, what the heck, might as well enjoy at least some amount of odd humor for the moment, right?

In their company, Noel was first as she had the best previous recollection of where the trails wound, here and there. She led the company; then it was Julie, followed by Juliette. Penelope brought up the rear of the girls, which she felt was casually fitting considering her motherly instincts told her to unselfishly let the younger girls walk ahead. Richie, consequently, found himself at the rear of the group.

It wasn’t an odd place for him to be, not especially. In fact, when they situated themselves, he reinforced the suggestion that the girls go first, not just for obliging sakes, but he figured they’d want more girl talk together while they could get it; his physical presence would certainly have broken that feeling in some ways. He didn’t want to be “that guy”. Not now nor for this little thing.

Besides, he thought to himself, his attention simultaneously going back-and-forth from the winding walking pattern itself, to the scenic views and the sounds of the outside terrain, to the backside view of the lady walking in front of him, it kind of gives me a unique perspective and view to partake in. He had a thing for watching people in their natural ways, observing them, sometimes for behavioral recollection purposes; sometimes, just because. He was particular and interesting like that, though none of the ladies seemed to mind. Nor did they seem to bother asking him about it.

It wasn’t odd or anything. Just a thing.

Nor did he mind the views his eyes were taking in, the scenery and all. Especially notable were the legs in front of him, and the framed hips atop those.

Now, in other walks and all, such an image might be seen as purely just something else in the frame of view. Then, that image would remove itself from that view as they went on their way. Happened all the time. It was considered something, “normal”.

In this particular view, though, it was a more unique frame of reference�"this was…more...personal.

It was one thing to casually and randomly see individuals in athletic wear and such strolling in and out of one’s line of vision without so much a thought as to, perhaps, how the rest of them looked otherwise. It was something else, Richie had to admit even to himself, to actually know that other person, or recognize them, and be able to wonder such things, given that was something any one chose to do. And boy, was he choosing.

Even with subtle hints glancing her way and little wisps of air caressing his and everyone’s skin whenever they did, Richie’s eyes soaked in enough of his hostess’ figure with the utmost simplicity and the utmost secrecy. Walking at the back meant no one else could see him, of course. But then, anyone could ask him at any later point how it was. His response could include anything, quite frankly, and whoever else was involved. He didn’t want to risk such odd exchanges of small chat�"though there really wasn’t much to hide from them.

“Say Noel�"?” he began, clearly and loudly enough to where any of them could hear him definitively. “Yeah Rich�"?” he heard a light reply.

“Do you happen to know how far we’re going? Or where, for that matter, we are walking and if that spot is anyone close to where we are now? I’m totally cool with walking. No problem there. Just didn’t know how long we were going to have to keep going; it’s going to be sun down before we all know it. Just saying.” It may not have been the most pleasant or popular of conversations to have, but it was an absolutely fair one, in which all of them knew he was right about asking�"not that being right or wrong had anything to do with the question itself.

“Eh, yeah, Richie,” she said.

“About that�"no worries. I remember walking some of these trails when I was younger. I know where they go; most of them at least, including this one. We should be going down this path for another couple of hundred feet or so, if I recall correctly.” She glanced around for a moment or two. Then another moment or two longer. The look in her eyes was piecing together a puzzle, in seconds of time. Her mind retraced memories of old. And young. And spots here and there where her sister sibling and she would have minimal ventures as their ages allowed�"hide and seek. Treasure hunting.

Her arms waved in motions when even she least expected them to do so, tracing the patterns of where to go, as if needing to convince the company of her certainty. In spite of that concern, there was the least bit of concern that, of anybody there, she was an uncertain one.

“Ah,” she said aloud, after the moments seemed like part of the day rolling by. “It’s that way,” she said, gesturing with her arm in a direction of “2 o’clock” straight ahead motion of sorts. “We’re going to go that way for just a bit longer, see some more of the stream here and all, then it should become too narrow or odd for any reasonable sort of hiking�"that’ll be our cue to head back as we’ll have to.”

“Everyone good with that?” she asked aloud, mimicking a university student just wrapping her research findings to the small cohort lecture group, the professor taking note of the young, aspiring mind finding its way into the world through application, utilizing knowledge in the utmost truthful of fashions.

Of course, she didn’t really need to convince anyone her plan was accurate and worth finding. The confidence and certainty she exuded were more than enough for their needs and, frankly, it was too simple of a situation to not be able to navigate otherwise. They merely just nodded their heads and let that be that: “Yep, we’re good with it,” they said, mustering their responses as if in one unified, domino effect-like voice. “Aye ay, dear,” her mother said, following only a half-second behind everyone else.

“You all want to head back the same way we walked in? Or reverse it, as in have me lead, essentially following the same pattern we used to get here?” Richie asked everyone in a definitive, yet leader-like fashion, seeking clarification from wanderers and followers alike. “Eh, good question Richie,” Julie said, acknowledging his point. “I mean I guess you know the trail some as we just walked it and all, yeah. But Noel has walked these trails before and said she knows them from memory. You mind if she leads us back, just to make it easier on time and the effort?” He understood her question with a calm and relaxing demeanor.

“Don’t mind at all,” Richie said. “I would rather have Noel’s rooted knowledge of where to go with sunset happening, in honesty, than my assured guessing. Quite frankly, it’ll be easier anyway. So�"yeah, lead the way Noel.” He gestured with his arm to allow her the head the group.

“I’m also assuming everyone wants to take up their original spots, too? As in Noel at the front, Mrs. Santoro at the rear of the girls, me at the back?” He did have a point.

“Eh, hadn’t thought about it,” Juliette quickly replied. “But…yeah, why not? Sounds good. We’ll all be more comfortable I’m guessing going back the same as we came. We can keep the same rhythm going and all. I’m down for it.”

“Same here,” Julie added in.

“Yes,” Mrs. Santoro said. “Please. Let’s do that. My Noel knows the way and can get us back quicker than anyone, I know.”

“�"no offense, Richie,” she continued. “I know you could figure it out, but I trust my Noel out here a little more than you, even if it’s just a short little walk in the outdoor backyard.”

“�"oh, no offense taken,” he replied.

“Shall we get going?” Noel said, keeping the focus where it needed to be. “It shouldn’t take too long to get home, but we do have a little walk to get there.”

“Indeed we shall,” Richie said. “Move on we go.”

“Eh, Noel?” Juliette replied. “Can we have a little break before we do? I just need to catch my breath before moving again. I don’t wanna pass out on the rest of you while we’re walking. Haha!”

“Yeah no that’s fine. Is five minutes good?”

“Five is great�"then we can keep going,” she replied.

Each of the girls stood around, putting their hands on either their hips or folding them across their bellies, gathering their breath and strength, as if mentally preparing for a little more physical activity they were and were not accustomed to, oddly enough. After a few moments, Julie sat, resting her feet. Noel joined her. Juliette stood by Mrs. Santoro, having a little talk about foods and recipes they would want to try and have. Richie leaned against a large, oak tree chunk. His gaze, while going in and out of spacing out, peripherally went towards a lady’s stance, wondering how the next motion of things might go; might come about.

Penelope’s gaze went off to an area in the woods, momentarily. Her eye thought it caught something…appealing. “Do you all mind, I’m going to just head over to a little patch of ground over there? Thought I saw something. Want to check it out really quickly.”

“What’s that?” Juliette asked, curiosity driving her, standing so close to the woman but unable to decipher the object in question.

“Nah, you’re fine Mom,” Noel said. “Just make it quick. We’re about to move on.”

“May I come with you?” Ana said. “To see what you’re referring to, and to help you get back should you lose track of where you’re at… in case?”

“That’s fine, yes.”

While they moved a few paces away, Richie repositioned himself to where the ladies had walked. “�"to make sure we can see them if they lose their way,” he said, insisting on his helpfulness. Noel and Julie nodded in understanding.

“So, Mrs. Santoro, what were you looking at, exactly?” Ana asked her, after they’d arrived at the little area the woman’s eyes wondered themselves over to.

“It’s a type of plant, an herb I believe, I thought I noticed. I’d been looking for it from some of the cooking shows I’d seen recently, you see. None of the stores I’ve been to lately seem to carry it. I thought I saw something that resembled it near one of the little branches and twigs in its natural state over in this area just now.”

“Which one is that?” Juliette asked.

“Scented Geranium.”

“Oh.”

“I thought I visually recognized is all. Like I said, wanted to come check.”

Richie noticed Juliette stepping closer to Mrs. Santoro, not sure what to make of the “personal space” intrusion, as it could be known in some context discussions.

This could be interesting to see, he thought to himself.

After Penelope bent over only a slight amount to pick up what she felt was her little prize so rarely found in civilized markets, she pulled about three of them from the little bundle patching them together.

When she propped herself up again, her gaze was half fixated on the natural herbs. Her field of vision was unable to locate her daughter’s friend, other than a foot she felt she noticed.

While simultaneously focusing her attention on the plant and the gorgeous woman’s sculpted hands, Ana’s eyes shifted to the woman’s facial area. Her gut shot a feeling without any precedence. And she angled her body oh-so-slightly, enabling a shift to her older friend’s direction to happen smoothly.

Mrs. Santoro’s face turned towards the general direction of the young girls’, her hands bringing the natural “items” up to her waist area at least.

“Do you see�"?” she began saying, half cut off.

Before she really knew what was going on, the only “picture” in front of her was that of her daughter’s friends’ face thrusting itself at her own. Before she even knew what the hell was going on, let alone could do anything about what was going on, her mouth felt the lips of the younger girl’s on her own. They were there, pressed yet softly planted. She was unable to physically do much in response, other than keep her grip on the little plants and shrubby flower stems she’d collected.

Mmm, mustered from the vocal chords of the younger woman.

Mmmff, the older lady could barely squeal back.

Mmm�"mmm. The sound continued as the younger girl barely twisted her head, reaching her right hand behind Penelope’s head, holding her steady, planting her left foot at a slight 50 degree angle to the firmly-rooted frame of the mother’s puzzled body.

A split moment later, Juliette pulled herself off Penelope, no more than a 2-3 inches. The look she gave her was not one of wandering excitement; no. It was one of pure genuineness and basic desire that really said, I enjoyed what we did the other night and just wanted one more little, itsy-bitsy taste. Both ladies released a quick sigh. “Well,” Penelope said in a quiet, whispering tone, a look of half-shock and half-puzzlement overtaking her faces’ senses. “That was�"”

“�"surprising, I know,” Ana said, responding in the same volume, plainly acknowledging the truth of the matter. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Mrs. S. Just wanted one more feeling, you know, before this is all over.”

Mrs. Santoro looked at her with an odd misunderstanding of sorts. “I was going to say�"well, I don’t know what I was going to say. It was surprising to say the least, yes. Certainly. But I won’t ask any more about that if you’re OK with that? I mean, you don’t look like you want to discuss it any more than right here and now. Am I right?”

“You are. We should get back with the others,” Juliette said, putting it to rest. “Ana�"?” Mrs. Santoro said quickly, not quite sure if she wanted to continue as she’d already begun. Oh to hell with it, she thought. The girl paused, turned to her right slightly. Then turned completely. “Yes, Mrs. S?”

She noticed no one else was remotely watching. Then she noticed they couldn’t the two of them, not completely anyway…so she thought. Penelope approached the young girl calmly, but with certainty. She halted herself directly in front of the girl, deliberately. “Here, a token of the weekend we’ve all spent together,” she said. She took the girls’ left hand in hers, placed a few of the geraniums in the palm, and closed it. She quickly switched her grip to the girls’ right hand in her own, moved it upward, placed it softly over the area covering her left breast, and used her right fingers to pull the girls’ chin to her face, giving her a quick peck on her still-flustered lips.

The embrace between the two lasted a second; three at most. Then, the older woman pulled herself back to their separate beings, and let out another quick sigh.

Juliette let one out as well. “�"thank you for that Mrs. S,” she said. “Surprising and less sudden, you know. But thanks…”

“I understand,” she whispered back. “Now, let’s go. The others are waiting…” she continued, moving to the girls’ left side and beyond, her pace resembling a normal walk.

And just like that, whatever the hell had just transpired, again, between them had come and gone. They both wound to the sides of certain tree chunk’s popping up here or there and little patches of grass sticking out more than others; Juliette verbally insisting to go right and left at certain points more than Penelope was willing to decide for herself. Or at least her insistence felt like the right thing to do.

Before not too long, they had found the body’s resembling those of their friends. Although it felt like half the night since they’d left, it was a mere matter of minutes. The events just hence passed remained between the two ladies, clear expressions of discovery roaming over their faces. “Did you all find anything out there?” Julie asked, clearly curious. She knew it wasn’t totally like Noel’s mom to just go off for a few moments and return without at least something happening.

“Yes, we did,” she said, calmly replying without missing a beat. “Here. Look,” she continued, holding out her hand with the herbal samplings.

“Oh wow,” they all murmured. “Those should make for…?” Julie said, asking with certainty as to what they were used for. “For baking with flavors and scented finishes. That sort of thing,” Mrs. Santoro replied, feeling certain she knew what she was up to.

Noel’s phone alarm buzzed.

Five minutes passed. Like that.

“Okay, we all ready?” she asked.

“Yeah, let’s head out…” they all murmured. “Yes, let’s,” Mrs. Santoro confirmed. Evening was upon them all and they hadn’t even figured out dinner arrangements yet. “How long, Noe, before you think we get back?”

“Not long,” Noel said, looking amused they had gotten back to their intended little purpose. “Maybe five, 10 minutes? Something like that.” And with that, she saw the relief in their faces as they embraced returning to the closest thing they had to civilization for the evening. Their expressions also said that, as enjoyable as a little getaway in the natural world was fine and dandy and all, they all much preferred the world of civilization and the indoor realms that were home furnishings and all that awaited them at Ashton Grove.

And also taking gratification in that their real homes were awaiting them beyond the Grove. For Richie, though, he still had one little hopeful intention in his foresight. And he was hoping he wouldn’t let the visit out here go to “waste” if he could manage to do something about it.

After all, he’d seen at least part of the all-women lip action that had taken place only moments ago�"he’d shifted his weight and spot on the tree just enough to have seen the two ladies doing what he’d sworn they were.

That only intrigued him further. The person on his mind had something else inside her that she knew how to keep hidden from others. And solidified what he felt he’d known, here and there, for a little time now: the hostess was wanting something more in her life. Something different. It wasn’t what she may have had; nor was it something he could confirm. But if he knew anything about his hunches with people whom had come into his world, it was this: they usually turned out to be correct, in one way or another.

For now, though, all he could do was what he was able to enjoy: the swaying and walking motions of a lady in front of him, his mind feeling entertained.

 

 

Chapter 17

            They’d all arrived and had settled in for the evening in their casual evening wear, blankets and all. As was usual at that point, a movie and some snacks took center stage.

Both of which followed the ingenious creations of Tortillas de patatas and two baskets worth of Croquettes.

“Holy geez!” Juliette was the first to proclaim how satisfied she was at the marvels Mrs. Santoro stirred up in the make shift kitchen. “I mean I know this is a little getaway and all, but damn, that was good!”

“Yeah,” Julie said. “Soo good!”

“That dinner slammed, Mom,” Noel added in. “Like, it was almost in the realm of nothing-you’ve ever made before. That’s how good it was.”

Penelope gave a half-blush smile at all the verbal praises she was hearing. She wasn’t the type to need to hear such responses. No. But this was an occasion where the praise warranted her efforts. Must’ve done something right, she thought to herself, seeing their expressions of joy and gratitude as they consumed the meal.

“M-hmm,” Richie conferred. “Same. Delicious.”

“Thank you all,” Mrs. Santoro said. “I do appreciate that.”

“Where’d you learn to make all this?” Juliette asked, not sure whether to look to her hostess for an answer of some sort or the kitchen filled with the specialty recipes, the little tools of specialized trickery, or just letting the plain feeling of satisfaction continue to fill her, fueling her unanticipated Foodgasm.

“Well, you all know how much I enjoy making my different recipes when I can get the chance,” Penelope began replying. They all nodded “sure”, understanding completely.

“I saw it the other afternoon while researching recipes, different things that reminded me of back home-home and thought I might give at least one of them a try.” She pulled out a little slip of paper she placed in the kitchen.

“There were these: tortillas de patatas; croquettes; prosciutto de jamón y Jalisco. And as well I thought I could give my empanadas de carne y queso fresco a try. But given we were going to be here, you know, at Ashton, for what I could only guess would be a few days, I figured not to make anything too extensive at that would have required a much grander and greater amount of dishes and gadgets to pull it all together; from the ingredients to deciding whether to prepare the dishes beforehand or make them fresh. But you all know me enough to know I always try to make things as fresh as possible�"it’s the only way to make such things. Fresh.”

“And so, while you all had been cleaning up and lounging for a while the other night, resting yourselves of course, I figured to prepare the dishes just before today. I put the final touches before we all gathered just now.”

“So that was all the really good smelling stuff we smelled when we were in the other rooms, huh?” Julie asked, certain her curiosity was as valid to herself as any of them.

“Yes,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “That must have been it.”

As they were eating, Mrs. Santoro couldn’t help noticing one of them continuously glanced in her direction, as if saying, this is really something. And it’s even more special considering I know the person who must have made it. Her look back replied something to the effect of, I know you know I made this, and it must be good. I don’t know what else you’re thinking, but now isn’t the time for any misleading looks and such.

That was then, a few moments before.

Once they’d all finished, Richie did what could be expected of someone like him. “Did you, Mrs. S, or you all need some help with cleaning up? You put all that effort into making everything, figured you could use some help getting everything back in order.”

“That’s very generous of you, Richie,” Mrs. Santoro replied.

“Yeah, it is,” Noel said. “It’s okay, though, Rich. Julie and I already asked if mom would need the help afterward when we were casually mingling before we all served. We’ll get it. We appreciate you asking, though. Definitely,” she continued.

“Sure,” Richie said. “No problem by me. Like I said, just figured to ask and be helpful while here than not.”

And in some odd way, his words resonated with more misplaced, yet mild, grief and resentment for Penelope than originally intended. She could just tell, though he never meant it directly nor explicitly said it out loud, that he was poking a slight jab at what they all already knew: the man in her life, the one helping to really “provide” for her and the life she’d come to know, didn’t always come through in the most helpful or most simple day-to-day ways.

His look, as soon as he’d said it even, conveyed the one thing of a most obvious truth: he didn’t meant to rub in a slightly sour point in her world; it was meant as a simple gesture he wanted to provide, regardless of the fact that he was, in fact, the male joining the group. Still, despite his eyes catching Mrs. Santoro’s around the time of its delivery, the point�"hell, the message�"was sent, all but loud and clear.

And in that moment, she learned something else, really, about this guy Richie: he didn’t much care for the man she called her husband. It wasn’t conveyed, directly, but her look to him just said she could…tell. Sometimes, nonverbal cues and expressions were a thousand times more meaningful and impacting than the words themselves. Sometimes, words weren’t necessary. Sometimes, facial expressions and the eyes said all that needed to be said�"of all people there, Mrs. Santoro knew that more than most.

Which is why, once the dinner quickly found itself over and done, they had all agreed to the one thing they knew they wanted.

            Finding themselves in the same sitting spots at the other time, everyone soon eased into the respective levels of comfort. They’d become so familiar with one another, at that point, discussions were not even brought as to how they wanted to sit or where or anything related. They all just, knew. It was the most calming and unspoken situation they all could have envisioned being a part of; most other similar social situations may have had a discussion or partial argument of sorts. Not this. This was on the same level as a family-like gathering. Because, in a way, they were; it was just as they felt they wanted it. No one more. NO one else. All those deemed worthy to be included, were. Those not, they felt it was their loss. Not their own.

            Which is why they were all able to make little chit-chat for the first little while of Notting Hill. It was something they all knew. Hell, it was one of those they figured almost anybody who knew their movies would know.

            And as their own comforts set in, Juliette asked if she could join Noel and Penelope on their lengthy sofa. “Sure, don’t mind at all,” they collective replied to the simple request.

            “Julie, you wanna have the little love seat to yourself?” she asked her friend.

            “You don’t have to ask me twice. Hell yes I would!” she responded. “It’ll feel good to actually be able to stretch my legs out more this time.” They all chuckled. Juliette was known for being something of a space and blanket hog machine, even if she didn’t always admit it. Or wasn’t willing to. Even Ana had to let out a slight smirk at the light-hearted quip.

            “Cool!” Ana said.

            “Richie, you still okay being by yourself there in the sofa-seat?” Noel asked him, her tone indicating more of a making-sure-everyone-was-good-and-covered versus out of genuine concern.

            “Oh yeah,” he said. “I’m fine. All good here. Comfy and everything.”

            Once the movie started rolling, everyone pretended they hadn’t already seen it like 10 times before. It was a little odd, Richie had to admit, seeing this cheesy rom-com flick in the same room as everyone when, deep down, he’d conveyed to Noel that he’d rather work at an actual relationship in more meaningful ways than watching some Hollywood movie where the actors conveyed “common” scenes and scripted lines telling everyone else how romance was “supposed” to be.

            He could tell, in some unique way of his, the ladies preferred this version of romantic allusion than, perhaps, experiencing the real thing in its various ways. Or, he just figured, they were enjoying some unplanned time together. It could be the same kind of time that might, eventually, lend itself to little tales and stories to the kids that may find themselves visiting that same private residence, their parents being the young adult women and guy in that room.

            So, he let the movie be what it was: a time consumer. Nothing more. He was, after all, unconsciously bright side to understand that the movie was just a movie�"it didn’t reflect how things actually were in “real” relationships and all. Okay, maybe some parts do, sure. But not everything. Or maybe, just maybe, he still believed in the ideal finding of a true and passionate love so profound it made everything else in life worth tolerating. Or maybe that’s what he yearned for.

            Either way, watching was fine for the time being.

            It was the maroon-and-pink, crescent waves rolling throughout the fleece designed blanket that provided the comfy covering for Juliette, Mrs. Santoro and Noel. They had arranged themselves in a comfortable pattern to ensure they could and would be able to watch without any physical annoyances pestering them every 5 to 10 minutes�"namely, their own legs and feet. It was something of a Tetris situation to put together, they mutually understood at least that much. But one their comfort was secured, they unwound their bodies and enjoyed the false reality projected to them. Even they had to admit an English-based romantic comedy wasn’t entirely the go-to choice for the Santoro’s preferences; but at that moment and all, they didn’t care. They figured it rolled into their sense of pleasure.

            However, while the film rolled from Notting Hill’s neighborhood, to the travel book shop, to the dinner where “�"they would give a brownie to the saddest act gathered�"” Ana felt a compulsion to take advantage of some of her unspoken, inner desires. Ah hell, she thought, was it just a kiss? Her body stirred at not only the question, but the possible answer(s) that could ensue.

            She decided to go for the most subtle, discreet as f*****g hell, of ways to elicit a response from her aficionado.

            Her body was nestled in the couch well enough, yes. And her legs were hanging over the edge of the seated portion, to no real surprise. There was enough of their bodies covering them from the waist to their shoulders and all to not stir any sort of spontaneous nor weird looks and reactions from anyone briefly glancing Ana’s direction…or Penelope’s.

            She figured she was disguised and suited well enough for the slight provocation she hoped to pull together.

            Her brain sent the most intricate of signals to her forearm only. The entire rest of her body was as stable as could generally be, given the cramped space. While keeping her gaze solely focused on the screen in lieu of her body’s yearnings, her arm decided to keep along the outside layer of fabric covering Penelope’s left thigh, calmly placing her hand on the woman’s leg. Mrs. Santoro felt the touch; her body shrieked a minimum amount. Just enough to have noticed the girls’ forward gesture.

Of course, with the near-dark room and all, not much was visible to the room.

Not sensing an obvious hesitation�"how could the older lady, meshed in between two younger ladies on either side?�"Ana continued her hands’ motion. This time, with more direct impact. Her hand grazed over the woman’s thigh and sank it in between the woman’s legs; namely, her crotch area, or what she could imagine was that.

Only able to shift her arm slightly enough to not have it twist or be thrust awkwardly enough to break, Juliette instinctively shot her hand up-then-down in as smooth a fashion as was possible; Penelope felt & recognized what was happening. To divert any physical distraction, even with Noel right there, she parted her left leg to what-felt-like a few inches, giving the young girl only minor access to her most precious, covered spot�"she felt the young girl’s hand go just over the hem of her nightgown pants, then down again, over her panties, to her warmth.

Without getting too turned on, let alone letting their physical motions expose them completely, Penelope barely parted the lips on her mouth a crack and half shuttered her eyes, pretty to watch a little more attentively, disguising the stirring going on below the fleece folds. Juliette’s hand remained in between the woman’s legs for a matter of moments. She could feel both their bodies beginning to warm with sensations. And how they wanted more…

 

Luckily, Noel had leaned herself to the other side of her mother’s body altogether and was all but unaware of the physical foreplay coexisting nearby. She got a hint of a feeling that something was happening near her. Perhaps. But she wasn’t entirely sure and in no mood to bother inquiring. Eh, she thought to herself, this movie seems more amusing than speculating. On that note, she dismissed whatever her triggered notion was, and returned to the world of Notting Hill and Bertie’s companions.

 

Recognizing the movie was too quiet and “proper” for such actions to continue out there and then, Ana slowly slid herself back to her own space of the couch, returning their three bodies to the comforted state. And there they remained until the final “She” played on the screen, the inevitable credits ensuing…

            Before they all knew what had happened, the clock read close to 11:25 p.m., Mrs. Santoro was the first to acknowledge it was getting to a point past the time she usually said ‘goodnight’ to the world on any particular day.

            They all followed. “Night y’all,” Richie was the first to say, clearly in a fatigued state of mind. “Night. Hope everyone sleeps well,” Julie said. “We have a little trip coming up tomorrow and will need to have things in order before heading out. Don’t you agree, Noel? Ana? Mrs. Santoro?”

            “M-hmm,” they all murmured. “Yes. Yes. Everything should be in order. Agreed.”

            “After all,” Juliette continued, “being as how we’re almost all guests here, we certainly don’t wanna this pad like a pigsty or anything. For one, I know you, Mrs. S, would certainly not accept nor appreciate that. You’d wish for us to leave it as clean as when we arrived, if not better, I imagine. Yes?”

            “�"yes,” she calmly replied. The girl had clearly been around her enough times to know how much she kept a neat and tidy home, presentable and all…here or at her regular house. “You are correct.”

            “Don’t worry, mom,” Noel said. “We’ll make sure everything is spick and span and ready for the next time you, Dad or we have visitors over�"whenever that is. Between all of us here, we’ll make it happen. We’ll get this place cleaned up. Between the five of us, it shouldn’t take very long.”

            “Besides, five of us all simultaneously cleaning is far better, and perhaps more effective, than just one or two. Right?” she said aloud, indicating that everyone was to pinch in a hand to help get things straightened out, whether or not they had a choice in the matter.

            “Absolutely,” Juliette replied, acknowledging the simple point of decency. “Yeah girl. And besides, Mrs. S, Noel and I both know it would be terrible manners to just come here, make little messes or whatever while we were here, and not have any sense nor respect for you all to leave it like a dump.”

            “Shall we get going with it all in the morning, then?” Richie said, intervening that the plan take its course later. “After we’ve all had some rest? Then, it can just be a matter of gathering all our things and heading out from there. Does that sound good to everyone?” His eyes looked around to everyone, noting their preference of morning versus now.

            “How about we just pile up the little dishes in the kitchen area for now? Then, we can actually clean and all that in the morning?” Julie chimed in. “It’ll take only a minute and will make less to do in the morning.”

            “Sounds good to me,” Noel said, her face clearly not in any sort of real mood to partake in the clean-up process itself. “To both of those, actually. Let’s collect them all now and finish them up in the morning�"maybe with a little hot water to soak them all? Can’t imagine much will happen beyond that.”

            “Consider it all done, then,” Mrs. Santoro said. “Who wants to help?”

            “How about everyone just pick up or two things and we’ll go from there?” said Juliette.

They all just started as there wasn’t much more point to debating how to clean-up and who would be involved. They were just dishes after all, and they were all more than capable of putting in their respective hands and efforts to the operation. After all, the more time spent talking was less time things got done. Considering the fatigued expressions on everyone’s faces, just getting the ordeal done satisfied their concerns before the real concerns of having to pack their individual belongings without forgetting anything�"something plausible given there was a handful of them with a possible handful or more of “little things”.

“Alright, well,” Noel started after they’d made their little round in the realm of appliances and utilities. “I’m off to bed. You all wanna get up around like 9 to leave by 10, 10:30?”

“Yeah,” Julie said. “Sounds good with me. Everyone cool with that?” She saw heads nod just enough to infer their approvals. “Cool with it! I was gonna say, so long as it ain’t like 7 ‘cuz my sleepy a*s ain’t gonna be awake at 7. Maybe 8. But 9 sounds legit, and doable.” No one had to question that that voice was coming from Juliette�"the tone, its delivery and attitude of its speaker were obvious enough.

“Night everyone!” Richie said first. His calm and accepting demeanor gave no impression he would or intended to be awake much more than then. He had, after all, yawned once or twice since the movie ended; seeing the dishes pile up and everyone’s body language imply they were heading for their beauty rest resonated the same in him.

“Night Rich,” Noel said. “Get some rest.” No one could tell why she said that as it wasn’t in her particular nature to do so. But they were a little too tired and whatnot to give a s**t about asking.

“I will,” he calmly replied. “I’ll probably conk out when I get in bed.”

“Same,” Mrs. Santoro said. “I’m sleepy enough as it is.”

“Make that a third for me too,” Juliette said, as she groggily walked her way to the hallway entrance leading to the rooms.

As the lights found themselves clicked off, the group resigned themselves to their respective bedrooms.

“Hopefully we can all get the rest we need, and probably want,” Julie said. “I know I do. Being out here isn’t my greatest cup of tea, you all know. I’ll probably feel more like myself upon returning.”

“I know you will,” Noel said. “But, for now, let’s all just get some rest.”

Doors started opening. Bodies started entering. Voices started getting lower as sheets could be vaguely heard folding up and upon themselves. And, soon enough, bodies began distributing themselves into mattresses, the squeak’s and patting of bedframes bracing themselves as their temporary owners wound down to begin the comforts of the night.

It was only a matter of time before they all knew what would be happening: calm and anticipated quiet would engulf Ashton Grove, hosting its visitors for the last time in a possible little while of time. Only, a gut feeling stirred itself inside one of its inhabitants before not too long.

And once it stirred, the body of its owner could only respond…as it was more or less planning to.

 

 

Chapter 18

            Richie found himself standing near the door. It wasn’t just any of their doors. It was her door. Standing upright just enough with focus and balance running through him, he’d walked himself calmly over to the doorway through the hallway in as normal a walking fashion as any. If anyone saw him there or just pacing around in the hall, he’d at least want to have some semblance of doing something that would have led him to that particular spot. Like, oh hi Richie, what are you doing out here, so late? To which he’d reply, just getting some water from the kitchen. It tastes better than the stuff coming out of the bathroom sink; wanted a glass, ya know? Yes, that would sound completely reasonable. And completely non-suspicious.

            But without a stir of noise protruding from the rooms around him, he could only conclude that everyone had gone to sleep by that point. It’s safe enough, he told himself, before gripping onto the handle, twisting and opening the door and entering with casual-but-precise caution. His adrenaline picked up only a hint, as he figured it would. He knew what it meant.

            Because as he closed the door and turned himself to observe the body nestled neatly in the bed, all his mind could allude to was how that person was going to, could, feel in a few moments’ time. That thing before with Mrs. Santoro was one episodic ordeal, yes. Absolutely. This one already felt…different. He didn’t know how yet. Or what would become of it. If anything, really. He just felt something different about being in that room just then. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite ignore; not even if he wanted to.

            He approached the bed with a calm but assured stride. Somewhere in the quiet of the bedroom’s noise, his physical maneuvering was just enough to stir a buzzing sensation in Mrs. Santoro’s ears. She motioned a little in her mattress, clearly not fully out. As she did, her face twisted just enough to cause her eyes to peel half-open, going in-and-out of it.

Richie wasn’t completely sure if she’d noticed him there or not.

            He paused. Momentarily.

He just stood there, taking in her form, her texture defined under the covers. He didn’t impulsively approach her heavenly mattress. No.

Heh. Ho. Heh. Ho. Her slight breathing filled the air with a welcoming caution; she sounded peaceful, but not totally knocked out.

He placed his left knee just above and over the bed, carefully letting it absorb into the mattress covers. His thigh and upper body balanced themselves followed, taking their natural, striding places alongside the grown woman’s little mountain range on the other side of comfort.

Not sensing any major disturbance, his legs rolled themselves into the zone their two bodies created, joining the rest of him, adding to the sensations already tingling within him. A, for a moment or so longer, he eased himself to within five, maybe six inches from her. It was only enough to keep him from directly disturbing her, yet close enough to where his motions could set her alarms in motion.

The added pressure he induced no doubt sent off a weird imbalance to Penelope’s side of the mattress. Richie noticed with her slight twitching, her body moving in funny ways not usual for someone readjusting themselves as they might when finding their relaxed state before drifting off.

“�"wha…�"” Penelope whispered in the dark, not sure what exactly was going on or otherwise. She twisted her body slightly enough in the natural direction her senses felt extra weight coming from the bed. She knew she’d been the only one in it when she’d laid down only moments before. Her mind simultaneously and instantly went into defense-alert mode. “…Rich�"Richie? Is that you?” she said aloud this time, quietly so as to unconsciously not disturb anyone nearby who could possibly hear.

“Yes,” he whispered to her. “It is me.”

“What? What are you doing in here?” she began. “It’s late, Richie. Or getting to be late. And,” she continued, acting oblivious to what he may have really wanted but delivering her part so as to distract the young male. “We have a trip tomorrow. We need our rest. You for yours; me for my own.”

“I know all that, Mrs. Santoro,” he calmly replied, but quickly so as to assure her of his mindful awareness of her tone and topic of conversational input. “I’ve been aware of that all afternoon. Everyone has made it clear they wish to return. I get that. A lot of me is ready to go back too,” he said, with a half-lingering tone that fully implied he wasn’t completely done saying something. Or perhaps indicating he wanted something?

She didn’t know. She wasn’t totally sure how to interpret his words or delivery, in spite of the late hour.

She then sat up a little, clearly knowing this wasn’t going to be a simple conversation: “But what…? I mean, why are you here? Next to me, in my bed?” she asked, plain and simple.

Sitting up and cross-angular to her positioning, he uttered: “You’re telling me you don’t know?” calmly and as matter of fact as he could.

She let out a conscious sigh: “Richie�"this has been a good and…different…weekend, yes. I’ll give you that. Much more different than I would have expected. Certainly.”

“Meaning?” he replied, acknowledging this was the sort of conversation he could have expected to have had, if unsure where it was going.

“Meaning I never once expected myself to have kissed a young woman while I was here, let alone done some things with her,” she began, as if practicing her true confession to the world of her infidelities. “And with you…”

“With me…?” Richie said, bringing to reality the fact that they were there, then and now.

“Well,” she began. “I never thought I’d find myself messing around with my daughter’s boyfriend. Let alone here, at the little vacation pad my husband and I planned and helped build together.” Her reply was true, though curious and confused at the same time.

The look in her eyes, hell the expression on her face, given she’d reached over and turned on the nightstand lamp, told the whole tale, if so subtly but shockingly honest: she wanted more of whatever situational ordeal it was she’d created for herself. And her barely parted lips physically gave away her unspoken truth.

Like a magnetic force pulling two magnet ends together, her eyes and face met his. “-I have a question or two,” Richie spoke.

“-Yes, what are they?” Penelope replied, curiosity and assured calmness in her voice.

“Have you regretted your husband not being here with all of us?”

It was as honest a question as any he could offer, with no sexual innuendos offered or implied.

“Richie, you sure you want to bring him up right now?” the reply escaped her mouth.

“Please just answer the question.”

“Yes�"”

He looked at her, noticing the slight hint in her eyes that said otherwise.

She took a breath. “No,” she continued. “I haven’t. At least, not nearly as much as I would have thought.”

“Why is that, I wonder?”

She nodded her head, understanding this was meant as an honest and real little conversation even she, admitting to herself, was not sure she wanted to have.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s had the tendency to not always be around for certain things when it would have been nice or more meaningful with him there. Or because he wasn’t quite the man I thought I really and truly saw myself with, even after all these years. Or maybe, just maybe, he just doesn’t have a certain side to him I, perhaps, wish would be there.”

There was no lie in the hostess’ eyes. Richie hadn’t known Mr. Santoro, Jesse, for the greatest length of time. But he did know the guy didn’t seem the most dedicated to every little thing like he believed his wife may have wanted. Or maybe that was just Richie’s hunch…nothing to do with the Santoro’s actual marriage whatsoever.

Richie was, however, paying attention. And he knew it was time to act…even more than he already had.

“Here,” he sat up a bit, turning his body towards hers, propping himself up on his knees. “Join me.”

“Eh, Richie,” she replied. “Are you sure about whatever it is you’re doing here, letting alone asking me to do?”

“-Yeah,” he said, assuredly. “I believe I am.”

“Okay…” she replied. Slowly, she propped herself up from the bed, sitting up at her waist, her legs extending themselves some, naturally. He grabbed her arms to help her as best he could�"he figured he’d earned enough of her trust to do at least that.

With a little effort, she managed to raise herself up onto her knees, facing him, having flopped the sheets down enough to provide a cushioned “basket” area for which to steady her body. She took just the moment to steady her body in this newfound position�"it wasn’t every day she was in that bed, facing a guy who wasn’t her husband, let alone one a bit younger than she.

With their bodies being inches apart, Richie initiated himself, and things. “Let me show you,” he said. “Here,” he continued, reaching for her hands in his, clearly seeing she was not entirely used to nor at ease about with herself or the situation. As he touched her hands, she felt a bit of life jolt through she hadn’t recognized in some time. A long time, actually.

He brought her hands towards the bottom hem of his sleepwear shirt, a navy blue Nautica piece that had practically molded itself to his form after so many uses. Casually, but smoothly, he made it where both their hands lightly gripped the material and pulled up. Richie’s arms crossed themselves as Mrs. Santoro’s hands adjusted and helped him remove the clothing, becoming the primary recipient of his exposed upper half. Of course, she’d seen that part of him at the pool and water festivities. But this was…different, somehow, she felt. This was much more intimate. He’s right here in front of me, she thought to herself, just him and me.

It felt strange. Exhilarating, but strange.

Soon as their hands had lifted up, partially entangled and brought themselves downwards, Mrs. Santoro’s eyes immediately started scanning up and down Richie’s physique. She hadn’t seen a younger guy’s build in, well, such a long time (certainly not like this) she’d pretty much forgotten what it was like to be around one. It was taking her attention by surprise, to say the very least.

“Are you okay?” Richie asked her. He couldn’t quite tell what to make of her expressions.

“Eh�"yes,” Penelope replied. “Yes. I’m fine. It’s just...I haven’t been around a young man like yourself, you know, like this, in what feels like forever. It’s different for me.”

“I think I can understand,” he replied. “Maybe this is different too,” he stated, continuing the momentum between them. He took her hands in his and traced them up his torso to his chest and midsection areas. It was a forward gesture he made so she wouldn’t feel so…odd about it, he supposed? Simultaneously, he left her hands to trail on his body, enjoying the animalistic warmth of her touch against his strength, and placed his own around the frame of her face.

He pulled her lips to his, planting a soft lock on them. Gentle, but secured. Her lips tasted soft and moist against his, as warm as the other night he felt them. And, he sensed no withdrawal. No fear of what she was doing compared to the rush of experiencing something new, her body unclenched itself of all its inhibitions about the position she’d lost herself in. The warmth of the moment was simply too much for her body to ignore. They both moaned a hint, in mutual surprise as well as delight.

Richie pulled his mouth away, barely a few millimeters: “Do you�"want me to�"stop…?” he whispered to Mrs. Santoro.

“I�"I�"oh, it feels so good and warm,” her mouth mustered its reply. “But what about everything…,” she continued to softly moan, its grunt sound shifting her vocal chords enough to stir her other senses; namely, her ability to think.

“…everything else…?” the remaining words of her curiosity finding their way out to the open world. “You mean your family and your husband, the same one not here, I presume?” Richie’s reply was directly matter-of-fact. His body said to hers, I’m in no real mood to debate uncertainties here.

“Yes,” she said, her hands taking his in her own. She pulled away her face only enough to generate a mild response from him while maintaining their moment.

She was invested in this now. For certain, she was.

“I mean them,” she said, her head barely leaned to one side wanting to hear his reply…as if she was the one who needed it.

“Well,” he replied, teasing her by placing his face near hers. “One daughter is here and I haven’t heard much hassle against how this might affect her from you. Not yet, anyway. I don’t know how serious or not she and I are. But, right now, I’m not thinking about all that. I’m thinking about this,” he continued, grazing his hands to the bottom of her silk pink-and-purple floral-designed nightgown and covering top. Her hands met his with a distinct firmness.

“Richie�"I need to say something,” she said.

“I’m listening.”

“My daughter, the one you’re dating, is asleep in the other room. My other daughter and her family are not here but will be back in the picture soon enough.”

“And my husband is there too,” she continued. “Here’s back there…” she trailed off, her touch giving way to the sensations of his proximity, his invitations to what she knew might be coming. “And he’s probably been thinking about how I’ve been doing out here. If I’m been enjoying myself and all… I’m sure…” she moaned a hint “…I’m sure you can understand that…”

“I suppose so,” he casually replied, adequately acknowledging her. He sensed she wasn’t being truthful to him, or herself. He felt her confusion clouding her judgment, a self-inflicting odd reality she knew she’d brought up.

“What was your other question, by the way?”

He waited a moment for his acknowledgement to settle in the air. “Why haven’t you stopped me or stopped this yet? Because I get the feeling you want more but are afraid to admit that…”

She didn’t respond to that remark of an inquiry. She knew he was calling her out for her own insecurities; it’s not that she minded it. It’s that she didn’t totally appreciate his recognition of the fact that she was living a life when, in a funny way, she wasn’t sure it’s the one she wanted. He knew how to expose her vulnerabilities and insecurities with only a few words. The right words.

“Because of the way you are making me feel now,” she said, knowing those were the only words she could conjure so he could understand her. “Which is what?” he said, as his hands continued roaming over her silk-covered body.

“Warm, flustered,” she replied. “Wanted. I don’t know if I’ve felt these things in a long time…”

“He’s not here, right, as you mentioned?” he calmly replied.

“No,” she said aloud, more an admission of fact that general agreeance with his conversation. “No Richie, he is not…obviously.”

“I don’t think it was important enough to him, being out here with us, all of us,” Richie replied. “Otherwise, all due respect, he’d be here, if not right here.”

Her quiet demeanor implied a solid “yes, you’re right.”

“Penelope, what do you want me to do?” His question caught her surprise. She wasn’t used to being asked what she wanted versus giving her input and having the other person either agree with her and go with it or politely refusing and taking their way.

“I want�"I want�"whatever it is you’re thinking and wanting,” she replied, her hands beginning to roam over his upper body more and more, the sensations beginning to grip all notions of her reality; her ability to think. That ability, she unconsciously pinpointed, was pretty much out the window at this point.

His hands began to do his talking for him. They reached for the bottom of her nightgown, as it piled itself into folds below her thighs. She reached for his hands, not wanting him to be in complete control of her wardrobe. It wasn’t as dignified, she felt, if he just reached and began pulling upwards than if she presented herself to him in such a way, in such an unexpected and unforeseen way.

“Wait,” she whispered to him. “Give me a moment here, if that’s okay.”

“Okay…” he replied, unsure what to make of her request. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she muttered. “I’m fine. It’s just…I haven’t really done anything like this in quite a while. I don’t know if I’ve forgotten how to do things or not. I hope that doesn’t offend you.”

“No, no offense taken,” he replied. “It’s okay. Just�"just take your time. There’s no rush or anything…” And on that note, he just balanced himself there, topless, in front of her. It was just a moment where he knew the best thing to do was not to do anything. He recognized her need to acquaint, or reacquaint, herself with this situational predicament they found themselves; he didn’t think she was the type to find herself in these ordeals regularly, if often or at all.

Meanwhile, over in Penelope’s world, she found herself at her internal cross, don’t-cross point of no return. She’d figured she, and he, they both were in over their heads, just a bit. And true, her conscious self suddenly embraced the realistic notion that, indeed, her husband was not there. That fact made her wonder things to herself; things she would have to consider and discover more deeply at some later point. Things she knew had, possibly, been brewing for some time but was unable, or perhaps better yet, unwilling to come to terms with for herself about. They were things she’d noticed here or there over the years but felt very uneasy about where the conversation could, or would, go if the words exchanged and the tone conveyed did not feel OK but more honest than most other conversations she’d had elsewhere in her life.

But, for now, her nerves were telling her that the man that would have made something like this be 1,000% totally OK in any other situation was the one not there. What did that tell her about the man she called “husband”? What was it about Jesse’s personality and overall demeanor that never quite sat well with her own? The questions brewing within her sensory system were the same ones her mind and desires were attempting to diverge for next moments of her life. Because, in fact, right in front of her was a young man, a guy far younger than the one who should have been there but�"oh to hell with it, she finally thought to herself.

To hell with whatever it was, she embraced from the inside out, it’s not as if Jesse not being here will stop me from being me. And with that, she collected herself. “Allow me to help you,” she said, calmly and with a certain sense that she finally felt she knew what she was doing.

Her hands slowly reached down for the bottom of her soft, mesh-like silky material, the one barely covering her temple from both Jesse’s view and the world. Her cheese stick-sized fingers picked and plucked at the folds and fabric of her gown, Mrs. Santoro giving Richie a half-snickered sly wisp of a smile in the process. She wasn’t sure what she was exactly doing, but she was sure of exactly how she feeling�"the moments of about two minutes seeming like a conversation from a year ago compared to the certainty now flowing through her.

“I’m assuming you want to see what’s underneath, yes?” she asked, not quite believing the teasing and seductive words escaping from her mouth.

“You assume correct,” Richie replied. “I have for a little while, now, I suppose. May I help with that?”

“Yes, please,” she said. “You may…”

His hands reached down to meet hers, their faces and eyes locking upon themselves for these moments before more moments began. Together, their arms and hands and motions pulled her nightgown up, inch by inch, first exposing her thighs, then the outside of her panties forming their universal “v” shape around her hips and crotch areas. Her arms were intertwining upon themselves as his helped her motions smooth out the process. After exposing her bottom undies, the gown kept going up, farther north, showing her belly button and fixed abdominal section�"Richie noticing it wasn’t overly round nor was it so skinny he could visibly see ribs below. It was…an ideal body part.

And the exposure kept going. Only a fraction of moments later, the bottom structured encompassing of her bra cups came into view. The beige-nude color of the cotton padded fabric blended well with her fair skin tone; so much so that, if he hadn’t known any better, Richie would have possibly guessed she was wearing that particular bra on purpose. He didn’t know and, at that moment, he didn’t really care. It was there, her bra, in full view, with her fully developed, round and maturely-placed breasts easily contained within, popping out only enough to where the extra parts of her glands that couldn’t be stuffed in the underwear garment stood out.

He didn’t figure Penelope to be the provocateur of her body to other people, least of all while sleeping among people she knew and figured not to provoke in her…’least not in this way while out there.

On that note, her gown came fully off. She took the entangled clothing in her left hand, letting it situate itself along her arm, her hands organizing it in a way that it wouldn’t become too crinkled after a length of time she wasn’t wearing it. Even after she and Richie were done tonight, she did at least want for her evening attire to be intact some, if only to make her sleeping the remainder of the night away easier on her mind.

Penelope used her hands to briefly put her hair back into some place. Might as well before it’s not like that anymore, she figured.

“Wow,” Richie said, softly but surely.

“You like what you see, Richie?” Penelope asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “I do. I mean, I knew you had a good figure regardless, seeing you walk around here and there. And outside, you know? The swimwear and all. But this is seeing you in another way entirely. It’s…”

“�"Yes?”

“�"Better. Different, in a completely more surreal way than I would have ever envisioned,” he calmly admittedly to her.

The split second after those words escaped his mouth, he felt, maybe just knew, he would have some explaining of sorts to do. That’s if she wants to bring it up, he thought to himself. Right now, though, he wasn’t in much a mood for deep, heavy-understanding talks with the woman in front of him.

He felt the need to clarify, just a bit: “�"meaning I could, can, imagine�"you, how you look now. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined how you looked underneath everything every once in a while…and not just because I’m a guy or anything.”

“Richie�"?” she said, intervening his little spiel.

“Yes�"?” he replied.

“Shhh. Less talking, huh?” she whispered back to him, putting her hands over his mouth, scooting her body close enough to his so her arm wasn’t strained or reaching for his face, her chest compressing slightly as a result. His eyes and mind took a mere second or so to embrace what was happening. “Right…” he whispered back, calm assurance flowing through him.

And without a word of input, Richie knew there would be no more words spoken between them for at least the next few moments. He. Just. Knew it. Or, at the very least, as few words as possible…

Just like when an actor has to “go there” upon hearing the director’s call, “action!” abandoning their real life selves to transform into, to become, their (respective) character, using a focused concentration that overrides their sensations or excess feelings, so Richie knew what that certain degree was. He knew how to “go there” and what being “there” was; what it felt like, all the sensations that came with it.

His blood starting pumping a bit faster, however much in its controlled state of exhilaration he knew it to be. Shifting his focus from her hands to the lengths of her arms and up to her face, he was well underway to mentally undressing her. His hands reached for hers in front of him, hers interlocking with his. She didn’t mind, indirectly knowing she wouldn’t be able to stop him from the next, immediate move he intended to make. It was a new sort of fun for her. Intriguing, actually. She couldn’t stop herself even if she really wanted to. Not now, anyways.

He put her hands over his shoulders, allowing her arms to relax themselves. In the same releasing motion of her body over his, his own made their way past her shoulders, his fingertips absorbing every millimeter of her skin and touch it emitted they could. Almost like clockwork, their hands started roaming over the plains and meadows of their respective bodies. Each little caress and swipe of their fingers took in another wave of pleasurable electricity neither was expecting to harness. But harness their bodies were. They were harnessing all they could. Richie felt Mrs. Santoro’s body loosen itself. Penelope began her new set of motions, exploring her curiosities about the young man by cradling her hands down to his lower back and round to the top of his waistline. She gently traced her fingers around the fabric covering his anatomies, gliding them over as best her brain could relay signals to her eager fingers, knowing she wasn’t guiding herself as much as she was allowing herself. And while her hands and motions were preoccupied in her field of vision and sensory intake, Richie’s arms directed his hands towards the backside of the woman’s temple, his fingers tracing every trace and little curve of her smooth landscape they came into contact with, adding it to his locker of deep memory. When they reached the top hemline of her underwear, he decided that, for this little go, just grazing the tops and outskirts of her panties would be fine.

A little tease was always something to feed off of, his experiences had come to understand.

Then his hands began roaming north again. They’d already felt the connecting bridge flowing across the middle range of her spine, her back, once, exercising refined caution not to intrude on any weird move. So when Richie’s hands found the same bridge again, he simply caressed both her smoothness underneath while teasingly tugging back on her bra just enough to where she would notice but not enough to remove it altogether. His body language, oddly enough, indicated he wanted her permission to proceed with the obvious next little sequential move. Penelope sensed his intentions and sputtered out words, without budging herself from their interlocked embrace. “That’s fine, Richie,” she said in a cooed trail of a whisper. “It’s okay to do that�"you may…” she affirmed to him. Her delicate words pierced the air, both of them knowing they were going to uncharted territory from which they were positive there may be no retrieve. But everything in the words themselves just said they were both willing to take that chance, wherever it may lead. And wanted to.

“Alright…” he mustered in a half-whispered, half-lustful tone, calmly acknowledging her verbal approval. Without skipping a beat, his hands found themselves at the three-clipped locking’s at her backside. While his heart was beating with a tremendous flow of raw energy, his eyes stared ahead into the dim light of the room; his mind’s eyes pinpointing the interlocked gateway to where his imagination was left at the door, his visual reality surfacing itself. And the reality was saying, you know how to do this. So just figure it out. His fingers continued their fumbling and searching for the clipped arrangement without being too awkward about it. Momentarily, they found their mark, notching off each clip, from what felt like the top to the bottom. And the little “pick” sounds filling the noises between the bed creaking with their body motions, their collective sighs and moans and night time added to the enticing bolts of energy fueling his physical movements, and her quivering responses.

Click went the last unknown clip. Instantaneously, the arching shoulder straps loosened, bobbing themselves on the lady’s smooth shoulders. Richie reached for that area; Penelope’s hands were already reaching up, doing the same smooth motion she’d always done: plucked them off and down her arms. They both lowered her straps in a smooth, mutual fashion. Their eyes were locked on each other’s, the cups loosening off her breasts as the straps gave way. Her bra hung by her elbows, the electricity between them clearer locking in on their expressions. Penelope lowered her arms parallel to her sides as her upper body under garment fell to her hands, simultaneously catching hold of it. Then, in a quick motion, she let it drop to the mattress or the floor, somewhere nearby. It didn’t matter, really.

She took two seconds to adjust her hair so it wouldn’t tickle her, let alone bother her. Mrs. Santoro looked Richie dead in his eyes. He was doing the same, for only a split moment of seconds. His mind directed his eyes to her body. They followed their cues.

His eyes rolled downward. They started at her eyes, then to her lovely mouth and the sculpted face he’d seen plenty of times and knew, at that point, from memory. They then fell to her shoulders and collarbone area where her shoulders met her torso. Crawling along south, they arrived at her breasts. The full mounds hung in the open air with a genuine notation of maturity and definition. Round and succulent looking, they appeared somewhere between the size of small volleyballs and cantaloupe’s. They were too big to be large mangos. Thus the mix of sporting equipment and fruit seemed the atypical way to go about their anatomy semblance. Her light pink areolas were a good size, Richie felt�"not large or overly round, they were ideal to him; no bigger than the width of the bottom of a coffee cup, he’d figured. And her n*****s stood out with their semi-pointed presence, positioned well on her mounds.

It was truly none of his business knowing the ridiculous finite details, but if he had to guess, Richie would say Mrs. Santoro felt her n*****s were a mere part of her body that belonged as they did; the thought of them being explored and considered in any type of sexual or attention-driven demeanor didn’t quite suffice their “purpose”. Odd thought to have, Richie had to admit to himself. But it made wanting to feel and play with them all the more enticing. And his glancing look deep into Penelope’s eyes said just that. She recognized that same look, sending the same reciprocating signal back to him: I know you want to do those things, and yes, you may.

Richie’s eyes took an additional five to 10 seconds taking in the sight below her full breasts: a relatively toned stomach with a cute belly button at its center, he could tell she did enough “little things” here and there to have kept her figure, even as it settled above her panties; and her underwear perfectly kept in her hips and showed her leaned legs well enough. They weren’t huge Greek columns; nor were they twigs barely toning into lead #2 pencils. If anything, he thought to himself, they resemble cheese sticks, without the fried crust. Smooth, round but full, and lengthy, enough to feel with enjoyment.

“Enjoying the view?” Penelope asked, breaking a little of the absorption silence that filled the room beyond their mutual breathing. It was evident Richie was. “Oh yes…” he said. “Easily enough to tell I’m guessing?” His question was more a foreplay tease and temptation spark than acknowledgement.

“Of course, Richie,” she replied. “I can tell. See…?” she asked, gesturing to his boxers and the protruding bell curve sticking itself out as it could.

“Ah. You like my tent I gather, huh?” wanting to confirm the delight he heard in her voice. “Tent? Is that what it’s being called these days?” she asked. Oh my god, she realized, I’m flirting with him. “Tent�"absolutely. I didn’t know if there even was a different name for it, in all honesty. Well, I’m sure there are other words. Loads of them, even. But still�"tent is what I say. …are you surprised by that term?”

“I mean, it’s just that I grew up in a different environment and lifestyle altogether. We didn’t even think to use the word ‘tent’ or anything similar to describe…” she gestured to his crotch. “�"my dick? I mean, it’s alright. You can say the word. It’s just a part of my body. Like it is part of every guys’ body. There’s no crime against saying that word.”

She was surprised he said his words with such assurance, and openness. It almost seemed as if he was begging to be able to “finally” say those words in that way around someone with a certain amount of sexual innuendo attached; talk dirty. Even to her, much less with her. This is getting more interesting as this goes on, she thought to herself.

She sighed: “�"okay,” she allowed herself to relax before continuing.

“Yes. You’re right. It is okay to say that word. It’s just that I haven’t said it in what feels like such a long time I’d almost forgotten how to use it or how to even have the need to say it. ‘Tent’ is it? What you call your boxers covering your…penis. I hope you’re not offended or anything, Richie.”

He looked at her, feeling happily comfortable at her words passed through him. “No, I’m not offended,” he calmly acknowledged her back. “Not at all. Everyone has their levels of comfort, you and me included. I get it. But you’re curious about it, aren’t you? You’re curious about the tent covering my c**k…yes?”

The “moment of truth” arrived for her. Time to fess up with honesty. “Y-Yes,” she said. “I am…curious about it. I’ll admit. It’s not something I’d say so easily…sure, yes. But should I call it your penis, or c**k? What do you say to that?” Even she couldn’t quite believe the words leaving her mouth. Some part of her conscious was saying to her, Eh, Penelope, you do know you have a husband back home and you’re doing this?! Of course, that little part of her felt barely like 2 percent of her entire body’s inner self speaking to her. The rest of the 98 percent was the woman she felt was long-lost out there, somewhere in the wide world of all that could have been. And in some odd but entirely unique way, tonight she felt she had, perhaps, found that 98 percent. And it felt good to welcome it for a change.

“You can say ‘c**k’. That’s fine. Even better for me. Well I’m curious about what’s going on beneath those,” he replied. “Err, your panties, I mean. I’m curious about your�"what should I call it to not offend you..?”

Her eyes shifted slightly to her right. This guy’s witty clever, she felt. She also felt it would make the unfolding night that much more memorable. “It’s my spot. My vagina, if you just want to be purely simple and technical about it,” she replied. “Of course, you may have some other name for it, I imagine. Yes?” “Yes ma’am, sure do�"you wanna hear it?”

“Eh, why not? What’s the harm? What do you call it…?”

“Your p***y. Or your hole, even?” his reply was straightforward. Honest. “Should I just say ‘p***y’? Or would you prefer simply calling it what it is�"a vagina?”

Her mouth dropped open just barely. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with Richie; let alone this kind of conversation. These were simply not the sorts of things Penelope was used to discussing with anyone, and certainly not this openly. She was astonishing herself, as if giving herself a feeling of renewal, and all the permission in the world to feel so.

“Let me, while you think and all�"” he continued, giving her something to feel and think about while she figured herself out even further, as he reached his right hand to her left breast, cradling it in his soft grip, feeling the warm flesh as it caressed and filled his skin. His other hand found its way south; almost instinctively, it found the gentle fabric covering Mrs. Santoro’s most private inner world.

Ah, she gasped. Realizing she hadn’t been touched “there” in who-knew-how-long, Richie’s forward motions, simple as they were, caught her body’s attention by surprise.

Ah. Oh. Ugh. Eh. Ahhh. Ooohh. Gasps escaped her mouth with an energy she hadn’t felt before. These weren’t mere little gasps when she was sipping on a new glass of wine “highly recommend” by one of her closest girlfriends. Nor was it the natural reaction she might have had if a family or close friend revealed to her something important, life-altering or otherwise. These were sighs and gasps of the innermost private kind. They were the kind no one else was supposed to hear unless they were in a position to hear them…aka making love to her or someone from Penelope’s past before she met and eventually married her husband. That thought alone caught her by surprise, even to her own acknowledgement. He’s not here, she recognized, and with it felt a sense of misplaced shame and excitement as simultaneous as was possible.

Those thoughts found themselves quickly erased, though, as the moment she found herself overwhelming her senses. “You may say�"oh�"I mean I suppose I’d prefer you to call it vagina, though it may seem way too modest for you to use, especially if it’s coming from me I will admit.” She let out the quietest sigh in the world, knowing full-well she was being more modest to herself than he was, or would be. “But, to be more comfortable about it, I guess you may say that other word you used…p***y. I mean really, Richie, I don’t mind whatever it is you call it. They are just words, as you said. Just say�"ahh�"whatever word you feel suits you best.” She was reaching, and he knew it. But, heeding her input, he obliged, knowing permission was granted. “Okay,” he replied. “Thanks for letting me know all that. I’ll just say ‘p***y’ and leave it at that.”

“Okay,” she whispered back, her own hands exploring his manly area, covered to the world by that thin fabric so ingeniously designed by whomever, whenever. “Does this feel good…?” she asked, cradling her fingers all around his crotch, being careful not to squeeze anything too hard without having more convenient and easy access to his manhood than the current situational positioning they found themselves in. She wasn’t sure what to do, really, nor how he wanted things. So, she just what she felt good and comfortable however she could. “�"yes, Penelope, it does…very good�"” Richie replied, not sure what all else needed to be said then and there.

A moment or two passed. They continued their manual explorations of the territories before them. Then, their eyes met. Looking deep into each other, they were going to a place of mutual desire and mutual fascination. They both also sensed only “one thing” was really missing at that little moment.

Their eyes both exchanged glances at each other. Several. Back and forth. Almost an identical expression exchanged.

And both their eyes said yes, all the curiosity in the world driving the “windows to the soul.” Inching their faces closer and closer by the millimeter, Richie tilted his head to his right. Penelope tilted hers the same (respectively).

Leaning in, Richie felt all the excitement one human body could handle held in its exhilarated place by all the focus needed to fulfill the physical action his nerves found himself in. Penelope, he could tell, possessed the same rawness. She looked flustered, as if her whole body warmed itself up, knowing her place in her life was about to drastically change in a few moments. The warmth filled her body, tingling itself in her panties�"from the insides of her warmth to the little specs of hairs protruding from the outside folds under her garment�"to the heat flowing through her belly and rounding itself through her breasts. It drove her body’s movement.

Only her logic was telling her to hold steady…everything else would be dealt with later. Or what would seem like much later.

Then, their lips pressed together. Joined. And locked. And held.

Moist and soft, deliberate and smooth, the most remarkable, intriguing and wonderfully curious of sensations filled Richie’s and Penelope’s lips, faces and whole skin with a wave of raw emotion neither was quite ready to experience, much less could anticipate.

Mm. Ooh. Mm. Ooh. Swap. Slide. Swap. Swap.

Their lips danced and played with one another’s for what seemed like a lifetime of memories rolled into a single moment. Their hands found themselves in and around the chin lines and necks, respectively, in efforts to hold themselves steady.

And yes, while their lips pressed and interlocked away, Richie felt Penelope’s full breasts press into his chest, her n*****s cascading into his skin; similarly, an extra mm escaped from Penelope’s moans, her vocal chords reacting to the growing organ pressing against her lower regions as it brushed against her fabric within its own. Their embrace seemed to last for God-only-knew how long before either of them decided to make another, the next, little move.

Their hands continued their simultaneous interchanging between their faces and their crotches, each feeling the other for sensations new and old; each discovering what the other person’s body felt like as their fingers uncovered new territories of exposure they had never experienced about the other.

“Mm, Richie�"” Penelope began. “This is�"mm�"incredible. Different�"but incredible.”

“Mm, yes�",” he mustered in reply. “I agree�"completely. This�"is�"mm…wonderful.”

“More than wonderful, I’d even say.” His continuing words lingering on all suggestions of what both of them knew: more was to come.

 

 

 

Chapter 19

            “You’re okay with this? I mean, with what this is and where it could go?” He sent those words to her face as they finally parted their long, initial embrace that felt like a mini-century, their bodies still holding balance from the knees up, topless. Richie had the feeling he knew the response he was going to get. It wasn’t his self-confidence driving it, no. Verbal assurance meant 100 times more than nonverbal presumptions.

            “Suppose I am,” Mrs. Santoro replied. She didn’t quite like lingering on an uncertain response; this situation called for more than that: “Yes. I mean, it feels amazing in a way, I’ll admit. Don’t know if I’ve felt something like this in, well, God only knows how long if I have. And as far as possibilities, I mean it almost feels too late to turn back now, doesn’t it?” Her question was just the sort of thing Richie felt he wanted to hear versus needed.

            He easily knew her adult and “mature” response probably would have thrown him out of that room before any of this went any further, much less thrown him out of his role in her family. But, he also knew something about it let her pursue herself; he realized, acknowledged and could appreciate that about her…odd as it was to sense, coming from Mrs. Santoro after all. However, he also sensed her curiosity in what could await them, and went with it.

            “It does, doesn’t it?” he stated, conceding her notion. “But ‘almost’ is just a word. Means a lot things…including possibilities. Right?” That last little part he finished off with a deliberate, half-snickered inviting smile. His look right into her eyes, its panoramic vision locking in on her half-construed invitation reciprocated everything he knew she wouldn’t say: he felt she did want it, even if in her gut she was too hesitant on verbally acknowledging so.

            “Right,” she replied. “Yes, you are. Let’s see where this…little thing…could go. I mean, it can’t too much to, I wouldn’t think�"” she was going to continue when his mouth pressed into hers, his hands simultaneously reaching for her remaining wardrobe.

            Her body noticed his movement and, (in almost any other situation, perhaps) in spite of it saying otherwise or “rushing” something too soon, sent its hands to meet his. Together, they easily slid her panties over the little lumps of her butt cheeks and down her thighs. Penelope then leaned down on to her right thigh, legs spreading out over the bed, left hand grabbing the fabric-material, and removed them altogether in front of him. She then laid there for a moment, letting his eyes soak up her beige-toned sight. Her breasts hung naturally, sloping to meet her body’s positioning; and her frame, from waist, hips and her hairless crotch, cascaded in even-like proportions through her legs. “You’re perfect. Your figure is lovely; yes, it’s all there and complete…” (Even Richie wasn’t sure what he said just then, but those were the words he managed to speak.)

            “You like all this I take it?” she asked in calm rely. “It’s not too ‘out-of-shape’ for you?”

“No ma’am, it’s not,” Richie replied. “Your body’s great, actually. It’s naturally yours, I know. And it works. It’s fine, lovely and grand.” She blushed some. It wasn’t every day these days that a young man, much less one she knew on such a personal level willingly and openly gave her compliments like that. (Even her unconscious self felt delight to a certain degree.)

The sight of Penelope completely naked in front of Richie sent waves of adrenaline from his brain through to his crotch, all the way down to his feet, the pulse pounding within him at an almost uncontrollable level. She moved herself into a more ideal position. “Now we do you, eh?” she said softly, allowing him to take his concentration from her nude figure back to him. “Yes, let’s,” he replied. “Although I think it might be easier to have you laying down. More convenient, really, wouldn’t you say so too?” she asked that with such calm simplicity, Richie knew she’d more or less already made the decision to throw any regretful inhibitions out the door and enjoy this ordeal they’d created. “I’ll help you.”

He was happy to oblige: “I think so too, yes.”

He laid down on his back, resting his legs in a straightforward, parallel fashion, like any other time he may have rested. She squatted comfortably on her knees at his base, near his feet. He sensed a slight, not sure if you want to start this or I should do it expression in her body language: “You’re ready…to see it I mean? To see my c**k?” A split moment “Yes.” And with that, he reached for his boxer briefs as he would if he were doing his usual routine. “Care to help?” he asked her, in spite of how late it was and how young the night still seemed. “I�"suppose?” she said, with a mix of certainty and hesitation. He hooked his hands around the waistline, pulled down just a hair, and up and over they went, exposing his hard member to the woman.

His body slowed itself, letting her eyes soak in the moment even she couldn’t believe: his c**k in full view, springy a hint as it was released from inside the garment, pointed with its slight curve forming into its full girth. It was something she literally never thought would come across her sight; nevertheless, here she was, they were. Richie continued, lifting his hips and thighs off the mattress slightly enough to let the clothing find its way off his physique. Her hands instinctively joined in his movements. Knowing at least what to do with this little sequence of motions, she helped pull his undies past his knees, down the length of his legs.

She gathered them, tossing them aside easily, making quick mental note of where they landed so as not to create any other hassles of finding them later.

The world seemed to stop as they soaked up the sight of one another. Frankly, both Richie and Penelope knew it was not every day they saw one another this exposed, this naked, much less this close to another. Heavens no this was uncanny for them both; but the excitement they were both feeling was too great to ignore and too defining to just “move on” at that point.

Mrs. Santoro knelt, focusing her body’s weight on her legs so as to balance herself. She only modestly positioned herself to allow Richie full view of her body while taking in his.

 “Do you like what you see?” Richie asked, finally breaking the due silence they respected for their moment. No quick reply. He kept focus: “�"Penelope�"?”

“�"Heh?” her eyes shifted themselves, physically responding to his voice capturing her mind’s attention. “I was just asking if you liked what you see, you know, with me.”

“Oh. Right. Eh�"yes, yeah. Sure. I suppose I do,” she replied. Truth was she wasn’t quite sure what to say. She couldn’t quite recall the last time she’d seen another man’s penis…especially seen one other than her husbands. Ah hell, she couldn’t quite remember the last time she’d been in this position, if she ever had been. Nope, she thought to herself, nothing comes to mind. Nothing rings a bell.

And with that, her conscious, her heart, her soul, and her body all met simultaneously at the second “cross the line” moment:

 

Acknowledge all the things she’d done up to this point�"all of it�"providing the honest and accurate details to everyone who needed to know, her husband first of all, refrain from whatever might take place next and tell the young man in front of her to go get some sleep as she would do

 

OR

 

Allow her instinctive human desires guide her�"enjoy where the moment (moments) would take her, appreciate that in spite of everything else telling her otherwise, acknowledge she was human and just let the experience be what it would, respecting the ordeal for what it was

 

            “Mrs. Santoro, do you like�"”

            “Richie�"I need to say something,” she said, her tone more upfront but plain, before he was able to add anything further. “I’m listening,” he replied. She looked at him for a moment, naked as he was, making sure he was really paying attention and not just looking and “listening” but hearing her.

            “It’s not like me to do all this; you know, all of this,” she said, making a circular gesture with her hands to indicate what they hadn’t done yet but were obviously suggesting. “I just don’t know if I’m doing the right thing here or not. It’s just been so long since, you know, I’ve even remotely considered doing any of this I couldn’t say whether I’m totally ‘OK’ with it or am screaming ‘regret’ to myself already.”

He looked at her, his eyes taking in hers: “I hope that doesn’t bother you or anything. I’m just trying to be honest with you, that’s all. I mean, you’ll still be in and around my life when the sun does eventually come up, you know.”

            He looked at her, his focus taking in her words. Carefully.

Moment by moment, that swelling mix between his body’s physical bursting desires and his processing mind met; enough to keep the moment alive and budding, also enough to respect her perspective and attempt to take in where she was coming from.

“I can figure that you haven’t done something like this in a long time, if ever,” he calmly replied. “I get that. I do. And I can say I respect what you mean…But�"” he continued.

“But�"?” she asked, meeting his lingering next little input.

“But my urges are just f*****g telling me we’re here. And…well…for crying out loud, Penelope, you’re alone here with me! We’re both totally naked. Everything inside me is saying we both want this. And I’m sure you do�"NO, I know you do. You know how I know?”

“How, Richie�"how?”

“Because you would have already thrown me out of the room by now or said ‘good night’ when I first came in and said ‘hello’ or something to you.” She looked at him with a “you’re right” look in her expression. “It’s alright, Penelope, you don’t have to say it if you don’t want to. Or if it makes you uncomfortable. But I do want this…”

She raised her hand slightly. “�"yes. I do. So�"”

“What do you want to do…first�"?” his suggestive-but-open tone was meant to be 100% rhetorical versus 100% conversational. He didn’t know of many people, if any in fact, who would ever ask that question aloud, least not of all in this exact situation�"the answer was usually a “combination” nonverbal physical response of direct actions as opposed to words themselves. And he meant it as suggestive�"in no way did he mean for her to actually answer that.

“How about this�"?” she began asking, placing her hands and fingers gently around his crotch, feeling his skin as he spread his legs open enough to let her comfortably slide in the little space it afforded. She positioned her legs and body to allow her arms the easiest access to his anatomy as possible. Her fingers felt like little thunderbolts spreading across Richie’s skin: every little motion they enacted initiated a certain amount of tingling within his bloodstream. It was an electricity he hadn’t felt, not even with the grown woman’s daughter.

She lowered herself over him, making sure not to push or probe his legs too much, nor accidentally tweaked his member into an unwanted, possibly achy, position. As she did, her full breasts fell forward slightly, pressing together enough to create two mounds of flesh resembling small, cascading hills running together. Richie’s head was leaning slightly enough to where Mrs. Santoro’s full figure was in total view. His eyes simultaneously went back and forth between her locks of hair flowing over her shoulders, partially covering her breasts and partially exposing her full, light pink n*****s to his sight and open air alike, to her hands carefully tracing themselves all up and down and around his crotch. His c**k was plainly in the attentive mood. Its erect state of livelihood was quite responsive to this quite unfamiliar predicament it found itself. But he, and it, was enjoying every moment of it nonetheless.

Penelope’s motions just did whatever felt right to the grown woman in her. Her hands and fingers grazed the bottom of his shaft and felt the skin collecting his package, then caressed themselves upwards the length only to find themselves feeling around the girth of his member. Her next little motions massaged the areas around his hips and crotch, getting a feel for the guy, determining what he liked; what made him respond; what sorts of motions his body would react to, given she knew this was the first time either of them were, sigh, together like this, she had to admit to herself, odd and curiously wonderful as that was to say, if only to herself.

She continued this little massage-feeling momentum for a little while longer, the ah’s and ooh’s and sighs and moans escaping Richie’s mouth told Penelope exactly what she needed to know. Even his body’s quivers and shifts in physical twists and turns were responding to the jolts of pleasure Richie knew were beginning to overload his senses in more ways than one. She looked at his stiff part and wondered. The instincts driving the woman in her said she knew what she’d probably do next, just needed to believe that she would, indeed, take this whole thing where she already felt it would go. Let’s see if this will work, she thought to herself.

Penelope formed a slight layer of saliva in her mouth and brought it to her pinched mouth. She felt Richie’s stiffening part getting a hint dry and friction-like. She aimed her mouth over his little pole, all couple of inches of it, and let the liquid fall where it would, continuing to work her hand around his now modest-slimy shaft. Richie felt the moist liquid cradle over his skin. An ahhhh allowed his head to sink back to absorb the full excitement of Mrs. Santoro’s hand job on his erection. This is amazing yet unreal, he found himself thinking, his arms laying themselves out to his sides, the electricity flowing through his inner stream in smooth circulatory waves.

She felt inclined that he was content with this step. However, her senses told her his body was begging for more�"whatever that was or would be.

May as well, I suppose, she convinced herself, even if her own moisturizer was included next. She tucked her hair behind her eyes and, without any verbal warning or dumbfounded hesitation, placed her left hand between his belly button and top of his c**k so as to balance herself, raised herself just over the tip, the head, of his c**k, opened her mouth slightly enough and took him in her warm mouth.

At first, she only put the head of his c**k inside her. She literally had to remember how it would feel again having a man’s part in her mouth after what felt like ages since doing so. (Though her thought wasn’t on that exact thought at the moment, her mind was unable to recall when it actually was the last time it was her husband’s c**k like this…she couldn’t.)

Richie’s breathing intensified. For a few moments, only wheezes, gasps, ahh’s, and oohs could be heard escaping his body. It was the only ability he could muster, enough to make sounds or recognizable language. Everything else was transfixed in the newfound sensations going on below.

At the lower end of his body’s realm, Penelope’s head was bobbing slowly upwards and downwards. The physical feelings and sensations were slowly rediscovering themselves inside her. She had vaguely remembered what it was to have a man’s c**k in her mouth; her body knew what it wanted. Her tongue slide along its bottom, her lips parting themselves further and further open as she took more and more of him in the warm opening on her face.

She kept her pace slow at first: physical stimulation of his part, the “eons ago” feeling of giving oral; the mental note inside her saying, eh, Lady S, you do know you have a husband back home, right, which her excitement was happy to ignore. After all, she felt, this was not the sort of situation where she would deliberately say aloud, well, you know Richie, I would LOVE to keep sucking you off but I do, in fact, have a husband whom I have been married with for nearly 35 years so I can’t keeping doing this to you right now. To which he would probably say, eh, it’s kinda too late for that by now, don’t ya think?

Her tongue swirled around the head of his hard erection, figuring out it was just as sensitive to a mouth’s touch as her vagina was…or so she had read over the years. She kept flicking it this way and that. Her eyes glanced up at his body, relaxed and deepened in its breathing.

Mm. Ooh. Ah. Slurp-slurp. Swap-swap. Penelope was picking up the pace a bit more as her right hand insisted on stroking the lower half of his shaft while her mouth focused on the upper, her hair swooshing and swaying, pinging a little from her heads’ motions and the proximity to his receptive thighs. With her left, she simultaneously went back and forth between balancing herself in the engulfing position she was and attempting to massage his balls, or his testicular region as she might preferred to phrase it.

Her sucking actions resumed for a few more moments. She certainly had no intentions of taking him to a climatic state, certainly not in this unusual predicament she found herself in with him already.

Mm… “Mwah!” she let out a slight gasp as her mouth jostled for some air after the sucking motions took most of her immediate breathing energies away. Her right hand continued to stroke him a bit as she looked at his eyes: “how was that…? I mean, did you enjoy it? Was that OK…?”

Her delivery, her inquisitive yet open tone, her welcoming gestures�"Richie knew she was enjoying herself, whether she had cared to admit that right now or not. He didn’t care to call her out for that. Now wasn’t the time to spoil any mood flow.

“Oh my god, yes…” he calmly replied, a lite sigh of pleasure escaping his body’s nerves. “�"you couldn’t quite tell? I mean, vocal reactions are usually a huge indicator whether anyone is enjoying themselves or not�"” before he could continue, Penelope leaned in and planted her lips on his. It was a surprise move for them both, yes. But one that was absolutely welcomed by the young buck.

Without more hesitation or thinking, Richie instinctively sent his right hand up and over Mrs. Santoro’s left thigh and into her most private area. He placed his hand there just as a motion, pressing it ever so gently into the moist warmth of skin and folded majesty hidden from not just his but the outside world’s exposure for who-knew-how-long. It was a thrill unlike any Richie had experienced before.

“Ah,” a gasp escaped her mouth. “Are you okay?” streamed out of his verbiage…

“Yes�"it’s just�"”

“I’m guessing it’s been a while since someone has touched you there...�"”

Not knowing what else to say otherwise, she figured a quiet reply was the only suitable way to respond to such a presumption: “…yes…”

Richie’s eyes were half-opened, half in-a-daze (a most pleasant one at that), but looking directly into Penelope’s. Hers were dazed as well, her mouth half-opened as if gasping a noiseless moaning reaction Richie could only guess came from experiencing the moment such as it was. He also could tell, just tell, it had probably been…well…a long time since her husband had given the magnificent woman on top of him such attention. He slowly continued his manual stimulation, sensing for what she would respond to; what she would enjoy�"real and important information to know.

He noticed as well that she hadn’t verbally rejected any of his motions nor him nor their entire fiasco as it was. “�"are you enjoying it, what I’m doing…?” Not knowing whether a verbally admission or physically response was best, she nodded and managed to squeal something that sounded like: “�"oh yes�"don’t�"stop…please…” Her breath’s came out as little moans; her eyes told him so much inside her yearned for more…

“I won’t,” Richie calmly replied, already knowing what he wanted to do and what he felt she was implying though not saying.

He leaned himself up to her. She leaned herself back a little, going with his motion. Pivoting himself towards her right side, her left synced herself with his movement. She made a slanting figure with her body. Her breathing became heavier as she felt herself falling onto her mattress. She was also fighting her body’s directive motioning her to sleep; she had no idea what time it was but knew it was late�"the pitch-black feelings in the hallway gave life to the night.

Their switching of positions gave Penelope a different edge: not cautious nor overtly thrilled. She was eager. Her senses filled with alertness. And she felt an anticipation flowing inside her: it began tickling around her breasts, passing thru her hardening pink buds of n*****s sticking out in the open air and found its way between her legs, where her crotch began a warming sensation she was familiar but couldn’t entirely recognize.

She knew what it was and everything it could be. And that it hadn’t been a guest inside her… my God, she thought to herself as the young man positioned himself in between her legs as their collective motions set them up, he knows it’s been a while. And where this will probably take us. For crying out loud woman, just go with it. How many times will you ever be in a situation like this, quite possibly ever again?

Her conscious made the most sense to herself as all her thoughts and feelings met in a simultaneous merger. This was indeed new territory for her as she had no idea what to make of herself…or of the moment. Of course, that was her naïve self talking. She knew…and deep down, admitted to herself she could handle it; wanted to tolerate it. And could allow herself to.

Richie knelt himself down between her full legs, each with its right amount of tender definition from the years of little spontaneous exercise motions she disciplined herself to do. Penelope responded by allowing this young man to approach her like the long lost lover he made himself to be. Captivated by the desired feelings engulfing her, her arms reached up into the air, her hands finding the outsides of his biceps and shoulders.

She went with his motions because he appeared to know what he was doing with his, or at least wanted to do with his. Strangely and oddly as f**k as it seemed, she trusted this young blood in the heat of these moments.

Richie began his positioning by carefully placing his erect self just to the left side of her warmth. Not wanting to penetrate her for now, he positioned it downwards, letting his tip face her feet not resting over the tops of her hips. Probably would feel awkward and uncomfortable, he thought, not losing his body’s motions over her hidden kingdom.

Whew. Ah. Oh. Their combined sounds could be heard filling the room’s night aroma.

And thank goodness no one else was awake nor nearby enough to hear them, much less see them�"THAT would have been the opening to hell for them.

Richie’s mouth went straight for Penelope’s, planting itself on hers with the softness sense of confidence she could have sworn she had ever felt from practically anyone. Not many other touches felt quite the same, literally or figuratively. But he didn’t remain above her neck for long. Richie’s oral “introduction” was no more than a brief lock-and-swap. Twice.

His arms placed themselves no more than three inches out from her shoulders while her hands grazed the tops of his arms as best they could. Wasting no motions, his mouth traveled a bit south as it traced her chin, his tongue meeting his lips as they collectively spurred light twitches and jolts from her physical landscape, collective ah’s and ooh’s mm’s protruding from the grown Santoro lady’s vocal regions and from her insides from the teasing of her neck to her collarbone and sternum.

It was the beginning of the most neurotic and sensually-captivating thing she believed she had ever experienced. That was, at least, her unconscious’ belief.

Richie continued his way southwards, wasting no time going to Penelope’s right breast. He planted a few of the softest yet most direct lip-locks on to her awaiting gland, paying careful attention to the areola and the surrounding territory before getting to her pointed plateau. It was waiting for him, as if begging to be tugged, kissed, flicked and suckled with the most delicate of a lover’s fashion�"blissful really.

Richie’s mouth took in the older woman’s flesh, playing around on it as if it were an adult playground, just without all the equipment. It felt festive: taking and nestling the warmth of her right mound in his lips. From somewhere above him, ooh’s and ah’s filled the air. He also felt the soothing grasp of fingers and hands slid themselves through his hair. And the way Mrs. Santoro’s body was twitching and shifting itself as she was reacting to his most gentle and intimate of touches on her landscape of an exterior canvas.

Almost by natural know-how, Richie sensed the initial pleasing had taken its moments and introduced Penelope to what she wanted to allow herself to experience…again but in a whole new way. He kissed his way and traced his lips over to her other mound where his right hand had been fondling and caressing in lieu of oral stimulations. He then proceeded to give the same attentive care and oral devotion to Penelope’s left breast as he did the right. And that included the tingling sensation his left hand would provide to the previous one; he wanted to make sure a full-fledged arena of pleasure could be explored and provided as much as possible.

Much like her right gland, Penelope’s left breast gave way to the same sorts of physical sensations leading to the ongoing delights. It all seemed a big, unusual blur of pleasurable sorts to her. It all seemed an enticing-as-hell moment for him.

Which is why, after a few moments of Richie tugging and sucking away at the full mounds atop her glowing figure, he felt it sufficient if to embark on one last little excursion down the newfound road of theirs…for tonight that was.

Richie didn’t bother going for verbal requests or explanations�"his body did the talking for him.

He began trailing his lips along Mrs. Santoro’s sternum area. His peripheral’s thought they saw her head slightly leaning back; eyelids barely opened enough to have conscious awareness of her surroundings; mouth in a partial gap allowing her gasps and breathing to more easily enter and escape her body as the new sensations of pleasure rode through her how they would.

Then, without skipping a beat or losing focus, he kept tracing his way down. Downwards to the slight edge of her ribcage area leading to the tops of her abdominals. Still, farther down they went, planting themselves smoothly along to her belly button, still very much intact and exquisitely blending itself into her frame without much fuss.

Richie’s mouth stalled a hint as they approached the little sweet spot between the tops of her hips and the path to her lower body. As his frame carefully positioned itself between her opened legs, he began using his tongue to add further detail to his oral stimulations.

Not surprisingly, Penelope’s body knew where he was going, had been going really, and felt it suitable to respond to him. Not argue nor standoff. Just respond.

She propped herself up a little onto her elbows, her breasts forming mounted lumps atop her chest area, as she slightly jerked her head to her right-and-left to allow her head to fall into a coordinated placement, providing the visibility she was hoping for.

“Richie�"?” she asked him.

“Yes�"?” he responded.

“Are you sure you want to continue all this right now? I mean, not to spoil anything, but it is getting rather late, perhaps for my particularly tastes; extremely late, actually.”

“Not to be an old grouch, but we do still have to travel back and, believe me, once the girls see my appearance and all tomorrow, it really won’t take them long to read my expressions and possibly figure out that I was up so much later than is my character. They may ask questions and who knows where that all may lead to; should they stir any uncomfortable vibes…”

He’d known her question was leading to that exact train of thought as she was speaking. “I know. I know. I’ve been glancing at the clock myself, wondering how long my body would let me last…”

They both did.

2:42 a.m.�"hardly a time both of them knew to be awake.

Unless, of course, they had lifestyles that favored being up during the night or whose careers required them to conduct their obligations between dusk and dawn.

“Well, shall we call this a night for now…?” she asked him, their positioning and happenings not the priority for a split moment.

Much as he knew that was the right call, he’d be damned if he didn’t at least have a chance to reciprocate her actions back in her favor.

“I think that can work,” he began. “After this little treat…”

“What�"” but before she could finish, Richie had already planted his face right between her legs, his lips targeting the moist folds of her outer lips, tucked neatly inside the tops of her framed thighs.

At first, his mouth just did what it pretty much always would have done: opened itself up and let its tongue start roaming for anything and everything it could feel. Of course, he knew to keep his actual mouth hovering about half an inch over a woman’s most intimate area to allow himself wiggle room for any unexpected movement by his recipient.

But this was a little different. He knew this woman, much more than a mere fling.

Richie’s tongue slowly but steadily lapped at Mrs. Santoro’s vaginal opening just enough to where he knew she could feel the tender attention but not enough to where she would resort to unusually loud moans: much like a thirsty dog gulped up at the water bowl when it wanted to soak up a good third of the bowl. His tongue slid over her outer lips a few times bit by bit, slightly parting them only enough to sneak his anatomy inside her warmth briefly. He kept his licking and probing motions going only a handful of times.

While his tongue was discovering a whole new side of the lady neither she nor he expected to encounter before leaving Ashton’s Grove, Penelope’s mouth funneled out consecutive ooohhh’s and aaahhh’s and ughhh’s. She was lost in what was going on down below, her right hand switching between latching onto Richie’s shoulder and the top of his head; the other alternating from the sheets to her left breast, or whatever her hand could grasp in that moment of moments. It was a bit hard for her to comprehend that this young man was doing that to her…if she was able to comprehend anything other than…

 

Richie was the grown guy casually going out with her daughter time-after-time; then he became the guy who ended up spending more time around she and her family at their house back at Stacks Ave. and Gentility Dr. Now, Richie was the guy going to town between her legs.

 

Penelope waged the most interesting of battles: inner urges versus everything else telling her the night would become dawn and a new day in the moments to come. Somewhere her mind met everything else: “…Rich�"ah�"Richie�"?” she mustered in a whisper, breaking the flow of electricity within.

He lifted himself off her for the briefest of moments, gazing at and focusing on her inner thighs.

“Yes, Penelope…?”

            “We really do need to consider getting some rest,” she said calmly, as if her mind and nerves had already made up their minds that their decision was pretty much set. “We’re barely going to get any�"rest�"and we have to travel back tomorrow.”

            “I know,” Richie said, having lifted his head up and placed it softly just below her belly. “And I can agree with you: the girls will almost undoubtedly suspect something if either of us appears slightly ‘off’ while heading back.”

            “Not entirely sure about you, but I am most certainly not in any mood nor mind to have to explain anything of what’s happened tonight should any of those remarks or looks grow into conversations I’m sure neither of us wants to have…or, for that matter, is ready for.” His words were as assuring as they were realistically progressive�"not exactly ideal for the situation but exact and meaningful.

            “I’d say it’s time for both of us to attempt to get some rest,” Penelope declared. “Agreed,” he complied. He lifted himself from her positioning, gripping her hands and helping her up in the same movement. Redirecting himself to his sleepwear, he heard Penelope do the same.

            Sighs left their bodily expressions and almost instantaneously both felt their energy levels drop two notches at least, maybe three. Richie had to catch himself before any slight missteps would undoubtedly have caused him to produce a regrettable noise. Once both he and she were in their respective attires, Penelope found herself having to watch her steps too. She was fading fast, and knew it.

            “Listen, Richie�"” she began. “Before we pass out, I need to say something.”

            “I suspected you might need to,” he acknowledged her. It only seemed inevitable she would have something to mention after their evening became what it was. “I am listening, as best I can anyway.”

            “Tonight was absolutely different for me. For both of us, yes?” He nodded. “Fact is, it’s not in my character to do *she used her right hand and pointed fingers in a ‘covering everything’ fashion* anything that happened between us…you know. And I mean, like none of it.”

            Mentally, he was drained. Physically, drowsiness was all over him. But, he kept looking at her with barely sufficient energy to focus on her words, knowing the importance of this conversation. “Okay,” he replied.

“I’m hearing you and can only guess that means you wish to leave what happened tonight here, as in in this room? As in none of it returns with us when we all get back together, yes? Or was that not what you really meant?”

Everything at that moment of understanding would have been perfectly settled in place had Richie not been so talented at stirring conversation as he was. He believed her remarks felt defensive, perhaps even a hint forced, almost as if to say she was already envisioning regretting the evening as it played out.

His mind figured it was late as f**k. They were both tired. And weren’t thinking completely straight.

Okay, maybe she was. But then, maybe she was not. He couldn’t tell for sure. So, he impulsively pressed her a little to get to the heart of what he felt was shying from: “But I know you enjoyed it, and you enjoyed yourself,” his eyes squaring with hers. He was telling her he was listening but wanted to be more real and honest about it, if just briefly. “Yes? Or am I wrong?” The subtlest and slightest of smirk-smiles began growing in her face. Her response may as well have been a reluctant ‘yes’, because Richie knew what she wanted to express but couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge.

She didn’t have to: “Listen, I can respect your feelings about tonight. I just sense that somewhere something inside *he calmly created a circular, waving gesture at her* wishes it wasn’t nearly 3 a.m. It was different yes, I’ll give you that. But I’m gathering we’ll have to finish up this conversational ordeal when we get back. Yes?”

They both looked at another, their expressions about ready to tank. Mm-hmm, they grunted to one another. “Well then, good night Mrs. Santoro,” Richie said, finding his way to the door, gathering the mental energy needed to walk to his bed. “Good night, Richie. Get some rest. You’ll need it,” Mrs. Santoro replied back. He half turned just before she was about to close it: “Tonight was lovely, wouldn’t you agree?”

With a smidge of reluctant acceptance, her body felt a shiver of slight excitement spark within, and she whispered: “Yes, I believe it was.” Her bare smirk left its impression on the young guy. She brought her hands to the door itself and placed it ever so gently into its frame, ensuring the barest if any sound did not escape that little three inch space of hallway air.

Something was going to follow them from that room that night into other possible rooms on other possible nights. They just did not know what. But like night turning the darkest just before the dawn, deep down they both knew whatever that “something” was would be something else. Or maybe, just maybe, something even better.

 

Chapter 20

            Riding back in their navy blue 2018 Toyota Highlander Hybrid was a bit livelier than they were all anticipating. For instance, instead of talking hypothetical’s about what they were wanting to do and plan as much as they could fit in the few days visiting Ashton Grove, memories of pleasure and recreation filled the SUV almost the entire way home.

            Fortunately for both Richie and Penelope, none of the girls looked at either of them in a suspicious fashion. After all, as Richie thought and subtle gestured to the Mrs. Santoro, none of them are aware of our evening together. At least, that was his mental notion. He, like the lady, just presumed to go along with everyone on the conversation going ‘round.

            “Oh my god I loved the swimming pool area and then, like, being able to switch right over to the lake itself for another cool dip,” Juliette declared! “I mean, I’m sure we could all find our own pools or have access to them through like houses, neighborhoods�"”

            “�"or apartment buildings,” Noel added. “Apartments, right!” Ana continued. “But, like, there’s something just really comforting about swimming away from the usual spots and all. Ya know ladies? Oh, yes, and Richie too of course!” That brought a little giggle from everyone, included Richie himself. “Nah; it’s cool Ana,” he quirked in. “I took no offense and found it as funny as it sounded.”

            “Oh yeah,” Julie contributed. “We know. I think the pool was the most thing we all did while we were there. Enjoying the natural outdoors and all, eh?” “Absolutely!” Noel added. “I mean it wasn’t the usual clean sort of water we were probably all used to back home. But it was definitely relaxing for what it was worth.”

            “Mom, how about you? Did you enjoy it as well? You, me, we all know being outdoors with water, pool or not, isn’t always your go-to fun thing to do.” Noel asked in an honest and open way�"trademarks of simple conversation between daughter and mother around everyone, present company or otherwise.

            “Yes, most definitely the pool and outdoors were the best things for me,” Mrs. Santoro added. “I guess it was like you said Ana, we all probably just needed some time and days away from the city grind we’ve become used to.”

“And something about being out there in the water and the mindset�"I don’t know. It was very relieving. It felt like the rejuvenation I wasn’t quite expecting to have. Not completely, anyway.” She was so surprisingly calm in her delivery everyone gave her an astonished look, as if to say we couldn’t agree with you more.

“I agree with what everyone’s been saying too,” Richie added. “Even the little hike we all took was something of a relief. It was every bit as nurturing as it was a fond memory. I mean, it’s not every day that, or any of us for that matter I would think, are out in the woods taking a little stroll to ease our souls.” Of course, he completely and deliberately let out the parts about his nocturnal and extracurricular activities involving witnessing other members of the party having little joys while participating in some of his own�"all that was a given. And boy, did he and Penelope pull off a seemingly clever and masterful job of concealing all the illustrious fun they’d had while in the completely immersed presence of the potentially suspecting.

If they hadn’t known better, even Richie would have admitted the sugarcoating came with a polished layer of glitter. And Penelope’s eyes drifted to the rearview mirror with the most peculiar of amused-but-nonattentive looks in his direction…knowing everything lingered on his delivery and letting it set in their minds for the time being. It was really a spectacle if she’d ever known one of similarity.

Everyone gave Richie the same admirable-and-noted look as they did his predecessor. The vibe went from chatty and lively to a soothing appreciation, to which they all rested their heads however they could, except for Noel, who was driving. (She knew the way to be alright not resting. She didn’t mind; she’d be able to recoup upon their arrival or another afternoon after they’d all return to their civilized lives.)

And as the SUV cruised along the roads, the trees and scenic views dwindled by-the-mile. Stores and lights and road signs became more abundant; highways were around each and every other little corner turn. Or so it seemed. Eyes and faces were either dozed off or in a state of zoned-out bliss as musical selections were inquired but not given. They all agreed to just the current Top 40 channel, which meant they didn’t really care what was playing as opposed to the usefulness of a road nap, quite helpful while they reoriented themselves.

 

It was around 11 a.m. or 12 noon when they left Ashton. The clock read about 2:30 or so when they began reaching the urban areas of Miami. The constant little bumps the SUV received, cement streets and blocks upon blocks of buildings and stores reminded me of what they’d left behind. And the constant apartments and condos indicated most of them had returned to the neighborhoods they were accustomed. Hell, even the exits and smaller Loop highways and roads leading to the various suburb neighborhoods and gated communities told them the pleasantries of the lakefront, the back yard spacing and nature trails welcoming the company into an altogether different vibe was “back there”, yes. But it was just that: “back there”. Miami welcomed them back. As did the feelings of hopefulness and rejuvenation and a spirit of frolic. And their collective expressions all said the same thing: the resting vacation that was had come and gone like a day to day changing of the seasons.

Both Juliette and Julie had driven over to the Santoro’s place; their cars were still there, awaiting them. Noel was at least thankful she wasn’t going to have to drive to each of their respective apartments, even if she was the acting chauffeur; not that she didn’t want to. It would just be more driving…her friends weren’t going to make her put in the extra effort. So, when their SUV rolled up into Granada Villas Condo*Homes for the final little part, they all exhaled something of a relief. Aston Grove had been good to all of them in various ways. But they were, in fact, ready to resume the lives they knew versus the limited free-spirited ones they’d created for themselves.

 

Noel parked the rig. It settled itself into the covered lot. And they all opened their doors, their bodies ready to return to themselves.

Julie was the first to step out. “Oh man,” she exclaimed, putting her arms in the air for a brief stretch. “Feels good to be back in a familiar area!” Juliette was quick to follow her out, doing the same stretching motions: “Girl, I know, right?! Gosh!!!” she yelped with a little bit of a sigh.

Noel hopped down, stood for a moment and let out a yawned, deep breath. She twisted her arms a little before continuing to move. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” she added to her girl friends’ readjustments. “The getaway was great. But there’s nothing like getting back to your own home.”

“Girls, you all need help with your bags or anything? I could be able to take at least something. I don’t have much you know.”

“I’m good,” Julie said. “I should be alright, Noel,” Ana remarked. “But if you are offering, I wouldn’t mind if you took one of my smaller bags.”

“Don’t mind at all,” Noel said. “I can manage.”

While they conversed, Richie did a bit more of his own stretching…mostly to readjust himself and get back into a more modest rigor that was moving in and around the city. Arghhhh was the only verbal noise he could make. The girls and Mrs. Santoro looked at him like he had perhaps just returned from an intense CrossFit warehouse workout during a muggy fall evening. “Man, oh man; this might take just a little bit to get reused to,” he mumbled to himself, loud enough to where everyone could hear him, even if what he said had no direct meaning to them all.

“So girls, you all want to hang out for a little bit before heading back to your own places?” Noel asked, a sense of consideration looming in her words. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to catch your breath or something before getting back into a car again after that trip.”

Julie and Ana gave one another considering glances. It did seem like a perfectly good thing to do, in spite of the fact that they were, indeed, ready to actually be back under their own roofs again. “I mean, it couldn’t hurt to stay for just a little bit before driving again,” Ana said. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“I don’t know about you, Ana, but I’m in no major rush to actually be home�"”

“�"nope, I am not,” she chimed in.

“Plus, I wouldn’t mind just resting for a short while before going again. Maybe watching a show or something. Would that be alright, Noel? Mrs. Santoro?”

“Girls, you know you’re always welcome here,” Mrs. Santoro laughingly replied to her request. “It’ll be no problem. I can even serve some drinks if you all wanted; just offering, really,” she continued.

“Nah, Mrs. S,” Ana began. “I’m good for now, but I do appreciate the offer.”

“Yeah no, it’s fine Penelope,” Julie said. “Just looking to stay indoors for a bit before getting back into the car in the middle of the day. Wouldn’t want to risk swerving or being around weird drivers out here.”

“Okay then,” Penelope said. “Well, it’s always welcomed, as you all know.”

Meanwhile, as they were walking towards the building itself, Richie had a look on his face that just said he was pondering something…whatever that something actually was, he wasn’t giving any hints nor were the girls noticing him too much. He had a tendency to look lost in his thoughts from time-to-time as it was; fortunately, it didn’t bother anybody so they didn’t press him.

“Richie, you want to stay too, with everyone? Or were you wanting to head back to your place already?” Mrs. Santoro asked, considering it a showmanship of hosting courtesy.

“Well, Mom�"” Noel chimed in. “I was going to ask him the same thing, but you beat me to it. Figured as long as somebody asked it would be fine.” Noel’s words sounded weird, even coming from her. Her tone was somewhat indifferent and illusive, as if feeling guilty she hadn’t bothered to ask her guy about the same thing, even more so considering her mother beat her to the punch.

“Actually, I just need to use the restroom really quickly,” he began. “Then, I’ll probably head out…at least before the afternoon traffic gets too bad.”

Oh man, the girls sighed in reaction, just realizing they might run into that should they have lost track of time. Neither was looking forward to dealing with that again.

“Okay Rich,” Noel said. “It was a little bit of a drive after all.”

They all made their ways through to the lobby, approaching the elevators with their luggage and things in hand. Noel was in first and pushed 20. Then, she pushed and held the “‹›” button on the key pad while everyone made their ways inside. She was sure they could all fit�"there was enough space for them all without bags.

Everyone was inside and stood in silence while they went up. It was also the hardest & oddest thing for Richie, Juliette and Penelope to all be so close together without hinting at anything “unusual”. They didn’t think much of it all then-and-there; their concerns were about laying down in more spacious accommodations and how they might have to handle their respective predicaments as the days and moments came about in the next little while of time.

The elevator rolled itself up and slowed to its halt�"18, 19…20. Ding! It gave its slight drop before locking itself into place, its doors sliding open. Once again, Noel pressed the “‹›” button while the others filed out. “Take your time, everyone,” Noel insisted. “There’s no rush here. I’ve got the door.” Penelope was the first out, having the house key ready in her skirt pocket, one bag in her left hand. The other over her right shoulder. Julie managed herself next; Juliette followed her, adjusting her body and bags to allow a smoother transition into the teal, diamond-printed designed carpet hallway. The hallway was cool; Noel found herself vacating the tiny upwards rectangular prism soon thereafter. Richie insisted he go last. Noel nodded at him, an appreciative smile rolling across her face. “Thanks,” she said to him. “M-hmm,” he replied. “Sure. It’s no problem.”

It also occurred to him that in lieu of her appreciation, Noel had this thing about her. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he knew it was there. Though, for now, he wasn’t about to press her about it or anything concerning it. He wasn’t in the mood nor was the right time or moment for such a discussion�"he just felt like something was there that he knew, deep down, he’d have to square with at some point. For now, he followed the others down the hall to 2004, the last one on the left side. The AC covered him like an invisible blanket, giving Richie an overwhelming sense of calm and appreciation for the livelihood he had and reminded me of the change of scenery from the little house all of them were once in to the housing they were about to occupy. The girls all gave the same demeanors, as were noted with sighs of relief and what could only be sensed as gratitude. And all that was just from a few steps in a hallway; never mind the luxuries that came with a well-coordinated interior, complete with cozy furniture and blankets welcoming them back to civilization, “officially”.

Everyone placed their bags near the front and side-by-side. They had no intention of stacking anything and wanted to be respectful of the floor space the Santoro’s made at least a decent effort to keep in order. “Hey Mom, where’s Dad? I thought you mentioned before getting here he would be in before we arrived, you know, as a ‘welcome-back’ thing,” Noel’s words hung in the air with assured uncertainty. “Remember dear, he mentioned before we left, a few days I believe it was, he had a few extra appointments today and wouldn’t be home ‘til later,” she explained with open honesty. “Oh. Right,” she replied. “Yeah I think I remember you or him telling me something about that beforehand. It’s just been a few days and I couldn’t quite remember the specifics of what he said is all.”

It wasn’t usually like Jesse to seem like he wasn’t always around. Penelope had tried to justify it and all before they left, Richie remembered, and Noel’s dismissive reaction told enough of her interpretation of the daily headline: she’d grown accustomed to his general absence here and there. Even as he noticed her response, Richie felt deep down that it wasn’t all that big a deal to Noel. And he was in no mood, and frankly no position, to stir up any conversation questioning it. Besides, he was indisposed. Hearing anything specific was pretty much out of the question. Doesn’t matter, really, Richie thought to himself. He’s not known for participating in the greatest small-talk exchanges & pleasantries. And he left his mental input at that.

Soon as he finished up and opened the door, he glanced to his right, noticing Penelope was just wondering out from her room. She seemed a hint winded. “You alright, Mrs. S?” he asked politely and curiously. “Oh, yes,” she replied quickly. “I’m fine. Just settling back in, you know. Getting readjusted. Takes just a little while, whether it’s been a few days or a few weeks like in some of my other past trips.”

“Why…do you ask?”

“Courtesy,” he replied. “Figured it was the least I could do for the hostess before heading out: being out there and the fun, little festivities we all did. Wasn’t sure how you’d feel upon returning.” He continued: “Hope you don’t mind.” That sounded coming out, and he knew it. She was looking at him with an unsure, confused reaction; she knew it as well.

She said the only words her mind could think to say: “Well, I am happy to be home. I’m sure you are too. Or�"will be. Are you sure you don’t want to stay, even for just a little bit?”

“No, no, I’m fine for now,” he replied. “But I’ll probably be back another time. I mean it’s bound to happen, don’t you think?”

She looked at him with a slight smile of certainty, knowing that was true. “Yes. Of course.” Her eyes were reading his, digging into his expression to sense what he meant, even in the open hallway with everyone nearby�"she knew he meant that last little part with an implied subtext. And was purposely not going to say anything more about it.

“I want to show you something in my room. Can you come in with me for a second?” Penelope asked him. “Sure,” he said, calm and accepting. “Hey Noel, I’m going to be in my room for a moment or two. I’m showing Richie something. We’ll be right out before he takes off. You all okay?” she said aloud, hoping they all heard her with enough clarity; or at least that her daughter would�"she didn’t feel like walking a few feet over only to have to come back again and do more after.

“Okay,” Noel said, thinking little of it. “And yes, we’re fine. Just watching a little House Hunters before this episode finishes up in like�"what is it�"7 minutes?” The girls said ‘yeah’ and ‘yep’ in mutual agreement. Richie heard a distinct: “…they’re about to make a decision of the three they’ve toured…” He knew they’d be a few moments.

Inside her room, Mrs. Santoro had brought out a box of some sort�"looked like a collection case or similar. Its dark brown exterior was a brandished combination of wooded boards and matte coating, crafted carefully for personal use with a long shelf-life in its structure. It came complete with eight, silver-cornered coverings screwed into the encasing, no doubt to ensure a safety layer to anyone who held or owned it, and a small hook-and-latch mechanism, providing some semblance of its contents’ security.

Richie had left the door half-open; no fuss came from Penelope. “What is that?” Richie asked. “It’s a storage box designed for small photos and little artifacts. Those sorts of things. I’ve had it since I was a young teenage girl, years ago it feels.”

“I see,” Richie said. “Looks well-maintained and intact for however long you’ve had it. Lots of years I imagine, yes?” She nodded her head, eagerly. “Ok…so you’re showing me this because___? I mean, it’s nice and all. I just don’t know�"”

She cut him off. And in a whispering tone of sorts continued: “Look, Richie. We both know what happened back there: anyone could say it was wrong and all. Even very wrong. I could also see how others might think differently, like�"” “�"holy s**t?” Richie intervened. He was direct but exact. And she recognized that, even if with a slight gasp engulfing her words. “Yes�"that.” “I’m showing you this because they are photos…and maybe, just maybe, I’d want to add to the collection somehow.” She held the box in her hands at around her waistline area, as if to mimic receiving a gift of unique sorts.

Richie believed he knew what she meant, but continued out of need to be clear and specific. “Let me guess: you want to continue all that from before and, unless I’m totally out-of-whack, you want to have a photo of it for memory keepsake…?”

She looked at him for a second then motioned her eyes about six inches to her right, processing his reaction. “Eh…yes,” she said, jolting her gaze back to him. “That sounds about right, I suppose.” Richie looked in her eyes, not entirely sure he heard her right though he had. “Okay. I suppose we’ll have to figure out how to actually make that happen, but I’m sure we’ll be able to figure it out. Yes?” She agreed. “Yes. I’m sure we can,” she replied, in a hopeful yet self-bewildered way. “Alright. Well then, I’ll be heading out then, if you’re okay with that?”

“Eh, Richie,” she continued. He looked at her after he turned to face the door. “When…do you think…?” “I don’t know exactly,” he quickly replied. “I’m sure we’ll know and figure it out when we do, don’t you?” And with that, he left the room.

He quickly entered the living room. It hadn’t been more than a minute or two they were gone. The girls hadn’t really noticed their collective absence�"their faces and collective focus were on the screen and the façades they were taking in. “Oh, I’d want to live in some place like that someday,” Julie said. “Yeah, I can see myself setting up shop with a future family and all in something like that,” Ana remarked. “Well, maybe not like in an exotic location like Hawaii or Fiji, but maybe somewhere near the coast. Like a beach house or something. It’ll be something to think about, I guess.” All them nodded their heads in mutual agreement, as if to say, a girl can dream, can’t she?

Noel noticed Richie heading to the door. “Need any help Rich?” she said aloud, noting his lack of requesting it upfront. “Nah, I’ll be fine. Thanks, though,” he quickly replied. It was a simple bag or two and he had no difficulty managing them by himself. Besides, he wasn’t in any mood for simple questions nor discussions about what he was planning on doing when he got home, knowing full well Noel would casually let everyone else know as well, whether it was their business knowing or not. “Okay,” she replied. “I’ll let you know when I’m actually leaving though. Don’t worry,” he added. By the time the show ended, Richie already had his things in his car and heading back to give his courteous “byes” to everyone. Perfect timing, he thought to himself upon reentering their villa.

“I’m heading out then,” Richie said from near the doorway. “Okay, I’m coming,” Noel said, quickly getting up from the couch. The door was already half-opened, his bags propping it open so as to involve less physical hassle when she approached him. “Bye babe, I’m glad you could come with us.” Her words sounded as meaningful as they felt hollow, for some odd reason. Richie’s ears heard their tone and delivery, but in the moment of her embracing him at her doorway, he wasn’t about to question anything about it. “So am I,” he replied. “It was a good and refreshing trip. One that I’m sure we’ll both hear more about every time we all gather together�"the girls and our company, that is.” “You sure you don’t want to stay, even if just for a little longer? We only got out of the car a few moments ago and wasn’t sure if you were eager or anything to get back into one again,” she persisted, insisted.

“I’ll be alright. I heard, or thought I heard, voices saying the same thing earlier while I was in the restroom. I mean, I heard talking, but nothing specific�"I only assumed it was about who wanted to stay or leave.”

“Yeah, the girls are going to stay for just a little longer,” Noel said, gesturing to the main living room area where they were all gathered. And, out of the corner of her eye, Richie’s look said he didn’t really want to stay and mingle too much more. “Let you know when I get there, cool?” he said, to comfort his leaving with assurance he’d be fine at the end-end of the journey, from his perspective. “Sounds good,” she said. And with that, she leaned up to him, and quickly met his lips with hers. A short smooch momentarily filled the hallway noises, just loud enough for anyone nearby to hear it, escaping it as soon as it even sprung up. They gave each other slight smirks of glances; Richie grabbed his things and turned out the door, Noel following with a half-step to close it behind him.

And for the oddest of reasons, neither of them thought much of the fact that there wasn’t much affection shown between them, even after the length of time spent around one another. Odder, even: neither verbally made a huge spiel about it, as if his departure was just something else for them both to go through the motions. As if they didn’t act like enjoying the getaway together was more meaningful for either of them.

She barely walked a few feet back when her eyes immediately noticed only Julie was sitting in her same spot. “Where’d Ana go? She was just sitting here, wasn’t she?” Noel asked. “Went to the restroom. Sounded urgent, apparently…” she replied. “Oh. Okay,” Noel responded.

Down the hallway, the restroom light was indeed on. And the fan was going, just in case. Only, unbeknownst to the girls, there was no actual person inside.

Just beyond that closed door, Penelope’s door was closed, but not locked. Inside it were two women.

Ana was inside with Mrs. Santoro. She was standing just behind her friend’s mother, the grown woman standing at the foot of her comfy mattress, having just unzipped her big luggage. Beginning to unpack her things was as much a little process of reorganizing as it was putting it all in�"Penelope considered her personals delicate. She was the first to tell anyone the same thing. She briefly paused her Tetris-like sorting’s when she felt a body approach her. “Hello there again misses,” Ana said in a low voice, clearly not loud enough to escape the room’s walls. As Mrs. Santoro reacted to the girl’s voice, Ana’s arms immediately went to hold her by her waist area, her hands beginning a slow grazing of the woman’s body. “Oh, it’s you Ana,” she replied, not fully realizing the young girl had so cleverly entered her room without disruption. “Yes, it’s me,” the girl replied. “I didn’t want to wait too long before seeing you again. Hope you don’t mind…and that you might feel the same…” Ana let out that last little seducing line with deft openness, trying to re-spark the flame from their initial “encounter”. Mrs. Santoro’s eyes went into a dizzy-like mode, not sure whether to resist the girl’s touch on her now or anticipate something later. It’ll probably be both, she thought to herself, her hands reaching for and grasping the girls’ to acknowledge the quick movements.

She turned to face the girl, noticing a look of desire in her face even before she even had time to utter a single word. Sensing she was going to say something, Ana instinctively leaned in to meet the woman’s parting lips, pressing her own gently into her friend’s mothers’. A soft mmm could be heard between the bottom of their two mouths, where their necks and vocal chords met to produce amazing noises. Their oral embrace lasted only a moment or so�"Mrs. Santoro pulled back with gentle assertiveness. “Ana�"Juliette,” she whispered between them. “Not right now. You all are about to leave, and I still need some time to get adjusted to being back here. It’s been a few days and I need to check on thins before I hear from Jesse. He’ll be curious about me and I don’t want to�"”

“�"what?” the girl asked. “I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable. Or, at least, you know, any more uncomfortable than I may have just by being here in your room with you.”

“No, it’s not that,” Penelope said. “It’s very much OK that you’re here. It’s that…okay, it was different and exciting the other night. Yes. But I need to process myself before I allow anything further like that to happen again. A talk with Jesse may not hurt either. He’ll ask questions about all of us being out there and I don’t want to send any odd impressions is all. He does that�"asks. And he’s usually good about being upfront in our conversations. I don’t mean to offend you or anything. I just need a little time is all? Not sure though; it may just be a thought is what I’m saying. And I only ask that you respect that, at least for here and now.”

“That’s fine,” Ana replied. “No, no I can completely understand that. I may need to adjust to being back myself.”

“One other thing, though,” she continued. “I wouldn’t mind giving all that stuff another try if you’d be up for it as well… we may just have to be careful is all. Think so as well?”

“Yes, I would,” her daughter’s friend replied. “And I think so too, yes ma’am. Maybe this can tell you I think that way…” and with that the girl moved forward quickly and placed her lips on Penelope’s once again, pressing with slight suction, easing her right hand up and over the left portion of the woman’s blouse, barely kneading her breast for a moment before deliberately letting go of both physical actions. Though her eyes were partially closed, her mind elicited the response she was feeling: “Mmm, yes. Well, Ana, we’ll have to just manage that how we can. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Ana replied. “I’ll join the others so we can be ready to head out soon. I’m sure they’re wondering why I’m taking so long in the bathroom…even if I told them it was urgent.” Both women laughed. And with that, the younger turned and left, opening and closing her door behind her. She made her way to the bathroom, opened it slowly to make sure no one else had entered, and swung it open after seeing it vacant. Juliette began fixing herself up a little bit, as she knew the girls knew her to wear her make-up here and there with and without any cause. However, right now, even with little to none on her, it mattered not, she felt. She decided she looked fine for now, flicked both switches “off” and proceeded to join the girls in another quest to daydream about and see realistic possibilities of where their future homes could be.

“Gosh, I need to lay down,” Penelope said to herself, as the room was finally hers for once. She believed no one would interfere with her for the next little while. Or, at least, until their show was done. But she decided to unpack some things so as to not completely conk out before possibly having to say bye to the girls before they all parted ways. She managed a few things and, before she knew it, heard her daughter calling for her. “Mom?! They’re leaving now,” Noel said, clearly insisting she part ways with her gals in that affectionate “it’s been nice” send-off kind of way. “Coming!” she yelped out loud enough to where she knew they would hear her. She opened the door and proceeded to gather with the ladies.

“Bye Mrs. Santoro!” Julie chimed, “we’re heading out and wanted to thank you for all you did in making our getaway as wonderful as it was.”

“Ah, Julie, you’re too kind,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “I merely played my part and helped you all out where I could. Figured it was the least I could as I knew where things were and such.”

“Yeah, Mrs. S,” Ana added. “We all had a really great time, I would say.” “I can believe that,” the mother replied. “For one thing, I didn’t hear too much fussing going on while we were out there.” The girls all laughed; her humor and etiquette never ceased to amaze them. “They were also actually wondering, Mom,” Noel intervened a little, clearly getting the conversations’ attention, “if and when it may be alright to head there again. You know, in case everyone decided they wanted a little breather from everything here.”

Penelope glanced at them all, surprised in a way. “I mean, we can go there whenever you all would like. Technically, it’s there. We’d just have to plan for it, you know. Couldn’t be too difficult, I wouldn’t think.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Noel responded, just to acknowledge her, and the others, understood her position, versus providing an immediate accepting of her proposition. “We’ll have to talk about it and let you know when it’s good again.”

A mutual “yeah” went around their chatter. “Well alright then,” Julie said. “We’d better be off before we spend the entire rest of the day browsing for fantasy homes none of us can afford to buy right now.” More laughter followed, as were the hugs shared by each of the four to one another. But they understood what she meant, and collectively began grabbing handles and organizing their bags around themselves to carry them back to the parking lot. “Do you need me to walk you all down there?” Penelope asked, curious. “Eh, no. No ma’am we should be good,” Julie remarked. “We can manage.” Noel followed them out: “I’ll join you all if you all don’t mind.” They laughed: “Girl, why would we mind?” Ana always had a way of pointing out the obvious, which meant she was feeling more like herself�"back home and in more of her comfort zone. Noel smirked at her, knowing that finite detail was full-swing Juliette mode re-emerging. “I’ll be right back Mom�"” she began. “�"yes, yes, I gathered that. I’m going to rest for just a little bit and will be in my room if you need me,” Mrs. Santoro mentioned.

With that, the girls headed down and out. And Mrs. Santoro headed back inside, closed the door behind her and made her way to her room, knowing no one would begin to sneak up on her nor could deliberately bother her for the temporary time being.

She walked in her little realm and sat herself on the edge of her bed. It felt comfortable & familiar, given her body had a few seconds to adjust to its absorption in and molding to her body. Placing her hands on either side, she recognized everything in it just as much as she’d had it before they all left to Ashton Grove. Ah, Ashton Grove, the memories there still lingered fresh in her mind. The neighborhood just outside her window, the same one greeting her and her family every time they left the building, was just as immediate, yet spontaneously distant. Eventually I’ll have to have a chat with Jesse, she confessed to herself. But now was not only not the right time for it, she wasn’t in the best mood to want to bring it up. For she stood by what she told the young feline a few moments ago: she needed time to, essentially, figure herself out again. The Penelope Santoro who left with the company out to Ashton Grove was certainly the one she, her husband, her community and the close friends she kept all knew. And she was already aware that she was going to spend a few days, at least, discerning what all had happened versus what should have; just as she knew she had analyzed herself as the evenings became lives of their own. Hence why she knew the Penelope Santoro who returned with the company was not that same one. Not now, she thought to herself, weird sensations beginning to call her name from within, herself not yet ready to confront those. Had she changed so much in such short time? She didn’t know for sure. Had she done things which she felt proud and amazed at? She was sure she did, but she also did not know for sure. Was she in store for a potentially and rather-heavy discussion of sorts in due time, whether it was one she wanted to have or not? Of that she was certain, but she also couldn’t be entirely sure. All she knew was that Jesse would be home in a little while.

When her phone flashed up with its synced buzzing noise and she saw “Jesse Santoro” on the ID, she knew to put all that psyche analysis aside and take the call, as she expected.

“Hello?” her voice rang in curiosity. “Hey there, what are you up to?” She recognized his voice, her husband’s, and was already attempting to figure out what sort of mood he may have been in thru his tone. “I’m just sitting here in my room, laying down for a moment, trying to catch my breath. We all just got back a little while ago; they’ve all pretty much left though.”

“Noel went downstairs with the girls to see them off,” she continued. “I stayed up here.”

“They didn’t mind that?” “No, not at all. They understood and appreciated everything.”

“How was it?” he said, plain and openly direct. “Everything you hoped it would it be? You were going on about it for a little while before you all left, you know.”

“Yeah no, it was great,” she replied. “A good change of pace and all. Just the sort of thing we all were needing, apparently.”

“That’s good, then, yes?” he responded.

“Yes. Yes it is, dear.” A great deal of simplicity and casual exchanges filled the conversation more than Penelope had felt in some time. Had she not been used to it over all the years here and there, she would have thought it a hint empty, almost as if neither was saying, I wish you OR I wish I could have been there with everyone…but wanted to. “You’re on your way home, then?” she asked, breaking the briefest of silences as neither had hung up; the line continued rolling. “Oh yeah, yes,” he said. “I should be there within the hour or so. Traffic’s getting backed up with the repaving of the streets outside the office and some of the merging’s going on with the lane closures. Have you heard any updates about the weekend festivals for the cancer conventions or the community festivities for the A.A.B.L. advocacy groups on the news or anything? Saw something on the news about possible highway back-up’s about that. Didn’t know if you caught anything mentioned about it all.”

“Eh, no dear, I haven’t,” she calmly replied. “In fact, since we all got home, I hadn’t even really had a chance to watch much TV, let alone news or anything.”

She never liked the feeling of being inconsiderate towards him as she knew his days were usually busy and he sometimes would rely on her to get him some further information he couldn’t get from phone or online updates and such; something more real-time, he hoped. “I’m sure they’ll be saying things about it on the radio when you drive home.”

“I’m sure they will too,” he replied. “Hey, you said you all just got back a little while ago. Probably means not a whole lot’s prepared as far as dinner I imagine, yes?” She thought for a moment and recalled nothing was ready in the kitchen. “Yes, you’re correct. Had not even thought about dinner until you mentioned it just now, in fact. Not even Noel has mentioned anything about it. Why? Were you thinking of bringing something home?”

“Maybe, yes,” he replied. “Considering you all had been out and are probably wanting to recover from your trip, figured getting some take-out would be more convenient for everyone. Wanted to ask you beforehand.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll all be hungry in a little while,” she acknowledged him. “Just get something you know we all may like and I’m sure that’ll be fine, including for Noel.”

“Should I text or ask her for specifics? Or just go with whatever I feel is best?”

“Jesse, just make a decision and go with it, please,” she replied back, not really in the mood for a lengthy discussion about their upcoming meal. “Okay,” he responded through the phone. “I’ll see you all in a little bit, then.” “�"yes, sounds right,” she replied, not sure if that’s what word she meant to say there or not.

“See you soon,” she concluded.

“Bye.”

Without reciprocating, she dragged the phone away from her ear, flipped it to see the screen, and pressed the red phone button, simultaneously ending the call with him.

That was odd, she thought to herself. And, she couldn’t help but notice, not nearly as interactive as she (probably) would have liked. The next thought-processing moment revealed exactly what she’d felt before her screen lit up: the trip had changed her; she was sure of it. She just didn’t quite know as to what extent.

All she knew was that that conversation, shorter than it seemed yet longer than it probably had to be, told her everything she already knew and had come to confront since returning from Ashton Grove: her marriage was a different part of her life than what it originally started out as. Not good nor bad. Just different. Adding oddness to more confrontation, she somehow felt the words “marriage” and “bye” stood out most to her in the last moments of that phone call and that talk within (herself). Furthermore, whatever it was that she’d encountered while living in the days away was nagging at her now, clearly not having stayed behind. And now, the man she barely referred to while out there was on his way there, presuming to continue living the life she was beginning to redefine for herself, whether she was ready to acknowledge that or not.

Chapter 21

            Dusk rolled into evening. Darkness engulfed the skyline and the neighborhood area, streets, gardens and surrounding buildings. Back home, indeed, Penelope thought to herself, as the familiar sights took over the hallways and window frames comprising the home she knew before the trip began; the same one she returned to. Only its residents seemed somewhat different. She did not know whether or not a discussion about everything was going to happen that night or not. Regardless, Penelope knew she’d have to explain some things to her husband, and she was already sensing the tremendous eruption and vibes that might, would, ensue from it all. She admitted to herself she wasn’t quite ready for all that just yet.

            Not too long passed when she got lost in her thoughts did an approaching sound arise from the doorway; keys rattled a little. A click-click-clank-clank sound barged its way into the doorframe. The knob turned and in he came: Mr. Santoro himself. It had felt like quite some time since Penelope had last seen her husband, oddly enough.

            “There she is,” he said, as if he hadn’t seen her in the longest, short amount of time. “Yes, dear, I am here.” Her reply was as flat as it was routine. He walked straight to the kitchen to drop off whatever was in the bags he had brought home. “What’d you bring?” she asked. “Some lovely Texas Roadhouse�"steaks, oh yeah! And some meat plates as I know you don’t always go for American beef. It’s all there and labeled, if you want to have a look. I’ll be right back,” he continued, heading straight for his room without so much a physical gesture nor affectionate “hello” to his wife. Truth was, he was happy enough seeing her. Yes. He was just a bit more preoccupied with getting into a more comfortable mindset, having just arrived back in his own world.

            He’ll see me when he gets out, she thought to herself, as she began peeking into and sorting out the containers. In the other room, Jesse conducted his usual manner: one outfit for another, placing attire in the laundry there, placing the other parts on himself here. He was feeling a little more relaxed, though; thus, he went for his mesh top-and-bottom matching exercise set versus a simpler, semi-casual pants and shirt. It took a matter of moments before he was in the presence of his lady again, having stopped into the restroom to become even more relaxed.

            Entering the kitchen once again, everything was set up and arranged for easy distribution: containers and side cups in one area of the counter, utensils and drinks at another. “This all smells great, doesn’t it, Penelope?” he first asked. It was his way of initiating conversation, which both he and his wife knew was the cue for other conversation to follow. “It does indeed,” she acknowledged him. “Hope it wasn’t too inconvenient having to get it or anything. I know you were on your way home and don’t always feel like stopping if you don’t have to.” “No, it was fine,” he replied. “They weren’t too busy and it was a quick and easy order for them to get to. It was pretty much ready by the time I pulled in. Driving itself was the longest part of the evening, truthfully.”

            After getting organized, he sat down at the table. That was the next cue in-line: catch-up talk. “So how’d it all go? You said everyone had a good time, yes?” She noticed his delivery was quick and intertwined with his dinner as well as the motions, she could only presume, of his working day�"specifically that he didn’t manage to slow down and look at her while he asked.

            She was wondering what all to bring up, or if she should even go there. She decided that, for here and now, it wasn’t “that time”. Besides, she had a meal to eat and felt herself focusing on that. “It was great, actually. Yes, the girls and I and Richie all seemed to have a good time.”

            “You all able to do a whole lot? I mean, I know there’s not a whole lot out there that can be enjoyed. I was thinking about you all and was just figuring you all were making the best of it. How was the water?”

            “Were you able to enjoy the outdoors while you there?”

            “Yes, actually. We all enjoyed being outside how we could, while we could. Truth be told, the girls did most of the decision-making as far as what we actually did. I gave some input, as usual, and followed in their spirited requests.”

            “We ended up�"let’s see�"we swam both in that smaller pool area as well as the lake itself�"”

            “�"you went into the actual lake? I’m surprised. You normally aren’t the one to go for that, you know?” He stated that last input as if already doubting what she did without his knowing about it. If she hadn’t been married to him for so long, she would have found him a little mockery in his tone. But, she had. Thus, she dismissed it. “Well, I didn’t exactly say I went into the lake, did I?” His slight pause gave enough acknowledgement that, indeed, she was right…rather than being smart. “No,” he said. “True. You didn’t.”

            She continued her meal�"the fish and rice and veggies she would normally get if they ordered from there. He continued to slowly-but-steadily devour his 10 oz. ribeye and sides as he could. For some reason he felt hungrier than usual tonight; maybe, he gathered, the company tonight had changed and was more familiar with the dinner vibes that brought.

            “The girls went in the actual lake area, as did Richie. But the water in the pool was just as comforting�"or so they claimed it to be. I was perfectly content staying in the pool area, where I knew I could see the bottom and would feel more at ease.” M-hmm was all he had to do to let her know he was listening enough while consuming away at his evening dish. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

            “No,” she said. “Suppose not. Actually, I knew it wouldn’t. You know I’m not the type to travel into unfamiliar waters so freely, regardless of where or for what.” “Nope,” he said.

            “What else did you all do, besides water stuff?”

            “Went on an afternoon hike one of the days; played some card games, me with the girls; watched some movies. Those sorts of things,” she replied. All true things. “And Richie? Did he join in on it all or just sat on the side?” He chuckled at his own smirked joke of a comment. Penelope noticed it on her sharp radar and instantly took it in an off-putting way. This guy, she thought of him; that part she kept to herself, not sure why she wouldn’t respond to his sly quip about the young man they knew. She just went with it, for now: “No, actually. He pretty much joined in with everything. I mean, even though he was the odd man out, literally and figuratively and all, he made the most of the trip and the girls welcomed his participation like it was no big deal.”

            “Hmm,” her husband replied. “He always seems to come across as the type to want to please others even if it’s of no real concern to him, doesn’t he? That can be a good thing, right? I mean, he’s a good guy and decent for it, wouldn’t you say?” She was looking at him for a moment, pausing her meal as he ate his, not sure whether or even how to address that. Realizing it might bring on something of an odd discussion, quite possibly a mild argument of sorts, she thought it best not to press him on what he meant too much versus just conversing for clarity. “Well yes, Jesse,” she replied back. “Richie seems like a good guy: fair and honest and all. I mean, he doesn’t seem like the type to want to be odd about how he mingles around us, our daughter or our friends, don’t you think?” She couldn’t believe the words leaving her own mouth. After what happened this weekend, Penelope? Good grief woman! She felt that inner voice yapping right in her ear.

            “No, yeah,” he replied. “He does. He seems that way to me and all, yes. We haven’t known him for the longest time or anything yet. But so far, I think so. Actually�"”

“�"what?” He considered what he was going to ask her, seeing no harm in sharing it. “If you ask me, he seems kinda harmless in a way.” He looked at her enough to send his message across, then diverted his attention back to his dinner. He was, after all, getting fuller by the bite and knew it’d only be a matter of moments before he’d decide when to stop eating and pack leftovers.

She looked at him again, taking in his perspective. For some reason, this conversation was not at all what she was expecting nor as comforting as it was meant to be. This feels weird, she concluded. “Do you not like him or something? I mean, he did just spend the weekend with all of us, knowing you were unable to attend as you had work obligations.”

“He did,” Jesse said, acknowledging his wife’s perspective. “And I know he probably had to deal with you ladies more than, maybe, cared to. But still, he is the guy he is. All I’m saying is he seems like a different kind of dude, from my perspective.”

“Is that a bad thing? I just want to make sure we’re having a chat about the weekend as a whole and not just about him, about Richie.” She did not mean for her tone to be so defensive-defiant, but that’s exactly how it came across, as if purposefully defending the young guy for something he didn’t actually not do. “The weekend was a great, but short-feeling, venture away from everything here. All the girls, and Richie, seemed to enjoy and embraced the relaxed mindset while we were there. And when we all got back, we all felt fresh again.”

“That’s got to count for something, wouldn’t you think?” she asked him, attempting to get off the sly remarks about their daughter’s boyfriend and back at the big picture. Knowing how her husband didn’t always go for those sorts of trips to begin with as they caused a brief lapse from hustle he’d been accustomed to, he let it go and decided to acknowledge how comforted his wife appeared. Besides, he wasn’t in the best mood for an argument-like discussion either; not over this, anyway. “Yes,” he replied. “I suppose it does, doesn’t it? Hmm. Well, I’m just hoping you all had an enjoyable time out there.”

“We did. I already told you we did,” she said. The conversation felt flat, as if it had already run its course without any real sort of substance. And of course, she’d deliberately left out certain parts. She just wasn’t ready to go to the depths of what she knew would be a very uncomfortable talk…not yet, anyway.

Jesse finished his steak and fixings moments later. Penelope looked about halfway done with hers before she began feeling full; that was typical of her. “You’re not going to have the rest? It’s good now and probably won’t taste as great later,” he said in an argumentative statement. “Yeah, I know all that dear,” Penelope replied, knowing her husband may have been curious as to her eating habits tonight being triggered by something else on her mind. “I’d just rather not eat everything tonight, that’s all. Don’t want to take in too much before going to bed after all. And, I can have some for leftovers tomorrow, as you can probably gather.”

“Sounds fine to me,” he replied. “Well, I’m going to clean up and start getting some laundry and all going. My stuff’s piling up, I believe�"”

“�"think I saw it in a stack, yes. When I was unpacking my things and all,” she replied. “Do you have a lot of appointments and meetings in the next few days? We hadn’t discussed that much. Wasn’t sure whether to ask or not.”

“Why yes, actually,” he replied. “Two meetings this week�"one with my District Sales Manager and the other with the Regional I.T. Supervisor. They are for different things, as I was told. One’s tomorrow afternoon; the other isn’t until the end of the week�"Thursday or Friday, I think. Plus we have all been given a slightly longer schedule than usual as we have our quarterly evaluations coming up. The office just wants to make sure we’re all on top of our stuff before we get our pass/fail status.”

All that meant that he was going to be even more concerned with his work than he already was used to being. It was nothing uncommon in his line of work; nor was it the kind of schedule Penelope was wanting to hear from her husband, knowing she’d been gone for a few days and his routine wasn’t lightening up in the next few days. Or so it seemed.

“Okay, well sounds like your plate is going to be full for a little while at least,” she said, her way of acknowledging his happenings upcoming. “Yes,” he replied. “Sorry. It’s just a timing thing, I suppose. Figuring you were going to say something about the trip or how you’re feeling otherwise, yes?” “Perhaps, yes. But it can wait for another time. Really. I know you’re focused on your busy schedule and I don’t want to distract you from all that. It’s important, I get it.” As understanding as her words came across, always did for that matter, something about the way she said them made even her wonder what the hell she was trying to say but was intentionally declining.

“Soon as these things are completed and we have our feedback and all I’ll definitely take the time to hear more about how it all went, honey,” Jesse said, offering his words as his version of a realistic consolation of sorts. “Just give it a few days and then my mind will be less concerned with ‘there’ versus here. Promise.” And with that, he got up and continued with his evening routine. “Want me to wash everything up in the sink? Or just set it there for now and toss out what we don’t need?” “No, it’s fine. I’ll attend to it in a little bit,” she replied. “You keep on doing what you need to do.” Okay, he uttered back, organizing everything as best he could before going along with things.

Penelope looked at the clock: 8:23 p.m. She wondered where and how in the last 20 to 30 minutes her life somehow shifted from Ashton Grove to meetings and conferences and evaluations�"all of which had nothing to do with her, directly anyway�"without even so much a thought as to whether the latter were conversational topics worth actual discussion. It’s as if she’d allowed herself to subconsciously submit interesting conversation about her world to his without raising so much as a fuss.

10:12 p.m. Where had the evening gone? She got up from her bed for a moment or two. She found herself wondering into the hallway over to her husband’s room; a habit, really.

She stood in his doorway: a pile of clothes lay jumbled together awaiting their owners’ sorting. The owner himself lay passed out on his bed, sleeping away as if already set in his little functioned world of the foreseen schedule.

She continued standing, leaning on her left side, taking in the sight. At times she found herself wondering who that man was. Other times she knew exactly who he was.

Right now, though, he felt no more her husband than the man whom had also not been around for yet another little outing of sorts. Penelope had a confession to make to no one but herself: it had bothered her that he wasn’t able to join them, yet she found herself not heartbroken by it. It was an odd feeling for her to come to terms with…so much so she had to budge herself with the slightest of movements to “unlock” her body, which seemed locked in place when taking in the sight of the man in front of her.

When she coupled in the oddness, yet grandiose, of the confession she’d placed upon everything that made her world what it was with the days she’d just been through, unusual nostalgia filled every nerve inside her. It was the strangest of feelings. Then, even more surprisingly, she came upon another weird misfortune: then and there, she didn’t know how to go about continuing her days almost pretending as if nothing had changed since she’d been gone. Yet she knew, everything had.

With that, she turned to return back to her little dwelling, letting all those ideas and notions and trickeries flow through her system as she completed the transition back into the world she did know. Getting into and tucking herself into bed, she faced a strangely familiar feeling: that of younger lovers greeting her in her most private of private worlds. Or, at least for now, she could reminisce about them all she wanted. And she could do so with all the hypothetical’s she wanted, even to the point of feeling certain sensations go through her body in ways she hadn’t expected. Even to the point where she grazed her hands over herself once or twice to make sure what she was feeling wasn’t something typically related to a sickness-related symptom�"she couldn’t quite tell? For now, though, she let herself be comforted by whatever was going on in that bed of hers, and drifted off to a calm and complete slumber.

 

Chapter 22

            The next few days came and went as expected: Mr. Santoro preoccupied with his business and the workings of the schedule he knew. Mrs. Santoro going about the business of keeping up with their home while planning her return day back at the Moore Stead Clinic where she was R.N. Penelope.

            Those days turned into a good 2-3 weeks. They were filled with the same business that Penelope and the company sought to get away from. Even so, she didn’t mind getting herself back into her routines of daily showers, the freshness of another day ahead and the lively rejuvenation that their collective time at Ashton had provided.

            One morning, Jesse seemed particularly busy, even as she sat with him while he had some light breakfast: a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese and ¾ of an 8 ounce cup of coffee, fixed with creams and sugars how he always took it. She was having toast, buttered and jellied; a glass of milk with some organic juice. “Everything alright dear? You seem a little frantic. I mean, beside your usual quick-paced self that is,” she asked him, trying to observe and be as supportive as she could without causing him more friction than he may have wanted when he got in those moods.

            “I’m good,” he replied, simply and to the point. “The Managers told us yesterday afternoon, before most of us went home that was, that we’d be having an unexpected audit today across the entire company and building. It wasn’t something we wanted to hear but they stressed that everyone needed to be there at least an hour early to make sure everything was functioning correctly and we would be on top of our game.”

            “Unexpected audit you said?” she asked, making sure she heard him correctly. “Yes, you heard correctly,” he replied. “I have to leave in a minute or two. And, in case you’re wondering, I probably won’t be back until late tonight…as in maybe like 10 or so. But I’ll message or call you to let you know when to actually expect me.”

            She paused for a moment, letting all that soak in. “10 sounds late. 10 is late, much less having to be there,” she calmly replied, making sure he wasn’t up to something else, using the audit as a side excuse. No, she thought to herself, he wasn’t the type to make excuses around work. “It is, but it’s got to be done,” he said. “Speaking of, how are things back at the Clinic?” She was surprised by his quick change of topic. “They’re fine. You know, just busy as usual. But everyone’s seemed fine. Happy to see me back in the office, they say.” Her husband smiled some. He knew she was well-liked by her colleagues. It didn’t surprise him they were happy she was back among them.

            “Well, I have to be heading out,” he said, continuing with his mindset. He got up from the table, quickly rinsed off his plate & cup, put everything in the dishwasher, and went to the doorway to gather his things. He turned to the kitchen area, hearing his wife slowly moving forward with her day as well. “I’m heading out…I’ll see you later tonight!” he yelped back, hoping she would hear him enough from there. “Yes, I’ll see you tonight. Or, if I’m asleep by then, tomorrow,” she replied, taking a half-moment to pause, wondering if he heard her or not. “Sounds fine. Bye…” and in the next motion, the door opened and closed.

            There he goes, again. Her thoughts never seemed to fail her. In fact, if anything, they always felt spot-on to precisely what was happening either in the moment or how things were for her, recurring or otherwise. Her mind worked well like that.

            Returning to the living room, she grabbed her phone. “Hello?” the voice on the other end sprung up, recognizing a number she thought she knew but couldn’t confirm. “Hello?” again. “…Ana? Juliette, is that you?” Mrs. Santoro said, needing to confirm the girl’s number herself. “Yes, it’s me. Mrs. Santoro, it’s you, right?” Ana replied. “Yes, sweetie, it’s me. I thought I had your number from when Noel put it in my list but wasn’t totally sure. Figured to call to be totally sure.” “What’s up, Mrs. S? Are you okay?” the girl asked, finding it a little peculiar that the lady would be calling her directly instead of having her daughter do so�"an age thing, Ana or anybody would always say. “Yeah, no, I’m fine,” Penelope initially replied. She took a half-breathe to gather her thought: “You’re not busy at the moment or anything, are you?” “Eh�"no, ma’am. Not particularly. Why?”

            “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind covering over for a little while,” she said, plainly but vaguely leaving out the obvious. “Um, sure I can,” Ana replied. “Is everything alright?” her concerned voice felt natural in the phone. Curious, but naturally compassionate in her concern. “Yes dear,” Penelope said. “Everything’s alright. Just could use some company is all and, well, figured to reach out to you since we just had some days together. We both know I could call my older girlfriends. One of them, sure. But I figured the conversation would be a hint more relaxed with you.”

            “That’s fine, Mrs. S,” Juliette replied. “It’s about 11 right now. I can head over around 12:30 or so if that works for you.”

            “12:30 sounds great,” Penelope said. “We’ll see you then. And thank you.”

            “Oh you’re welcome. See you soon. Bye.” And with that, they both hung up. And, without knowing it, both looked at their respective phones, contemplating what that call was all about. It wasn’t something either was completely expecting to have, but it was happening now.

The rush of their morning took some of her morning energy out of her, so the lady of the house felt a 12:30 midday timing would be ideal. And, with that, she nestled into her cozy domain, her hibernation layer, more or less awaiting the girl’s arrival.

            Her body felt an internal jolt and motioned itself awake. Immediately, Penelope glanced over to the clock: 12:20 p.m. Just enough time, I suppose, she thought, not really knowing why or to what extent she invited the girl over. Nevertheless, she was expecting her any moment. Almost right on cue, her phone light up with a text bubble:

“Just arrived down in garage. I’ll be up in a few moments and will knock when I get there.”

            Okay, Penelope figured, this is really happening. A local number rang on her phone a moment later.

“Yes?” Penelope replied to the call.

“Mrs. Santoro, this is Randall, the Villas concierge in the lobby,” the gentleman said. “I have an Ana�"something�"Juliette here for you. Does her name ring a bell to you?”

            “Yes sir, Mr. Randall. I can expecting her. Feel free to let her up, please.” Her reply was as simple as any residents’ utilizing the amenities offered at the place of residence. “Thank you for informing me.” He politely remarked her confirmation and gestured to the young woman to the elevators. “Do you know�"” he began asking. “�"why yes, Randall. I know where it is, the floor I mean. I’ve been here before. Recently, actually. Just not sure if you were the person here at that time. Guess not, huh?” Ana’s remarks were no more warranted than necessary. Randall simply nodded in understanding and left that at that. Interesting girl, that one, he thought, as the doors to the elevator closed upon themselves.

            Knock-knock-knock-knock went the door. “Coming!” a faint voice filled the inside hallways. Penelope was walking over, proceeded to put her eye up to the peep hole, and felt assured at the person standing in the circular frame on the other side. “Mrs. S? It’s Ana,” a voice rang in the hallway outside. Twist-twist, clank-clank went the handles at the doorknobs. Creek-slide…the door pried open in a casual manner. The two ladies’ glances met one another: “Hello Mrs. S!” Ana exclaimed. “Hello, dear!” the hostess remarked, “please come in,” gesturing the young girl into her home. Once again, the vibes felt familiar even if the environment was different.

            Almost immediately, both ladies noticed the others’ attire: Ana was in something of a tank-top thing with a loose, cute sky blue blouse, buttoned-down covering it and synched blue jean shorts, hemmed at the bottoms that went down to just above her mid-thighs. Known for being in at least some level of made-up face, she only had on natural colors: beige, nude, and olive to match her skin tone in its natural stages, sunny and cloudy alike. Her hair was tied into a ponytail with a hair clip holding the top bundle more securely in place; and her nails were a classic red. The most dedicated of Sephora© regulars may have even recognized it as a Scorsese or rose-red, but who was really paying attention given the occasion, huh? She didn’t know why she put two accessories in that day. She just did. And left it at that. Mrs. Santoro was put together in something that could only be thought of as between casual and semi-formal, even for “at home” standards of women’s wear. Her navy blue blouse had three-quarter length sleeves with hemmed pale-gold buttons stitched into the arms, a patterned stitching design also blended into the material. It more or less blended to her figure well enough. Its top two of the four buttons on top were barely parted as it was a warm day and she didn’t feel like being completely modest…especially not her own house. The navy blue garment dangled about two, maybe three, inches below her plush-cotton skirt, with its mix of blue-and-white sea waves and floral prints all interwoven throughout. It flowed from just above her hips all the way down to the tops of her feet, creating a semi-snug fit around her thighs and expanded into a semi-looser frame as it approached her calves, ankles and feet. Not seen as initial standout among the shoppers at the local H&M, she saw it, tried it and picked it up. It had since proven a steal of a purchase; one in which Mrs. Santoro always felt comfortable within herself going about her days. And today, her outfit was complete with her memory foam-inserted house sandals. It was a simple put-together look, ideal for relaxing with trusted company around.

            “Feels roomy in here again,” Ana said, recalling the comforts from the other day when they’d all arrived and stayed for a bit. “I mean, it always does. Just saying it feels familiar, your home and your hospitality.”

            Penelope smiled a bit. “Why, thank you for saying so dear,” she replied. Almost instantaneously, she felt more at ease. She didn’t quite know why it happened. Nor did she know how to suitably put whatever she was feeling into recognizable words, but something about her mood and the arena of her home lair had shifted somehow. Have to wait and see, she thought. No need to rush to conclusions just yet.

            “Can I offer you something? A drink, or something to eat, perhaps?” she said as she entered inside to join the young girl, noticing she had lingered herself around the pictures on the shelves for the time being. “Oh, I’m not too hungry. But a drink I wouldn’t mind taking. Yes, please,” Ana said. “What do you have?”

            “Hmm,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “Let’s see.” She opened the fridge. “There’s some naturally-squeezed lemonade, some sodas�"Pepsi and Fanta Strawberry, and milk. Of course, I could always make a little drink if you’re up for something like that as well.”

            A brief pause filled the room. “Actually a little drink I could definitely be up for,” the girl said. “What do you usually put together? Or have?”

            “We have some Bourbon from Woodford Reserve as we enjoy watching the horse races when the Derby’s are on, and Ginger Ale, as well as some Sparkling Champagne from somewhere in Europe, French I believe. But I’d have to check,” Mrs. S said, dishing out the options. “Hmm,” Ana said, considering her options. “You know, I wouldn’t mind having a Bourbon and Pepsi if you’re alright with that?”

            “No, I wouldn’t mind,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “You’re old enough to have some and I’m assuming you know your limits for all that stuff.”

            “Yes,” Ana replied. “I do, Mrs. S. Don’t worry about me with all that. What are you going to have?”

            “Probably some lemonade for now. I may have something else later,” she said. “Did you want to have a seat on the couch, perhaps? It won’t take too long to make them. Feel free to make yourself at home, though I wouldn’t want you to fall asleep or anything.” They both laughed at the conversational input.

            “Not too long” was a matter of minutes. Penelope brought a little tray to the couch where her guest awaited her�"two drinks, some napkins and some little finger treats (snacks and such). “Thank you, Mrs. S,” Ana said to her. “It’s no problem,” Penelope replied. They both took a sip, glancing at one another as they finished.

            “So what’s going on?” Ana began, clearly curious as to what was going in her friends’ mother’s mind.

            “Ah yes, you’re curious as to what prompted me to call you over, huh?”

            “Yes, ma’am.” The girl looked at her with eager uncertainty. She had no idea what this conversation was going to be about, though she thought she had an idea.

            “I’ve been feeling a little misplaced and different since our group’s trip to Ashton Grove a little while back,” she began. “It’s not that it’s been hard to readjust to being here again. That’s the least of it,” she admitted to at least that simple factoid. “You see, since returning I’ve caught myself noticing Jesse’s habits more and more. It’s not that I wasn’t used to them all before. No�"it’s that I noticed he hasn’t changed them, nor himself, that much since we all got back. I don’t know, I thought maybe being away for a little while would make me appreciate me being around more. We had a chat or two about it all, but that’s about it.”

            She continued: “I feel I have changed since that trip. And I was wondering whether that’s a bad thing to feel or not. I didn’t want to take a chance and ask my older girlfriends whom were not there and wouldn’t have a more comprehensive context about it all. So, I felt the need to call you and get your thoughts. Maybe I also thought that since�"you know�"you seem like you’ve had more recent experience, experiences (?), with men and dating and all, you might be able to offer some perspective or advice or something.”

            The girl looked at her with a direct understanding, not totally surprised either�"almost as if she was either expecting to hear a conversation like this happen at some point or another or knew her friend would think back to what they did and all as it was, after all, a fairly new thing for her.

            “So you brought me over here to, what, get my thoughts on what you’re feeling? Is that it?” Ana first asked, mostly to clarify what she was hearing from the woman.

            “Yes, I suppose so, in a way,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “I mean, I’m older. Is this something that typically happens when someone is in my position and did what�"you know�"we did?”

            Oddly enough, Ana wasn’t in the best mood to have an awkward conversation her host probably should have been having with, say, a Counselor or Psychiatrist for that matter. But she felt inclined to give the woman her best thoughts, as she took her invitation there as a sign of trust in and of itself. “Well, Mrs. S, I can’t say whether or not what you’re feeling is right or wrong. I haven’t lived my full life and all yet. Nor am I in your shoes exactly, you know?” she began.

            “But I can say this: I think you’re embracing the fact that maybe, just maybe, your life is a little different than you once thought, from the inside I mean?” She paused briefly and looked around. “Everything around here looks the same, I think. So it can’t be anything that you’ve changed on the outside. Are you finding that you enjoyed yourself more while you were out there than you first anticipated? Yes or no, I can’t tell you for sure. Only you can do that�"”

            “�"He’s acted like nothing’s different,” Penelope replied.

            “Who?”

            “Jesse. My husband,” Penelope said. “Since we’ve all gotten back, he’s come across like the trip didn’t do anything. He told me he was glad I went and all. But he certainly hasn’t responded to anything about me or how he interacts with me differently.”

            “Were you expecting something about him to change when we all returned?” Ana asked, plainly.

            “Maybe so, yes,” Mrs. Santoro said. She sighed, looking half-away: “I thought maybe he’d show more appreciation for me. Something to that effect.”

            “Eh, Mrs. S, I don’t mean to pry, but are you telling me he doesn’t do that�"show appreciation to you, I mean?”

            “No, not really.”

            “What do you mean, ‘not really’?” she asked directly. “I’m sorry, it’s just, I don’t know what that means. I need you to be direct, otherwise I’ll be confused and I don’t want to be that if I am to hear you out while I’m here.”

            “No, you’re right,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “It’s fair. That means he hasn’t shown me much appreciation by way of physical affection and such�"hugs, besos, those sorts of things. He hasn’t said a whole lot to me; least not more than usual, I suppose. And,” she sighed again, “I don’t think it’s crossed his mind to think of doing those things out of his own sincerity.”

            Juliette looked at her lady friend with a mix of bewilderment and empathetic understanding. “I see.” She shifted her glances to Penelope’s left and right sides, thinking how to word her next inquiries, still fathoming the oddness of how this conversation arose between them. “May I ask, about how long have you two been married and all?”

            Soon as those words came out, Penelope knew the conversation was taking a turn for where she thought but wasn’t sure it could. Her eyes shifted focus into a “recollection” expression, “�"about 30, maybe 35 years, I’d say. Something like that. Why do you ask?” Her face turned curious. “Because maybe, and this may just be a thought of mine (as you asked for), maybe you’re getting to a point where you’re realizing the flare and excitement of your first years together are in the past. They happened and all, don’t get me wrong. But you’re both at the stage now where things aren’t completely about what you all once went through? Again, I’m just pointing out things that could be factors is all.”

            “Hmm,” Penelope could be heard muffling in reply, loud enough to where the noise said, I understand and hear what you’re saying, even if I may not be willing to acknowledge that just yet. “Maybe. Maybe not. Hard to say when you’ve lived as I have with the man I call my husband.”

            The conversation was definitely getting odder and weirder as their exchanges went on, Ana had noticed. In other words, this wasn’t the usual sort of lingo they’d exchanged on previous occasions. She felt like getting more to the bottom of it, as the main substance had played its part…at least for her interpretations of them.

            “Eh, Mrs. S?” Ana began. “Since it sounds like you and Jesse may have some things to sort through on you all’s end and whatnot, I have to ask: why did you really ask me over here? I mean, I wouldn’t begin to call myself a Marriage Counselor or anything, even if that’s the sort of thing we just discussed.”

            “I already told you, I believe,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “I wanted your input on things I’d been thinking about and felt I could trust you enough to share.” Her words felt very much like a masterfully-disguised lie of sorts. Ana decided to press her, as she wasn’t convinced. “Really?”

            “Yes. Really,” the lady replied. She realized Ana was looking at her in a different sort of way, almost teasing and inviting.

            “I…don’t…quite believe you,” Ana said, slowly and with certainty.

            “What do you mean, you don’t quite believe me? It’s the truth,” Penelope responded with a hint of lingering defensiveness. She felt that warmth beginning to stir inside herself again, not knowing whether to let it warm itself up or set the stove up to ‘Hi’ as rapidly as possible.

            “Eh, sure, that’s what you say,” Ana replied.

            She looked at the woman more abruptly and definitively, pretty much understanding where she felt this little social ordeal might be heading. She felt the need to be direct: “Mrs. S, do you want me to leave?” Penelope looked at the girl without saying anything. “I mean, for real, why did you ask me over here, knowing your husband nor your daughter were going to be here? Come on, I know Noel’s not here; I would have heard her by now,” Ana continued her teasing and provoking.

            She gathered herself and looked at the girl, more directly. “Alright, the talking was one thing, yes. But I felt�"I wanted to call you here for something else, too: this…” and with that, she leaned herself closer to Ana, enough to where they were sitting inches apart, if that.

She couldn’t get herself to make the first move. Ana picked up the hint and leaned her face to the woman’s, her lips finding and pressing their way to Penelope’s. They locked mouths together and held one another there for a good moment or two. Time seemed to fade from their immediate thoughts, the moistness and sweet sensations of their lips locked engulfing their senses and abilities to think, logically or otherwise.

After what felt like a good few seconds of time lapsed, when the afternoon went from one episodic timeframe to the next, laying on the verge of and shifting the time of day & their collective moods altogether, they finally parted.

“Mm,” Ana whispered a soft reply. “So that’s why you asked me over, huh?”

“Eh�"yes. Yes, that is why,” Mrs. Santoro whispered back, less hesitant in her admission. “I told you I felt changed from the trip. I guess I wasn’t quite sure how to articulate it I suppose.”

“Yeah, no,” Ana cooed back. “I get it. No need to have to explain.” They looked at one another with curious eyes. And leaned in once again. Smooch. Smooch. Penelope wasn’t quite sure what she was doing; she only knew that what she was doing was something she wanted to do. Ana, on the other hand, was as surprised as she felt welcomed by the intimate gestures the lady Santoro presented to her. After all, it wasn’t really every day that she was in a lady’s house, much less she knew, doing what they were.

Before they jostled for positioning once again, Penelope was the first to make note of the particularly obvious: “Would you mind if we took this to my bedroom? I just wouldn’t want a neighbor or some random passerby to overhear anything, come knocking and next thing you know it becomes an awkward moment to deal with…”

“No, I don’t mind at all,” Ana replied. “In fact, I’m glad you asked. It makes complete sense and I’d prefer that as well�"the more private setting that is.”

They rose from the comfy couch together, almost in a unified stance, and began moving to the woman’s private dwelling. Penelope almost reached back for the girls’ left hand with her right in the process, but hesitated as the physical transition from one space to the other was literally so short. As a little tease and “thank you” gesture, Ana barely hooked the pointer and middle fingers on her left with Mrs. Santoro’s extended fingers. It wasn’t an obvious display of affection, but it played its part enough. Neither said it, but both at least had a firm idea of where this was going…or could be.

Penelope led Ana into her room. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable,” the once-again hostess told her younger friend, as she made sure to lock the door. In spite of knowing her husband wouldn’t be home for at least a good, long while, you just never knew sometimes when someone might come inside uninvited or without prior notification. She had at least learned that in all her years of living and having people over here and there. And this was one situation where she was taking no chances of misfortunes becoming realistic and hellacious nightmares�"not now, anyway.

“Okay,” Ana said. She began by slipping off her sandals, leaving them laying neatly by the chest of drawers near the bed. They’d be easy enough to spot later, and Juliette had no intentions of leaving them by the door earlier, knowing (as well) someone, anyone, may come by and wonder why she was there, if not for simple social mingling…even if Noel wasn’t around. Penelope mimicked the girls’ gesture, placing her own sandals by the door itself, where she normally put them�"a habit she did regardless of a visitor or family member being inside.

The ladies stood about five to six feet apart from one another, having adjusted and turned to face one another. It was them, the chest and mirror, a side and small desk for accessories or similar, and the bed�"looking comfy as ever. Without a thought nor need to say anything further, they looked at one another and moved accordingly.

Penelope swiftly went forward about three steps. Ana lunged about two big ones before the ladies were no more than coffee cup length apart. They held out their arms and embraced themselves, holding one another close, their chests pressing against one another, their legs grazing and brazing against one another’s. Ana’s legs felt the soft pressing of Penelope’s skirt fabric against her leg, the cotton-stitched material ever-so-inviting as their hands and arms roamed one another, similar to how they’d first discovered themselves back at Ashton…the Grove feeling like a not-too-distant-but-wonderful memory of sorts coming alive again. Penelope moved her face and upper body slightly away from the girl’s grip, but only enough to reposition herself. She looked into the girls’ eyes, then down to her lips, and began moving again. Ana took the hint with full intention and reciprocated�"making herself more accessible. They pressed their lips together, eyes closing as their mouths simultaneously went mmm and ooh. By instinct, their hands and arms slowly grazed over each other’s bodies, as they’d done before, each stroke of their fingers sending tingling waves and sensations throughout their upper bodies as they felt one another out. Smack. Swap. Smooch. Mm. Ooh. Their noises continued to fill the room with the sounds of their rekindled enjoyment, odd as it may have been for one or both of the ladies. As their lips continued swapping, Penelope felt her body warming, particularly in areas near her buttocks, above her hips near the waist, and somewhere in the cleaving descent between her two glands. As for Ana, she felt both her breasts beginning to swell in her cups, her n*****s beginning an unusual hardening from both the internal warmth stirring her blood as well as the slightest of friction strokes as her body swayed a bit this-way-and-that with their interlocking motions. Farther down below, she felt warmth beginning to build from her waist down to her knees, triggering areas through her anatomy.

Without so much a miss of the beat, Ana took a half-step back towards the bed, to the point where her left calf was grazing the mattress cover. Penelope felt the girls’ movement and went along with her. Their stepping motions turned into a slight lean as Ana lowered herself in a sitting position on the edge, making sure to hold onto Mrs. Santoro in the process. It could have been an awkward repositioning if not for some coordinating movement; fortunately, that was not the case. Penelope felt the girl lowering herself and leaned her upper body some to have balanced their non-centralized positioning. Ana felt the woman’s change in her stance and took advantage of it: she leaned to her left side just enough to stay upright, placed her left hand upon Penelope’s right shoulder (for both their sakes), and used her right to explore the woman’s body as it was. Her fingers traced from the outside of her shoulder, and bent it underneath her left triceps area to where she could feel the smooth of her shoulder blade. They continued discovering, roaming themselves down to her side and without hesitation, cupped and groped the woman’s left breast through her top. The grab caught Penelope by partial surprise, but felt more exciting and inviting than startling. She “lifted” her upper body a hint upwards, giving a bit more access to her chest than she originally would have felt necessary.

They continued embracing and feeling each other out for a few moments, Ana eventually sitting herself back on to the bed, scooching backwards enough to where her legs wouldn’t be dangling off the bed with that odd, discomforting signal in her brain. Penelope followed the girl’s motions, laying herself on top of the youth, almost pondering not so much what she was actually doing versus what she was going. Even in that particular moment, she didn’t care so much for that self-conversation as much as realizing she was on top of this young lady doing as they were, not forcing her up and out the bedroom, insisting she left her home almost immediately as if swearing her to secrecy.

Perhaps a little too late for that right now, she thought. On that note, she lowered herself accordingly, being careful not to exert too much pressure on the girl nor her body, noting how her own was pressing against her in an unusual fashion, even for her tastes.

Still, she went with it.

Smooch. Mm. Swap. Their hands and arms continued grazing up and down each other’s, simultaneously going from there to their faces and interlocking their fingers between the other’s hair; finally, back down to their chests…all in continuous motions. A few moments passed. Their bodies intertwining and shifting on the comforter. The sheet began showing crinkles of their foreplay-leveled PDA.

As if reading one another’s minds and feeling like the 20-year-old versions of themselves, Ana spoke first. “Whew. Wow,” she cooed to the older woman. “You feeling alright?” Mrs. Santoro nodded her head: “Yes, dear. I am feeling alright. This may just be more ‘new’ stuff for me. That’s all,” she continued, “I’m assuming you’re good?”

“Oh yes,” Ana said. “I bet you can tell, can’t you?” Mrs. Santoro gave a smirk of a smile, understanding the younger woman. “And, actually, I was thinking�"”

“�"I think I know what you’re going to say,” the hostess responded. “You want more, yes?” “Yes ma’am, I do,” Ana said. “What about you?”

“That sounds okay to me,” Mrs. S replied. Almost not believing the words that were about to come out her mouth, she had to face her own honesty: “I don’t think either of us is quite ready for this to be done yet…” She intentionally trailed off as she didn’t want to bother wholeheartedly admitting to anything she wasn’t ready to come to terms with just yet. “No, I don’t think we are,” Ana replied. “Let’s just take it nice and slow, shall we?”

“That sounds fine,” Mrs. Santoro said. The exact moment those words finished, Ana began moving upwards, propped herself up on her elbows; Mrs. Santoro noticed and eased back onto her cushioned legs, allowing the girl room to maneuver. Ana continued rising until she sat up completely, her legs laying out on the mattress on either side of the woman. “Here, let’s get up onto our knees. And face one another, shall we?” her eager, younger voice exclaiming with all the curiosity in the world. “Okay, yes. Let’s…” Mrs. Santoro replied, following the girls lead.

They shimmied themselves into the agreed-upon position, each with a some look in their eyes indicating they had an idea, a firm idea, of what was about to occur. Balancing themselves accordingly and facing one another, they first opened up one another’s arms, grabbing onto each other’s, for balance mostly. Without wanting nor having to ask, Ana began by reaching for the bottom of her blouse that she had loosened a bit just before getting into their current position. Latching onto the hem at the bottom, she pulled upwards and, with a slight tug around her head and hair, she lifted the blouse off herself with relatively little to no hassle. Both women looked relatively calm as they each still had on a blouse, tank, and underwear�"neither was like “OMG, this is definitely something else”; at least, not just yet.

 “Hold on just a moment,” Mrs. Santoro mentioned. “Why? What’s going on?” Ana said, eager curiosity lingering in her expression.

“You’ll see,” Mrs. S responded, walking over to her little CD boom-box player. She inserted a soft, piano-themed disc on the spinner and hit Play (), then “Repeat All” as she didn’t know how long they’d be nor how long it’d play for. A moment later, light sounds resembling the London Symphony Orchestra producing their rendition of a Beethoven masterpiece erupted within her walls. “Less silence with us in here?” Ana asked her. “Yes, something like that. I hope you don’t mind,” Mrs. Santoro stated. Ana laughed just a bit: “No, Mrs. S. No I don’t mind. I mean I’m more used to my stuff�"hip-hop and rap and all. But this sounds fine. It’s cool,” the girl replied. “Okay, thanks,” Penelope replied. “Eh…so?” she continued, obviously not sure whether to state or ask what they wanted next, but stepping back towards the mattress, her young companion eagerly awaiting her presence once more.

“I think this is what you were about to hint at…” Ana replied, coolly continuing wherever they were, holding her arms out to bring her up alongside her.

They both got on their knees again, balancing themselves how they could manage. Not needing the older woman’s permission, Ana reached for the bottom of her tank and pulled it up and over her head in the smoothest and quickest of motions. Penelope didn’t want her to feel out-of-sync or anything so, with as much certainty as she could muster, she let her hands reach for the bottom of her blouse as well. Gripping it in her clenched fingers, she began pulling up, slowly but steadily. Ana’s eyes remained fixed on the woman’s delicately well-kept exposed skin as the material continued going north, the inches piling up, even after they went up-and-over her mounted cups and trickled through her face and interwoven hair. Penelope pulled the fabric off her arms then, in her typically necessitated fashion, did the best, modest, job at putting the attire into a folded bit before she tossed it over to the dresser area with caution. Perhaps into other situations she may not have been so delicately mindful about her clothing. This time, however, she had a moment and wanted to maintain her wardrobe pieces as much as she felt she could; besides, Ana didn’t seem to mind.

They were both in only their bras and bottoms when Ana reached her right hand down to the hips and crotch area of her lady friend, pressing only enough to where she could feel the outlined area of what she was reaching for. She placed her other hand on the woman’s shoulder and chest areas alike, balancing between positioning and feeling Mrs. Santoro’s soft skin that didn’t see too much of the outside world other than when it was being cleansed daily. Likewise, Mrs. Santoro’s hands pressed themselves against the girls’ smaller, but still developed and ample, chest, occasionally feeling the top, barely-exposed portion of the baseball-like mounds that arose beneath the styled garment and the rest of the girls’ soft flesh cascading to her jean shorts and below. It was as if that first night and little spot in the woods on their trail walk were but preludes to this little go. Her left arm went for and held onto the girls’ right hip area, lightly squeezing whatever amount of open body she could in her curious hand; the other arm and hand found their ways over the zipper and buttoned area of the jean shorts. Initially feeling what the material was designed like and the small terrain, her hand then scooted itself to the top of the buttoned hem stitching, fumbling its way inside the thick material…if only briefly.

With both women happily and simultaneously exploring one another as they could, Ana figured making things easier with “quicker” access was a simple enough gesture and move to make.

She immediately retracted herself a hint. Pulling her arms free of the older woman’s body, she dropped her knees onto the mattress and flung her legs forward, sitting on top of the cover. Her hands and fingers immediately went for the button-and-zipper. Noticing and feeling inclined to assist, Mrs. Santoro reached for the small, cutoff pant part of her shorts as Ana was finishing undoing the zipper, lifting her hips and pushing them downwards. Before she realized what was happening, her eyes gazed upon Ana in nothing but her bra and panties, a matching purple and green-lined set with some floral lacing sewn into the outside borders of the waistline and top of her cups. Interesting choice and design, Mrs. Santoro thought, not sure what kind of look to expect from her younger generational guest.

No sooner had she been stripped down to her underwear did Ana maneuver herself again to the lady. “Here, Mrs. S,” she said calmly and directly, a charming smile of sorts creasing across her mouth. “Let me help you.” In other words, she was saying, it’s your turn now. Mrs. Santoro shifted herself some after she gripped the top of her cotton-sewn skirt only about an inch or two down, exposing the top of her panties line. Ana’s suggestion was there, she sensed, as a compassionate gesture, knowing she had to trust herself to completely remove the lower half of her wardrobe coverings…at least that particular layer. “Thanks,” Mrs. Santoro mumbled, as she felt the girl’s hands reaching alongside her own, scooting the garment downwards even more so.

Simultaneously shifting her position as Ana had done, Mrs. Santoro nestled herself�"removing her almost-dress-length skirt was easiest to do in a sitting position as she was. A slide motioning sound could be heard as the material left her body without much difficulty, once she had lifted her hips just enough to where Ana could help her wiggle out of it. Ana noticed what Mrs. Santoro did earlier, going about folding and maintaining the clothing almost like it was her own. “Figured you’d do the same thing for this one,” Ana remarked when Mrs. Santoro gave her an understanding nod. Tossing the piece near where her top found itself, Ana’s gaze went back to the lady. And met Mrs. Santoro’s, looking back at her with a look she hadn’t seen before.

We’ve never seen each other like this, exactly, their eyes were saying to one another. And it didn’t take long to realize, accept and come to terms with another odd factoid: they were becoming something of lovers, one could argue. Had they not known each other for as long as they had nor in the manner of the hostess’ daughter being their mutual connection and whatnot, anyone might have called them other things. Nevertheless.

Ana looked at Penelope in a bit of awe, wondering how the grown woman had kept such a relatively good figure over the years. Her body seemed well-proportioned, with her hips pronouncing themselves just enough to want to be held and enjoyed; her belly framed evenly between her full chest and sculpted legs. She looked like something a consumer and regular subscriber of fashion magazines and fashionistas in that world of physical appearance and statements alike would take a good look before deciding how best to approach the subject in the publications’ professional line of work, all things considered. Ana, for now, just looked and approached her as she was: a woman in her teal blue bra with pink trim framing the edges and matching pink panties with the same blue-toned trim down below. “Wow,” she said to her lady-lover friend. “What?” Penelope responded, blushing slightly. “You’re surprised to see me like this?”

“No�"no, it’s not that,” Ana replied. “It’s not that at all. I was just responding to my eyes’ taking in your figure. That’s all. I mean, you know Mrs. S, it’s not every day I’m looking at a grown woman in her bed in her underwear in front of me like this…much less one I know on a more personal basis.”

“Oh,” Penelope replied. “I hope that means you’re OK with this then? I just don’t know whether what you said is a good thing or bad thing or what? Sorry. It’s just that I’m not the best at interpreting girl talk like that, or flirty lines, or whatever you call them nowadays.”

“I totally okay with this, Mrs. S,” Ana replied. “Here, let me show you…”

She approached her grown woman-lover with all the eagerness she felt stirring inside her. It reminded her of the excitement she’d felt here and there in past circumstances when her intimate, private world came to life. This was different, though; this was Mrs. S in front of her.

Mrs. Santoro acknowledged her approaching figure. She reached her arms up and slid them over the girls’ shoulders. The moment their bodies merged onto one another, the immediate feeling of soft and smooth skin took over their senses. And, even in their underwear still, their bodies meshed together however their garments held themselves together�"chests pressed together, hair flowing to either ones’ sides, interlocking how they would. It was a heightened moment indeed; like before in her room at the Grove, only this time it felt more assured. More certain. Like Mrs. Santoro knew she wanted it more though she couldn’t quite find the words to express that underlying factoid.

Mm. Ooh. Ah’s. Swap. Smack. Their intertwining mouths filled the sounds of the room where the music did not, becoming the second and more important soundtrack. For both Ana and Mrs. Santoro, their mingling was all that seemed to matter: faces and lips curiously, passionately, discovering themselves with all the moisturizing sweetness to be had; hair covering the outside frame of their self-made picture; their bodies and warmth stirring themselves into a frenzy of natural sorts, and anatomies building up a level of sensation that could only be described as press-and-evoke into overdrive.

A few more swaps of their lips and Ana decided it was time for her to make a move or two. Well, her instincts and nerves decided for her. She would argue she was just listening to herself and liked where her response was taking her.

Ana retreated her mouth from Mrs. Santoro’s for a moment. Looking into the woman’s eyes, she saw as much wondered bewilderment as eager joy. It was certainly one of the strangest mixes of expression she’d seen on her friend’s face…well, ever, maybe. She continued her backwards movement only about a foot or so. As she did, Mrs. Santoro propped herself up on her elbows, not sure where exactly her lady friend was going nor what she was planning. A split moment later, she knew…as she noticed Ana tilt her head slightly to her right side. With a sly smile of sorts, Ana’s arms went behind her, in a forty-five degree position, knowing that could only mean one thing.

She saw Ana’s bra become a hint tighter on the girls’ chest, pressing inwards once or twice across the whole of the garment. Mrs. Santoro noticed the girls’ arm muscles tweaked some…another usual motion. After a moment passed, clip could unmistakably be heard from Ana’s back. Her straps came off her shoulders by about an inch or so. The whole piece became loose, and Ana’s hands positioned themselves to help ease the straps down and off her elbows. The next second saw the piece fall freely from the girls’ body altogether. Ana’s hands collected the garment in a steady fashion and focused her eyes to the dresser, tossing it with ease over to near where Mrs. Santoro’s clothing settled. As she brought her eyes back to the woman in front of her, Mrs. Santoro looked at her…from her waist up. All over, softball-sized breasts included. “You look nicely developed and all, Ana,” not quite believing she was given the girl that sort of compliment. “I mean, I didn’t quite expect to see such lightly-fair skin underneath what you usually wear and all�"not that I stare at you obsessively or anything�"with the darkened nips and everything. But they suit you,” she remarked. Her words sounded as amusing and honest as it was odd for her to even say them aloud�"she felt them warranted. Better to say something about them than sit there in odd silence, she thought to herself. “Why, thank you, Mrs. S,” Ana replied, also not completely sure how to take it, but receptive nonetheless. “I mean, I don’t know if my b***s are completely and totally grown in all the way or not, ya know? But, I like ‘em for what they are. They aren’t quite as big as yours, though, I must say.” Both ladies briefly glanced down at Mrs. Santoro’s chest, more validating her conversational, observational point than boasting the larger bust. “Well, let’s see, shall we?” Mrs. Santoro said calmly, as if taking the invitation to reveal herself from the waist up without too much unusual fuss.

With that, she did the same as Ana had. She tossed her head side-to-side so as to let her hair fall behind her shoulders. Arms reached back, same positioning and all. A brief moment later, another click-slide noise protruded from behind her. Same motions went into play as Ana. Her garment feel freely off her fair-skinned body, revealing her more fully-developed breasts as before, round enough mostly-inflated volleyballs that had been worn down by years of time, development, and use. And the darkened pink n*****s were perked and centered, as they could be expected. She folded her piece just as Ana had done and tossed it gracefully over by the dresser, so not to confuse them whenever “later” would occur, having leaned to her left to do so, her body proportioning itself accordingly. Ana saw where the garment fell to help identifying it later easier, yes, but also couldn’t help using her peripherals to take in the woman’s figure as she leaned. She noticed the lady’s body held well together, neither her grown breasts falling or sagging much as she leaned but rather stayed in their general shape nor her body revealing many layers throughout. Damn, quite the site indeed, the girl thought to herself, not allowing herself to stare too much but respecting their motions together.

The instance both ladies found themselves topless and together (again), they continued their lip exchanges. “Lay on me,” Ana whispered in a soft, inviting voice. “What…do you mean?” Penelope asked, puzzled. “Just what I said: lay on me, as if you were a grown man. You know, put yourself on me, even if we are both topless.”

“Are you sure�"?” Mrs. Santoro replied.

Avoiding the urge to roll her eyes any, Ana quickly responded: “�"absolutely. Trust me.” Saying no more, she leaned herself back a bit, putting her hands on the back of Mrs. Santoro’s shoulders, gesturing what she said; meaning what she said. Almost immediately and without any quips, she understood what the girl meant…and found herself calmly going along with it.

They both fell together into the mattress feeling more comforting than their situation had before. There was something about their bodies and the soft fabric engulfing them that overtook both their senses without hesitation. It really was something else, they both felt: having their exposed canvas and parts pressing together while being orally locked in an energetic entanglement. As their mouths continued their wet and slippery exploration of each other’s mouths, cheeks and the curve of their respective chins-to-necks, their hands explored whatever areas they could feel. One ladies’ fingers held onto the warm neck and the curtain of her flowing, blondish locks while her other hand explored the woman’s lower back, feeling the slight crescent of her arch down towards the hem of her panties and over the silky, smooth layer covering her soft, plush cheek.

The other ladies’ hands conducted their own adventures as they had in recent past, in a certain similar room down at the Grove, where another life seemed to have returned without her active knowledge. Mrs. Santoro left hand and arm were busy combing through and along the girls’ plush face and smooth, dark locks that gave the mattress a fruit-scented, seascape-like scent all but reminding her of the refreshing vibes the nearby oceanic waters were known for providing. Her right hand, for that matter, was busy crawling their way along Ana’s skin. Its fingers were most interested in finding out what it was to hold a young woman’s breast in her hand and what she most reacted to, come to that. Penelope’s fingers found out quickly of the sensations and reactions the power that touch could emit from a woman a generation younger and energy it was capable of, as Ana let out a slight ooh and ah when grasped in her chest area, her senses telling her the grown woman had groped and tugged at her left breast just enough to have stirred sensations throughout her body doing so. Her fingers did not end there, though. They also went curiously south; while Ana was happily busy fumbling her way across the top of Mrs. Santoro’s cheeks, Penelope’s hand was discovering, perhaps again, the excitement she evoked when placing her own hand along the top brim of the girls’ panties, even teasing her a bit by grazing her nails along the top of the feline’s crotch. The move was something neither she was expecting to make nor the girl was ready to encounter; but, it happened. And they were feeling the effects.

Both ladies fumbled and felt their ways around the others’ most private areas for what seemed like moments upon moments. Their energies flowed like an unusually strong current in the unforeseen river neither expected to glide along, with some of the best, freshest and most comforting waters either had ever felt upon their skin. However, the glistening spots on their upper bodies indicted they were happily swimming, stroking and riding their waves and currents as best their bodies knew how. “Mm, Mrs. S,” Ana gasped where she could. Their breathing had intensified. “Ugh, yes, Ana?” Mrs. Santoro mustered in reply. “Oh, it’s just�"you feel so�"warm and good. Never expected to feel what’s going on right now. Ooh�"” the girl muttered the words while their bodies continued coursing the river stream. “Neither�"swap, smack­­�"did I.” Mrs. Santoro said, knowing something else may brew between them, just unsure of what. “Here, I think I know what we might need next,” she continued saying in their inaudible exchanges. “Oh? And what is that?” Mm. Ooh. Smack.

Mrs. Santoro pulled away from the young woman in her bed. Without so much saying a word, she flipped her hair back behind her ears and shoulders. Her hands went straight for the hem of her panties that were now a bit rummaged and dampened from the grinding. “Ooh�"I see,” Ana remarked, understanding with her own, exquisite sly smirk. “You sure you’re OK with this, Mrs. S?” Her question was of sheer politeness, they both knew. In no way did she want to make her hostess any more uncomfortable than she may already have been. “Yes, I’m sure, Ana,” she replied. “We’re both women here. This may be quite unusual, I’ll admit, for both of us to be doing. But to be honest with you, dear-y, I’m exciting about how this feels. Aren’t you?” Ana didn’t have to respond; she knew that last little question-spiel was more rhetorical than anything actual. She joined Penelope by lifting herself up as her lady-lover had done. By the time Ana even pondered asking her if she needed or wanted a moment before making her little move (as grand as it may have felt to her), Mrs. Santoro had already made her move as if it wasn’t something to question. Ana figured they were grown adults, hell grown women at that, and didn’t exactly need the others’ approval for attire and wardrobe choices they each made. Before either knew it, Mrs. Santoro’s hands gripped her panties and had slid them down to right around her thighs, which was about as far as her arms could reach without overstretching. In the same instance, Ana had done the same with hers�"her own garment making its way down her thighs and legs to the point past her knees, wherein she had to maneuver herself around to remove them completely. It wasn’t as difficult nor complicated as it seemed. She tossed them over to the pile of clothing like the others. Mrs. Santoro, however, was just repositioning herself when Ana had gone completely nude in front of her. With another outreaching motion of her hands and arms, she grabbed the piece in one hand altogether and removed them off herself. Attempting to organize them somehow, she folded them how she knew and tossed them in a safeguarded motion to her pile atop the others. It landed about an inch off of where she intended. “Nice throw, Mrs. S,” Ana remarked, genuinely surprised that the women had such, particular, skill. “Oh, thanks, Ana. It was nothing, I suppose. Just a lucky toss, perhaps,” Mrs. Santoro replied.

They turned to look at one another, their adrenaline’s now in a full-swing excitement of peculiarity. It wasn’t a bad excitement; just a different and altogether new sensation flowing through both of them.

And it was written all over both their expressions.

They immediately went back to where they were, holding one another in a mutually warm embrace. For a moment they remained interlocked, arms each woven around the other, bodies pressing fully against one another. The warmth flowed evenly; they both felt it, somehow. Someway. And they weakened as they felt a sort of lingering plunge about to take them both sideways into the cushioning cover awaiting them.

And plunge they did. With Mrs. Santoro taking the bulk of the fall, they nestled down together, comfortably and with a gentleness as they told themselves, we’re enjoying this. And we’re doing this. They continued swapping mouths and tongues, taking in the warmth of each other’s oral sensations how their bodies would as they exchanges lasted a bit longer. Their newfound situational circumstance, feeling much different than before at Ashton Grove yet much more heightened than the Grove, provided all the fuel for Ana’s curiosity she needed. Foregoing the politeness, she began working her way down. Mm, swap, smooch, smooch, smack, she went from Mrs. Santoro’s lips to her cheeks and on to her chin and neckline areas. The little range of her anatomy between the warmth above and all that was below begged at the invitation for some oral generosity�"Ana was happy to provide it. She wondered at the reactions that would linger and arise. Ooh. Ah. Eh. She heard and felt Mrs. Santoro’s body squirm just a bit. Okay, a sensitive area for the woman, she thought, mentally noting it how she could.

She continued her trail downwards. Physically referencing whatever she could recall from that ordeal at Ashton, she commanded her lips to follow a certain trail. Mm, swap, smooch, smooch, and smack…went her lips as they traveled from Mrs. Santoro’s collarbones and sternum to the soft and inviting canvas between her full mounds. She spent a few moments lingered at the peaks of the two little hills arising between the grown woman’s abdominals and her noted neckline�"kissing, sucking, softly pulling and tugging at what Mrs. Santoro possessed in her breasts. Apart from the inaudible noises coming from whatever music filled the room otherwise, only Mrs. Santoro’s (moaning) ooh’s and ah’s and ugh’s could be distinguishably heard between them. Where in the world, Penelope thought, did this girl learn how to do all that, as Ana’s lips and mouth continued to play around on her breasts. She had not felt these types of sensations in…well…at that exact moment she couldn’t quite recall the last time; they were bringing back the oddest of moments in her mind and her body’s mind.

But she was reasonably enjoying the there-and-then, yes. Her body admitted that to herself.

No sooner had her internal, misplaced and rapid-fired, déjà vu-like encounter arrived did she feel Ana continued sliding her way down. Penelope’s face tilted this-way-and-that to see what all the lioness was doing. Her view gave way to Ana’s head bouncing just above and around her torso and belly area, feeling the girls’ body lying in between her legs. This was definitely uncharted territory for her. But Penelope felt something unusually surreal about the ordeal of the moment�"wonder: of all that could be and that had not been.

Which is why when she felt Ana reaching closer and closer to her belly button, her body told her the girl had slowed. Perhaps savoring the moment, perhaps giving her lover something she felt she hadn’t experienced before or gave the demeanor she hadn’t, Ana almost deliberately came to a halt: “Want me to stop?” Her voice was as curious as she was eager for whatever response she was going to get. A sigh or two border lining a slight moan escaped Mrs. Santoro’s mouth: “…no. No, you’re okay. Please…keep going. Whatever you’re doing,” she mumbled in reply. “Alright,” Ana whispered, just loud enough so Penelope could hear her but not loud enough to where it was an auditory distraction breaking the vibes. And on that note, Ana proceeded to drag her mouth downwards even more so. No more than an inch or two may have passed in her movement than Ana’s face found itself in between Mrs. Santoro’s legs, looking at the bald and smooth outer gates to her warmth in between. The rolled layers already showed some glistening streaks and puffed skin. Her left hand placed itself just above the right side of Mrs. Santoro’s hip, for balance. Her other took the liberty of physically exploring and discovering all the physical sensations in the most inner and covered part of the grown woman she’d only ever seen in semi-formal attire most times, excluding their spontaneous encounter of recent past. The exploring brought about some jolts of bodily reactions, definite yet blended sounds of ooh and ah, recurring as her fingers continued circulating between the moist outer lips and the damp inner folds. Ana took her index and middle fingers into a pointed stance and felt inclined to proceed. She slowly but surely inserted them into the grown woman’s wetness and warmth. They were no more than a half-inch inside when she heard a pronounced moan, or two, protrude from Mrs. Santoro’s upper half & mouth�"and the slight arch of her body indicated Ana had indeed ventured into an long-unexplored and almost all-but-forgotten part of her hostess inner world. A realm, she felt, not even Mrs. Santoro was sure even existed anymore.

Nevertheless, the venture commenced. Sensing her reactions, Ana continued her in-and-out motions with mindful caution so as to not overdue any physical comforts or discomforts. “You’re liking this, I gather, Mrs. S?” Ana cooed to the woman. “Oh�"eh�"yes, dear. It’s�"ugh�"different. But feels fine. Feels…great, actually,” Mrs. Santoro replied.

“I can stop if you’d like?” Ana continued, coolly but for confirmation.

“No, eh, don’t,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “It’s okay. You’re fine. Keep�"going,” she said, muttering the words as if trying to find out what to say versus how to actually say them. It was the most unusual “skill” for her to have to recall, in an odd way, her mind doubling-down just to think.

“Okay then,” Ana replied, a cheeky smile forming from the corners of her mouth, carrying throughout her expression. She figured since she’d gone this far she’d at least give her next little move or two a try, considering how open she felt her lady-lover was responding to these unknown, new discoveries.

The removal of her fingers was brief and deliberate. So simultaneous, too, was Ana’s repositioning that Mrs. Santoro didn’t seem to notice the brief “pause” that was fingers roaming down there and what she believed she felt next..

Ana’s head found its way between Mrs. Santoro’s legs again. Only, this time, her hands weren’t doing the action. A whimpering sigh and ah could be heard coming from Penelope’s mouth, as deep breathing and waves of newfound sensations flowed throughout her body. The unmistakable feeling of a tongue sliding and grazing all along, around and parting its way into her warm hole took hold of almost all of Penelope’s senses, except for where she could feel her own breathe leaving her gasping mouth and cool air entering her lungs, fueling the passions brewing within her. As the feeling of a tongue kept rolling around her crotch, Mrs. Santoro’s hands and arms grappled somewhere between feeling and caressing different areas of herself, from the waist up, and clutching whatever folds of the mattress her fingers could muster in their soft grip. Then, when the feelings overrode her senses in second-and-two spurts, her hands shot themselves over to Ana’s dark locks, bracing herself for pleasures building within. A handful of slurp, lick, swap, and smooch noises were all she could hear beyond the musical aroma, now a faint backdrop. Lifting her head enough to glance down, her view only brought the site of a young woman’s face more or less planted right where she never would have envisioned it otherwise; it was absolutely a new sight to behold. And, as much as bewilderment took hold of her eyes and expression and something lurking within her said, just take in the sight…just let it be, the same mind that allowed Mrs. Santoro to behold the sight between her legs also nudged her: in any other circumstance, this would probably never be.

Not fully sure which side of herself to comply with most, Penelope leaned her head back, closing her eyes halfway and fully as they allowed themselves. She wanted the brewing, budding feeling going on below her waist and pronouncing her chest more than had been in recent memory to grow as it would. She didn’t exactly know why, at that moment, she did. Perhaps the desire just spoke to her, her conscious reflected to her in the midst of what was taking place simultaneously down below.

And grow it did. Ugh, ugh, ooh, ooh, ah. Ah! Ah! Ahhhh!! The noises flowed and erupted from Mrs. Santoro’s mouth, her muscles tensing upon themselves. “Oh Ana! It’s coming. I’m going to cummmmm!!!!....” Mrs. Santoro shouted, ceasing to care how much noise she was producing nor anything else at that precise moment. Ana felt the lingering eruptions and clamped her face down on the warmth as best she could. Mrs. Santoro’s warm heaven proceeded to churn out warm liquid in even, quick flows, as if given permission to shoot out from some lost place eons ago. Her muscles rocked her insides�"funneling from her shoulders down through her midsection to the tips of her feet and toes, most notably shaking in her thighs.

Both ladies lay silent for a moment as Mrs. Santoro’s body continued to shake, eventually coming to a lowered, almost quivering pace. Her explosion soon began to pass; her body finishing releasing what it needed. Penelope did all she knew how: laid there in her own resolve. Her right arm halfway lingered somewhere between Ana’s head of dampened hair and her right thigh. Her left arm was comforting itself around her head, its fingers lightly touching her forehead, the pulse inside her ringing through both areas as her senses began gathering some semblance of rational thinking.

The subsiding energy flow passed its course through Mrs. Santoro. Ana sensed it and, having removed her face from its “locked” position, gathered herself together and moved upwards, planting soft-tracing kisses along the woman’s body. No more than a handful of smooches later, both ladies found themselves looking into one another’s eyes again. Nothing was said, initially. They both knew they’d gone somewhere neither could fully return from: making love together was both completely unexpected and a completely wonderful thing. And everything in their mutual expressions said all that without saying anything at all. “That was�"” Mrs. Santoro began whispering, not sure what exactly to say. “�"Yes. Yes, it was,” Ana replied. “I am fully guessing, assuming even, you enjoyed that?” Her words were deliberately spun into a question, knowing what they did was an area of her life she had never experienced with a woman, let alone one she knew to a certain extent, and was literally quite sure her partnering friend had not either.

“I did,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “Very much so.” She chuckled, briefly, “You couldn’t tell?” Ana understood and giggled back: “Well, yes, Mrs. S. Of course I could. You were moaning and getting so into it, it was hard not to, you know?”

“But, really, that was…amazing. And different. Quite different.” She paused, briefly, a pondering look taking over her entire expression. “Come to think, it was quite…something else, actually; unlike anything I think I’ve done before in my life. Like ever.” Not wanting to confuse herself any more than her words might have, she said that just to have it off her chest and her mind.

“Is that a good thing? Or not so good?” Ana said. “I’m sorry if that sounded weird to ask. I just wasn’t sure how to interpret that huge, life reflection you just imposed upon yourself. I hope I didn’t make you regret anything.” Now she was the one with a brief, pondering look crawling over her face. Oh dear, Mrs. Santoro thought to herself, I don’t want her feeling bad for herself for what she did. “No, no, dear,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “It’s a good thing. It’s just�"well. If I can be honest with you, I was great in a whole different way than I’ve experienced things in my life. Trust me, I didn’t feel anything ‘not so good’ in the last little while.”

“Okay,” Ana said. “I believe you. I mean, after all, you’ve never had a reason or need to not be honest and open about yourself when I’ve been around here and all, you know?”

Interesting as her point was, and a decently good one it was at that, Penelope realized the girl was right, regardless of what just happened. And she felt no lingering, threatening sense of shame in that, strangely enough.

“True, Ana,” she replied, nodding her head. “I haven’t, have I?” A half-moment passed when Mrs. Santoro’s eyes caught hold of something. “By the way,” she continued.

“-Yes?”

“Surely you can’t leave here with me showing something of proper manners, yes?” Mrs. Santoro began again.

Ana looked at her face, her eyes searching for what she felt she meant but needed to hear to confirm. “Meaning?”

“I think you know�"” Mrs. Santoro remarked, producing a half-witted smile.

“�"Oh. Yes, I suppose I do,” Ana said. “What do you need me�"” she began before her hostess cut her off. “�"just lay down…”

Those words barely lingered before Ana understood the full hint of their verbal exchange. She propped herself up from on top of Mrs. Santoro, letting her arms scooch herself into an elevated position as Penelope shimmied herself up on her elbows as well, continuing to sit up even then. It was a mutually understood sequence of movements that had the ladies switching positions as simply and straightforward as they could, without too much physical hassle roaming between.

Like the changing of groceries from back of the car to the inside of the house and onto a counter of some sort, their positioning swap saw Ana get situated how she chose�"on her back, legs parted just enough to allow the grown woman to join her how she would. Mrs. Santoro saw her positioning and situated herself accordingly, inside the parting, framed legs “welcoming” her. She made what attempts she could to nestle herself on top of the young girl without pressing too much. And, as before, both felt the comforting, soothing sensation of dampened skin caressing and absorbing against the others’. Despite not having a lifetime of experience in this aspect of their respective lives, the ladies looked at one another acknowledging how tantalizingly neurotic their meshing was. “Are you comfortable? Or, at least, comfortable enough?” she asked her young lioness. “Yes, Mrs. S,” Ana cooed back to her. “I’m comfy. Are you?”

“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “I believe so. Feels enticing in a way, actually.” Both women laughed while closing in on each other’s mouths…again. This time, it collectively was more focused; a more prolonged mwah and mmm collective demo of audible sound arose from both of them as Mrs. Santoro lowered herself onto her younger counterpart. The mattress cover crumbled a little; their arms and legs blended into the folding’s of layers the charcoal-grey, fleece blanket cushioning their bodies. It was a soft and smooth, partially liberating in fact, feeling for them both: laying them, enjoying the open feeling of each other’s skin massaging the others. And it was certainly something Mrs. Santoro wasn’t used to experiencing a whole lot, if ever actually�"not at her age nor in her bed. Without any further ado, Mrs. Santoro only really thought to extend all the same sorts of courtesies to Ana as the lady had for her.

She began planting kisses all around her face, lightly sucking and suctioning away at the girls’ face where she felt inclined. Now, being older had nothing to do with her abilities, per say, in this particular area of her life, Penelope would be the first to argue…to anyone who asked or questioned her. However, with this particular person, this young woman, in her clutches, all she could feel was to enjoy the moment for what it was and could be. There are no expectations here, Mrs. Santoro allowed herself to ponder, as her body lifted and lowered itself over the young ones’, her stomach and breasts pressing and releasing as her motions naturally allowed and incurred. Her moist lips and eager mouth traced themselves wherever there was exposed skin calling her name, begging to be caressed.

Penelope began by paying attention the girls’ breasts as Ana had to her. Smaller with more perk to them, they fit nicely into her mouth. She tugged and sucked on them for a few moments, enjoying the mounted flesh as she desired; not sensing major resistance. As odd it may have seemed to be doing as she was, whatever was stirring inside told her enjoying the moment was more worthwhile of her time and attention than ignoring those side voices nudging at her otherwise. As for Ana’s anatomy, her dark n*****s engulfed themselves within the dark areolas, standing out with prominence�"something she supposed was natural and could be expected given the girl’s age and whatnot. Or maybe she had a thing for her b***s being sucked and played with. Hard to say, she thought, and continued tracing her lips down the girls’ bod.

She soon came to her flat belly. Planting a smooch or two at least, she was mostly going for reactions than actual intimacy mingling’s of any kind. Like herself, Ana squirmed when her skin felt the caressing touch of Mrs. Santoro’s lips. She was able to handle it enough, sure. She just wasn’t quite accustomed to having a grown woman, even Mrs. S, kissing her body there in that fashion. But the sultry side of her feeling energized and satisfied by it was all for it; so, she didn’t bother giving a damn about creating a fuss. The woman’s good, Ana thought to herself, as each planting, suction-like lip-lock ventured farther down and down. Eventually, Mrs. Santoro had reached an area she, too, did not envision herself seeing…as in not at all, under any circumstances: “passport to heaven”. The defining feature, they might say, that made the young woman who she was and what she was.

Positioning herself easily between the two frames of toned muscle and walking devices before her, Mrs. Santoro’s mouth found the inclining, inner thighs her desires told her to begin exploring. She quickly flicked her hair this way, then that, ensuring it wouldn’t cause a mess nor obstruct her view. With the sway of her head and her partially-raised figure, her breasts swayed and bobbed in midair as she lowered herself completely. Ana noticed Mrs. Santoro’s physique motioning and engulfing upon itself, turning her insides on even more than they already were. Ah’s and ooh’s escaped her mouth, as sighs of relaxed and excited breathing filtered out of her system, creating more of a neurotic mood than was already set. Mrs. Santoro wasted no real time in planting her head about an inch or two above the wet, self and naturally-lubricated folded layers of pale brown and light pink, eager to greet her touch and enticement. Her mouth opened, enabling her tongue to creep into the land of excitement and opportunity as something new to slurp, swap, and lick away called.

“Yes, please, Mrs. S�"do it.” Ana squealed out, as the pleasures building within her were dying to know what having Mrs. Santoro lapping her up with unusually exhilarating. Rather than give a courteous verbal acknowledge as she would normally have done, Mrs. Santoro just let her mouth slide right over the girls’ folds. A hot and warm breathe of air ventured onto Ana’s vaginal opening and, with the slight parting of her folds using the tips of her fingers after her arms had already grasped onto Ana’s outer thighs, Mrs. Santoro plunged right in.

“Oh my Godddddd!!!” she yelped. It was unlike any other feeling she’d ever had before�"as in she didn’t even know how or what to compare it. “Yes!!!!!” Her voice let out in a jubilant exclamation. Her body felt a type of ecstasy that few other things her brain associated with said-feeling knew. And her eyes were feeling the joy of the woman’s tongue and mouth venturing and feeling were they would, all but closed and shooting their gaze up to the ceiling. Her body arched some and lowered as it could, reacting to the woman between her legs; her eyes shifted focus from the beige colors above to the mattress and blanket surrounding both of them down to the locks and bouncing motions of the head doing what the grown woman’s female instincts told her; and her hands simultaneously went from gripping Mrs. Santoro’s, as she jostled herself for positioning by holding on to the girls’ hips, to reaching for her perked breasts, enhancing her body’s feelings and experience how she could while in the moment.

Just before plunging into the narrow, grand place of heavenly arrival, Penelope’s eyes subtly glanced over to another part of the room.

4:34 p.m. Hence before she started, she knew lingering there too long would not have been in the utmost best interest. She didn’t know how long she’d be there�"of course you don’t know woman, she thought to herself before she even attempted to begin; more importantly, she was not willing to take any sort of risk of Ana staying later than she could afford before the afternoon turned late turned evening and the arrival of someone Penelope wasn’t exactly in the most welcoming of moods to see at the moment.

She continued her actions as she could allow herself.

Some time had passed as the sun told them it was getting later. After a bit more of the invigorating love-making afternoon they’d allowed themselves, Mrs. Santoro and Ana found themselves laying in each other’s arms, part for relief; part to adjust to what they knew would be happening regardless of their choosing or not. The music was carrying in the background the whole time; some fancy-sounding tune’s track was spinning. Mrs. Santoro didn’t recognize it immediately. But she also didn’t care. She cared more for what time the clock read: 6:21 p.m. She gave Ana a quick peck on her forehead.

“Ana?” she said to her.

“Yes, Mrs. S? What’s up?” Ana replied, her definite tone indicating she had an idea of what the lady was going to say before saying anything else.

“It is getting a little late,” Mrs. Santoro mentioned. “And as much as it’s been lovely having you were and all, yes, I wasn’t exactly planning on you being here for dinner. Plus�"”

“�"your husband is gonna be coming home in a little while, I gather? Jesse will be getting home soon. Yes?” Ana remarked. “Yes, dear. He will be. And I would really rather not make anything awkward nor terribly uncomfortable for neither him nor you if it doesn’t have to be. I mean, not that that would be a problem if you were here. It’s just, he wasn’t planning to come you with you here upon his arrival. He’d probably give me, and you, the weirdest of glances beyond figuring you’d come by for a quick visit or something.”

“No, I understand,” Ana said. She knew what she was getting at. “It would be an odd thing to explain without getting weird or giving odd impressions�"me being here and all.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Santoro followed. “Plus, there’d no need to go into an odd explanation with them about it. He’s busy this week and wouldn’t need the distraction is all. And, quite frankly, I’ll need to clean up so here so he doesn’t question why I might smell like sex or another woman or something.”

“Say no more, Mrs. S,” Ana said again. “I totally get it.” She laughed a bit: “You don’t have to justify yourself to me, you know. It’s like I may or may not have told you before: it’s not like I’m a stranger to you all’s family or anything. I’m sure he wouldn’t running me, no. But you’re right�"having to explain why I’ve been here without sounding false about it wouldn’t be the coolest thing to say.”

“Thanks,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “For understanding and all. Let’s both get a little cleaned up and I’ll show you out. And don’t worry�"Jesse told me this morning he probably wouldn’t be home until late-late, like after 10 or so.”

Ana nodded her head in understanding. And with that, she lifted herself off Mrs. Santoro’s mattress, went to gather her things as naked as she was, and headed to the bathroom for a quick minute. Shower off later.

As she did, Penelope sat on her bed, surrounded by the feelings and interactions. It was a sublime and unique feeling of sorts, a sensation like few others had given her. As Ana got herself together, Penelope did the same, striding over to her pile, still neatly arranged. It took them a few moments to clothe themselves and get resituated to interact with their world and environmental surroundings again.

Click, twist, lunge went the bathroom door. Out popped Ana, modestly but suitably arranged in her wardrobe as when she first entered. She’d also taken a moment or two to brush up her face, so even the concierge guy or whomever was downstairs wouldn’t glance at her and wonder what the�"happened to you, causing more unnecessary questions to eventually float Mrs. Santoro’s way than needed. Mrs. Santoro was just finishing putting herself together again. If she had to change further or shower altogether, she could do so upon the girls’ departure.

“You look nice again, as always, Mrs. S,” Ana remarked.

Mrs. Santoro felt the slightest of blushes begin to trickle up. “Thank you, Ana. You always were kind enough to notice and say something,” she replied. “Ready?”

“Yes ma’am, I am.”

“Great. I’ll walk you to the door. Shall we?”

“Yes, we shall,” Ana responded.

They’d arrived at the locks and hugged tightly, their bodies pressing together, even allowing themselves a quick peck on their cheeks. “Eh�"Mrs. S?” Ana began. She took a quick breathe before responding: “Yes, Ana. I think I know what you’re going to say. I’m guessing you’re wondering if and…or…when we may be able to do all this again�"yes?”

“Yes. That’s pretty much it.” Ana’s reply was as definite as could be, regardless of whether she could have been considered her younger lover or not. “What do you think? I mean, I know we have our enjoyable and hot time together. But do you see this�"you know, you and me�"being able to continue all this? This has been our second time after all, you know.”

“Fair questions and fair points,” Mrs. Santoro acknowledged. She noticed Ana slouch on to her right shoulder, leaning against the wall, figuring this would take a good minute or so. “Much of me wants to Ana. Yes. I have enjoyed my time with you, surprising as it’s been. But you and I both know that there is a lot of me that, technically, already has a life of my own�"Jesse and family and all. Part of me says that I need some time to think about this before I make any sort of decision about me, you and me, or anything close to an ultimatum.” She then noticed how Ana shifted her weight slightly, her eyes barely shifting away from her own, to what appeared to be her shoulders and the ground and back in quick, successive session.

“I hope that’s understandable,” she continued, her calm and straightforward tone indicating her delivery was as complete as it would get for there-and-then. It wasn’t a rejection. But it wasn’t a hopeful promise, either. It was simply a few statements of facts, actualities which had to be recognized and addressed before longer, “potential” questions could be answered, let alone realized.

“No, it is,” Ana replied. “Actually, it’s…very…understandable. Really, Mrs. S, I’ve known and been around you all enough to get all of what you’re saying. It’s cool. You got to do ‘you’ first and all that before mingling more with others, right?”

“Right,” Mrs. Santoro replied.

“Just promise me you’ll at least think about what I said and today, for what it was and whatnot. Cool?” Ana’s request was as fair as it was a simple and direct one. That’s what Mrs. Santoro could appreciate about the girl. “Yes, of course. I’ll think about it and follow up with you. Deal,” she said in reply, pleasantly assured of how their exchanges ended and how it promised much without guaranteeing anything. It was something she could live with. They both could. And their expressions both recognized it as well, as indicated through their mutual smiles & grins.

“Well, Mrs. S,” Ana continued. “I’ll be seeing you later, whenever I do.”

“Yes, Ana dearest,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “Sounds good. And, knowing how you and your gal pals are, it may be sooner than later, as you’re well aware.”

They chuckled and hugged again, softly and comfortably. On that note, Penelope pulled the door open for her young lady-friend. Ana quickly moved through the door, looked over her left shoulder giving a partial goodbye wave to which Mr. Santoro gave one back, along with a nod of her head, and headed for the elevator. No later had she pressed the button did she hear the door close fully down the hall. As she got inside, assurance accompanied her excitement as she felt relief from within her body, her nerves calming themselves as the waves of pleasure had begun to subdue themselves. A purposeful smirk of a smile found its way onto her face as the machine lowered itself. She let her thoughts drift, knowing the moments that just passed were hers and hers both. Regardless of what was to possibly to become of them both, Ana felt alive and happy, about not just being a grown woman continuously growing into her own, but as an adult finding her way in what ways she knew and felt right for her.

Upstairs, a similar aftermath was transpiring. Penelope had already begun to wash and clean the sheets. She understood at least one thing from cleaning many times prior: the longer one lets the odors and funks lay dormant on any particular surface, the longer those smells would undoubtedly follow their masters. In this case, herself and the particular smell of sexual funk. And that was a smell not all too common within the Santoro household. And Penelope was taking no chances of her husband beginning to question her or things, knowing full well he’d been gone all day. The sheets rolled and folded in themselves like nothing. Oddly enough, she felt the transitional mode she’d created for herself was every bit as helpful as peculiar.

She knew Jesse would still be a while before arriving. She knew she could easily and smell completely brand new within a few moments. But she also knew that she was feeling indifferent about his return. And, to avoid any further unsettling feelings in that regard, she felt it best not to linger on that inner thought so much as the physical memory of what just occurred. It was a happy sort of moment, albeit highly unusual for her. A group of moments, come to that. And those happy thoughts lingered while she carried on with herself. Preparing for moving forward even with Ana there was inevitable. Actually following through with it by living it out, though, was another matter. Penelope knew she’d had to come to terms with her inner world once the sheets were cleansed and reconfigured. The upcoming question was one she already knew was coming: was she ready to cleanse and reconfigure herself? She would know in due time. In due time.

 

Chapter 23

The TV light filled the living room as the clocks read 10:42 p.m. Some evening news programs and house interior decorating shows were the two preferred options Penelope went with following her 10 p.m. ritual of local news she’d learned to follow between English and Spanish broadcasts. It was always a mix-up between which version was the better.

What wasn’t a huge surprise was the noise she heard at the front door a moment later, just as the broadcast went to its irrelevant commercial. Her body jumped a bit. Penelope couldn’t quite tell if that hop was out of excitement or nervy oddness. Perhaps both, she concluded, as the sounds became more distinguished. Keys rattled. Clicking. Grinding. Clank. Sliding. Then, the door propped open. In walked Jesse.

“Hi love,” he said aloud. “It got late, as I told you it would.” He saw her approaching out of the corner of his eye as he entered with a bag in hand. She gave him a side hug and quick peck on his cheek. “Yes, you mentioned that,” Penelope mentioned in her reply. “You had a long day, I presume? You look a bit worn out and all.”

“Yeah, it was a busy-busy day. Lots going on,” he replied. “It was kind of you to stay up for me. You usually would have been asleep by now.”

“I was resting earlier, yes,” she said. “Almost feel asleep for the night when I got a little startled. It was late enough when I woke�"like 9-something. So I figured to just stay awake for a while until you arrived.”

“I was about to head to bed myself, actually,” Penelope continued.

“Oh,” Jesse said, his reply a little surprised, but noting her response well enough. “Okay. Well, I’m going to stay up and watch something while I nibble on my grub here. It’s not a huge meal or anything. Was just a bit hungry so�"” He looked at her in a funny way. “Are you okay? You seem a bit tired yourself.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just been a productive day. Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“Sure, that’s fine,” he replied, not quite sure where the illusive conversation was going. It didn’t quite matter at the moment; he was more focused on laying down and having some chow than any catch-up conversations about whatever it might be they’d discuss. “Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, yes? I don’t have to go in until around 10. I can be up early if that works just as well for you?” His tone sent a clear, albeit odd, message: he was done having a talk for tonight and wanted to be in his own little world.

“Yes, that works fine,” Penelope said. “Night dear. Hope you can get some rest.”

She went to her room and closed the door behind her. A few moments later, she heard the same noise coming from his area of the hallway. Not suspecting nor envisioning him being awake much longer, Penelope stood in front of her mirror and began undressing. She’d cleansed herself prior to her husband’s arrival, yes. This time, it was more for her own reflection, “her time”. She removed everything in a smooth fashion and looked at the reflection of the person in the mirror. Shifting her body side-to-side and turning once and twice in either direction, she wondered how she went from the woman who existed before that trip to Ashton Grove differed from the one looking back at her now. Everything about herself was remarkably similar�"hair to shoulders, arms at the sides of her belly, her hips and legs standing just as always had. Something was different, though. Something felt different, even as she took in the sight in front of her. Putting on the underwear she needed, she then put on her evening robe and covered herself in a comfy fashion. She propped her hair half behind her shoulders, with a clump lingering to the either side of her face.

The slightest thought crept up on her: part the robe and place a hand at a certain to see if the discoveries of late would linger or arise from within her, craving more attention.

However, the moment she placed her hands on her robe, they stalled. Not tonight. It just won’t be the same thing, she thought to herself. And on that note, she turned herself around, walked over to her mattress, slide the robe off and crawled herself into her canvas. The feeling was just a hint different than when she had “guests” on it with her, intimate encounters and otherwise. But, for now, it was just her and her thoughts.

She didn’t let them linger long, though. She was a bit drained from the day’s events, planned or unplanned. Her eyes closing upon themselves, the only thing Penelope could fathom upon herself was the one thing that mattered greatly: how in this world did she manage to go from the women she knew everyone knew her as to the one sleeping in the bed that night, the same one who’d done all she’d done in the last month or so of time?

And without causing too much psychological distress of self-questioning, her eyes roamed into a peaceful darkness, slumber taking over.

 

The next 3 weeks passed just “like that”, as if another little passage of time between one series of events and the next.

Things at the Santoro residence felt for a while as they had before the trip to Ashton Grove. Mostly, anyways.

Jesse continued going about his business as usual, taking Penelope on little outings here and there when they could�"fancy restaurants, mostly. The whole time, she appreciated his efforts though sensed there was something else driving him in doing so. In all the years she’d known him, let alone when their family started, it wasn’t in his typical nature to just go out of his way for his wife in such a manner. And Penelope has resumed her shifts and schedule at the Clinic, completing her rounds as her duties mandated. It was beginning to feel like her world was returning to how it once was; only, the longer it all went on, the funnier she felt about herself and the world she inhabited.

Even Jesse’s offerings seemed precariously “off” somehow.

She didn’t feel like questioning any of it, though. Why bother? She would ask herself, not feeling the need to question his motives for fear of some larger, weird conversation for which she wasn’t quite ready. She would also ask herself if something was missing or “off” in her own world. Feeling she already knew the answer, she couldn’t quite pinpoint what that “thing” was. Until one day, her phone lit up.

Noel Cell. She hit the green phone button. “Yes?”

Noel’s voice came through on the receiver: “Hey Mom, Richie is coming with me to the Whole Foods off of Montropolis. You know, the one right around the corner from where you and Dad are, like five blocks away or whatever? Anyway, did you want to come along with us? I didn’t know if there was anything you or Dad needed and thought to ask.”

She thought about it for a moment. “Mom?” Noel’s voice continued.

“Yes, I’m still here. Was just thinking about what we had in the kitchen…” she replied. “But yes, I’ll go ahead and meet you all. There are a few things we could use or need and now is a good time to go.”

“Okay, great,” Noel said. “Meet you there in, what�"30 minutes? An hour?”

“I can do 30 minutes, yes. See you there. Meet you near the front doors, just to make it easy, okay?” She heard an obliging OK. Then they both ended the call. And within no time, she had put on a semi-presentable blouse and skirt matching outfit with equally comforting sandals and headed out the door.

Somewhere in that vicinity of leaving her façade and arriving at grub central, Penelope figured there might some mutual chit-chat about their well-being and time since the Grove. Almost always was. Even so, she had every intent on keeping their outing as productive and worthwhile as needed. She had no intention of making the smallest and most subtle of remarks between her daughter’s significant other any bigger and more confounding than it could, and probably would, get.

Upon her arrival, she noticed both Noel and Richie arriving together just before she did. And from the looks of it, they were there to collect things themselves; not start awkward moments.

Whew, she thought, should be alright then. And she opened her door to greet them and go inside.

Noel and her mother hugged as they always did�"a quick grapple, but genuine. Mrs. Santoro saw Richie, said her hello to him. He responded back with a simple “hello, Mrs. Santoro,” as they proceeded with a quick side-hug of friendly acknowledgement. “It’s been a little while since Noel and I have seen you from the trip to Ashton…Grove, right? How’ve you been?”

His words lingered in the air. Her mind’s ear was trying to interpret his plain but honest tone while keeping in mind what she had to collect while attempting to block out the handful of eventful memories from Ashton. She almost went into a pure and altogether perplexed look when her words formulated for her: “Been fine, thanks. Just trying to readjust to being back around here since everything felt like it slowed to a peaceful balance while we were all out there. And you all?”

They both nodded “fine” and gave polite contributions before making their way into the building.

The next hour or so of their little seek-and-find escapades took each of them in and out of aisles, around turns and among piles of exquisitely-wrapped dairy and other specialty items.

At one point, as they went along their own routes, Richie passed by Penelope while searching near the coolers. She was looking at their handful of milk options, considering which one to get. “Hello there,” Richie said in passing. His preferred choice of dairy was the next cooler door over from her focused view. “Oh, hi Richie,” Penelope acknowledged him, maintaining some sense of focus on the selections. “Just looking over the options here. Things in this section can change so quickly sometimes, you know?” He simply nodded: “Yes, they can. Not just prices, but selection too.” His words must’ve caught her attention somehow, as her head perked up about an inch.

“Listen, we’re about to finish up. And, as lovely as you look now, I’m sure Noel and I will be planning on coming by soon enough. A visit and all, as you can probably gather. I figured she would have mentioned it to you by now, but just in case. Didn’t want you to be caught off guard or anything.”

“Oh,” Penelope said. “Well, she hadn’t. At least, not yet. Thanks for the heads up notice.” He looked at her, a different expression having morphed his look. “You’re welcome. And I’m sure you’re craving more from the visit…yes?”

She looked at him, a little surprised he’d bring their predicament up in such modest terms in such a public place. It was a hint startling, but also somewhat impressive, she had to admit. He is courageous and direct when he wants to be, I’ll give him that, she felt herself pondering.

“As a matter of fact, why yes,” Penelope said. “It has been on my mind as of late�"the whole visit. I guess whatever and all that happened while we were out there did a number on me. We can discuss it more another time, if that’s alright for right now?”

Richie nodded his head in an understanding agreement: “Yes, yes ma’am. Works perfectly well for me.”

“Anyways,” he continued, “Better get going. A few more things to find…and I’m sure Noel may be wondering how I’m coming along. We’ll see you soon, Mrs. Santoro.”

“Yes, be seeing you, Richie,” she replied. Her focus shifted back to the coolers for another moment before deciding which one to take home with her. Next thing she knew, her cart looked as complete as it needed to be, Richie was nowhere in sight, and the three of them all convened at the checkout lanes. Each proceeded as expected, paid, and checked out with bags piling together side-by-side.

“Well, Noel, when might I planning to see you next?” Penelope asked. “And Richie, too, if he wanted to join along with you?”

“Eh, let’s see…” Noel thought. “Today’s Tuesday. How about we plan something for Friday, dinnertime? Richie, you OK with that?”

“Let me think�"yeah. I’m OK with it. I don’t think I have anything else going on at that time.”

“Does that sound good with you, Mom? Maybe I can help you plan something?” Noel’s offer was as simple as it sounded.

“Sure, why don’t you all plan on being at the house around 8? And Noel, want to head over around, say, 6:30, 7, as you mentioned?” She nodded her simple approval. “Okay then. We’ll see you all then.”

“You’ll be by around 8 then�"?” Noel mentioned to Richie, just to confirm he understood the agreements. “Eh, yeah. Unless you want or need me there sooner. Should I bring something, wine or a beverage or anything?” He wasn’t sure why he offered as he did. But, he had.

“Nah, I think we’ll be good,” Noel replied. “We should be set. I know they have a few options in the Drinks department to cover all of us.”

“Okay, works for me,” Richie said.

And with that, they all departed. For a few days.

Friday came around.

Noel showed up at as she planned…six-thirty, give or take a bit. She helped her mother prepare the beef roast in its final stages as best she could. The smells in the kitchen and nearby air already filling their senses with an abundance of foodgasm, complete with the spices and meat tenderizing away. “Noel, can you help me prepare the mashed potatoes and gravy please? I’m just finishing up the touches on the corn fixings.”

“Sure Mom, no problem,” Noel responded. While they frolicked away among the pots and utensil tools, she couldn’t help but linger on some odd thoughts. “Hey Mom?”

“Yes, baby? What is it?” Penelope asked. “Did you enjoy being out at Ashton Grove? I figured you did and all. Just never really had the chance nor got around to asking you about it. Plus it’s been a little while since we’ve all returned and wasn’t sure how you were taking it all�"being back in the city, I mean.” Noel’s questions hinted at a different, maybe bigger, conversation than she felt they had adequate time for whilst preparing dinner.

That was, essentially, Penelope’s cue that something else may have been on her daughter’s mind. And, perhaps, she wasn’t sure how to go about saying it nor how to bring it up, other than a familiar incident from recent memory. Either way, she wasn’t quite in the mood to discuss it in the middle of their current business.

A shortened response will do just fine. “Yes my little dearest love,” Penelope said, making sure to stay focused on the preparations. “I enjoyed myself. As I’m sure you did too. And the girls and Richie as well. You all sure did a bit more while we were out there; I just presumed you all were having too good a time to want to head back early. I stayed around because I was enjoying see you all enjoying yourselves.” It was one of the most straightforward and plain responses she could give without bringing up everything else that occurred while she was out there with them. “Oh, okay,” Noel replied, not bothering to question her. “Just asking, is all. Normally I figured you would have said something by now. Oh, by the way, is Dad going to be here tonight? I hadn’t seen him.”

Her reply was quick, but simple: “He told me earlier he was going to catch a game or something with some of his buddies from work. He’d be in late. Something like…you know, I can’t even remember what teams or anything about it, to be honest with you. But yeah, he let me know.”

The conversation finished as soon as it began. Richie arrived a few moments later. They all enjoyed the meal, eating and the conversation…what was brought up at least. Before anyone really knew what, Noel glanced over at the clock: 9:49 p.m. She knew in a matter of minutes she might begin caving in, finding herself on a couch or one of the beds at her parents’ place. “Do you all mind if I call it a night? I have to be up early for work tomorrow and I wouldn’t want to impose on you or Dad, Mom.”

“But sweetheart, you could just stay on my bed with me,” Penelope replied, knowing that she might decline the offer, however convenient or polite it was. “Thanks Mom, but I’ll pass. I’d prefer just to be in my own bed than disrupt you or whatever you have going on tomorrow. I just feel it’s the better thing to do right now, is all.” Noel had a way of always being firm about her intentions, no matter if they were up for discussion or not. It was something Richie knew as well; he just had no intention of getting in a conversation that did not involve him. “You going to head out too, Rich?” His whim look practically gave his response, more to her tone and delivery than how he intended to reply. “Well yes, of course I’ll be heading out momentarily. Thought to ask if you all needed any help cleaning up first, though.”

“Very kind of you to offer, Richie,” Mrs. Santoro replied to him. “But I can handle everything. Don’t worry, I’ll tidy up.”

“Okay then,” he said, aloud so they could both hear him universally. “I’m just going to hit the restroom really quickly then be on my way.”

He went in and came out within moments, as he said. Noel did indeed appear drowsier by the moment; so much as Penelope didn’t completely understand her daughters’ thinking sometimes, she knew leaving would prove itself for her own benefit. She was just heading out the door when Richie walked up and gave her a quick hug�"his nonverbal “goodnight” to her as she was clearly in the mood to simply drive home and crash. “Need me to walk you down�"?” he called out to her in the hallway. “No, thanks though,” she replied, quietly but clearly. “I’ll be alright. Really.”

Richie and Penelope both stood at the doorway, marveling as to how the young woman they both had involvement with could be the way she was at times. Richie shook his head and let the moment pass. Turning, he looked at Penelope: “Thank you again, for the evening and meal,” he said, with gratitude and appreciation. “You’re welcome, dear Rich,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “Anytime you know�"dinner or gatherings both. You’re always welcome here.” He looked at her with intrigued curiosity. “Yes, I’ve gathered that,” he replied coolly, then took a half-step towards her to give her a reasonably warm side-hug, partly giving way to feeling part of her physique in the process. He then whispered: “In fact, I suspect you want me to maybe cover over again, soon?” His face was close enough to hers where they looked at one another, knowing the inside message being sent. She didn’t have to say anything. Her eyes said it for her. And his eyes noted her response.

“I’ll call you soon,” he continued saying. “Very soon.” He had his personals & valuables. “Alright,” he heard her soft reply. Thus, he half-smiled, switched his direction and walked into the hallway. It was getting late. No sooner did Penelope reach her kitchen did she put the dishes into a neat pile in the sink, added the soap and let some warm water flow. She stood for a moment, then pulled the faucet knob down. “�"let that soak until the morning,” she said to herself. Too tired tonight. I’ll be more productive about it in the morning, she finalized with herself.

She wrote a little note to Jesse by the fridge, where she knew he’d most likely come across it. “WILL DO DISHES IN MORNING. WENT TO BED. SEE YOU IN MORNING.” And without too much hassle, she went to her room to wash her face, change into sleepwear, and cozily tucked herself into her little haven, the simple enjoyment of dinner and all it entailed lingering in her mind.

 

Chapter 24

            Saturday midday rolled around. The dishes were cleaned, already put away and Penelope was back in her bed, resting herself away as Jesse had a business seminar of some sort he had to attend for the weekend out-of-town. “I’ll be back tomorrow evening,” he last told her just before he left the house earlier that morning. “It’s about a 2-hour drive up there and half the company is scheduled to attend before things get rolling. Management wants us all to stay overnight so we can get more ground covered in the two days at one gathering�"less conferences as we go on. That sort of thing.”

            She simply nodded her head and said she understood. She also knew there wasn’t much to discuss about it nor was it up for a constructive, argumentative conversation�"which saw itself end around 9:14 that morning or shortly after breakfast time, whenever that actually was. She at least knew Jesse enough to know he’d probably say what she would respond with, “It was what it was.” That had become something of their go-to line. And it was becoming an odd thing of sorts to keep saying.

            Nevertheless, resting off part of his getaway weekend was just one way she’d learned to deal with.

            She felt herself squirm and turned about in her sheets. She curiously gazed at her clock: 11:35 a.m. Yeah, it feels like 11:30 in the morning at this point, she thought, wondering how exactly it had happened that she was laying in her room on a weekend day by herself. Oh well, whatever.

            Just then, something else popped in her mind that made her glance towards her phone. She pressed a few buttons, navigating her way to her contact list, stopping after a certain point.

            The phone found its way to her ear in her hand. “Hello?” the voice rang on the other end.

“Hello, Richie?” Mrs. Santoro spoke.

He replied: “Penelope�"how are you? If this is about last night, at the door and all, I know I’d mentioned I’d call you but this seems a little soon. Everything okay?”

“How’d you know it was me calling?”

“Caller ID. Your name popped up on my screen,” he responded, calmly as could be.

“Ah. Yes. Right, of course,” Mrs. Santoro said. “Eh�"yes, though. Everything is okay. Well, sort of…”

“…Okay. What’s wrong?” Richie sensed by her changing of tone�"no, he knew something was up. Just wasn’t sure what.

“Not sure how to say it. Might be easier to explain face-to-face. You wouldn’t happen to be free today, would you?” Her question caught him by surprise.

“Eh�"no, ma’am,” he responded to her inquiry. “I don’t have anything going on today; nothing major work-related and no, I don’t have any plans with Noel for that matter either. Not yet, anyway.”

“Okay,” she replied, half verbally responding and half deciding how to proceed with that information. “Well, if you don’t mind, would you be willing to come over for a little while? I just feel like it’ll be easier to explain myself in-person. That’s all.”

“No, I don’t mind. What time were you thinking? I mean, how soon would you need me to head over?” He wasn’t letting his eagerness for the invitation overcloud her concerned voice. He figured it was best to remain as neutral as possible. It’s only fair, he reminded himself.

“While that is as much up to you as you can manage, I was hoping and thinking like, maybe, sometime in the next 20-30 minutes could you come? I’m sorry. I know it’s a bit urgent and last-second sounding. I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience.” She couldn’t believe how she’d gone from curious to flat out requesting his presence seemingly out of nowhere.

“I can swing by within half-an-hour, sure,” his voice replied through her cell. “May just depend on traffic. But don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

Through his end he heard a calming “thank you” from her voice. The exchanged their verbal goodbyes and hung up, knowing they’d be mingling soon…again. But not knowing for how long, either of them. Richie certainly didn’t. He was still trying to figure out why she would be reaching out to him in such a manner, even as he’d left his place and having already gotten in his car while cruising down the highway.

It was a matter of minutes before a fist found its way freely and lightly pounding on the Santoro’s residence.

“Coming!” Mrs. Santoro yelped from within her home.

Richie heard footsteps approaching quickly, then slow, then some fumbling at the doorknob. It pried itself open. First thing his eyes noticed: the denim skirt that loosely went down to her shins, followed upwards to her purple blouse w/golden buttons sewn into the silk/polyester combined material. It was hemmed to about the three-quarters length on the sleeve, with trimming to encapsulate the openings. It was barely hanging over her skirt, but not long enough to where it became something of an evening dress to where over something else, to a formal dinner or similar. And her feet were carefully placed within designer heel socks and flat-bottoms, for indoor use of course�"an altogether simple but elegant look. He couldn’t help but think: She looks good today!

Hello, young man! Her eyes noticed his khaki pants, with his Crocs and belt a mere-fraction below his hip area, as they were designed. And the short-sleeved, button down of his collared shirt was a rather smooth-navy color. Penelope also glanced at his semi-spiked hairdo, no doubt with a wad or two of some product blended in. It�"He�"was something of a sight in her mind, she admitted to herself.

“Hello Mrs. Santoro,” Richie replied. “I am here, as requested.”

“Hi Richie. Please, come in. No need to stand outside in the hallway lingering, right?” She moved to her left side, allowing him to pass just like any other visit. And calmly but smoothly closed the door behind him.

“Are you hungry or thirsty or anything?” she called out, not sure where he ended up placing himself.

She heard a voice ring through the living room, his figure nestling itself in a corner spot on the couch. Or so her peripherals concluded. “Thank you for asking,” he replied. “Eh, I suppose a drink wouldn’t hurt. I’m not too hungry for anything, not even a light snack or fruit.”

“We should have lemonade, if you’d want that?”

“Lemonade sounds amazing,” he responded. “Yes ma’am. Please and thank you.”

Before even attempting to sit and join him, she waited in the kitchen for his beverage request, and prepared them both small glasses before going to join him.

“So what’s going on? You sounded a little bit ‘off’ or something when I heard your voice a little while ago; not like your usual self to be more precise,” he began. “I mean, I’m not sure how helpful I can be, other than the fact that I’m here�"”

“�"I know. I know,” she quickly responded, not wanting the conversation to get too out-of-hand too quickly. “And I appreciate you coming on such short notice. I apologize up front if I was imposing on your day or anything you were wanting to do otherwise.”

He looked at her, clearly sensing some level of hesitation. “By the way, is Jesse out at the moment? Coming home soon?” He continued: “…does he even know I’m here?”

“No,” Mrs. Santoro replied. “No, he’s not here. He’s out-of-town through tomorrow, evening time. Work commitments. And�"no, he doesn’t actually know you’re here. I didn’t bother letting him know. Not yet, anyway.” He looked at her in understanding; a bit surprised, but understanding. “Okay. Please go on.”

“Look, Richie,” she continued. “Noel, some friends of mine around here, Jesse and even the concierge, briefly�"yeah, those folks�"have all been asking me how I felt the trip went. It’s as if they were all looking for me to deliver some personality, perspective-defining and altogether changed response or something. I guess I’ve just had some odd moments in coming back here, you know, to all this.” Her gesture to her home and the life she knew before heading out there was the framework of her movement. “Mrs. Santoro, before you go on with anything else, let me just ask up front: are you regretting anything from our trip to Ashton Groves? I mean, like with the whole group being out there. Not just�"you know�"what we did.”

She looked at him with honest eyes, the kind that knew they were exposed to possible vulnerabilities and moments of truth sharing. She was prepared for the feeling in a conversation at some point, yes. She was just not sure when or how it could come about. Here I am with it, she thought.

“No, Richie,” she said. “I’m not regretting anything. That’s not it.” She took a moment to sigh, feeling like the time had come to say what she needed. “I feel different. Like something inside me has changed somehow. I’d probably never say this to someone otherwise, but I have to admit: Jesse hasn’t noticed much of my change. In fact, I don’t think he’s noticed me as much at all since we’ve all been back. Like nothing about him has changed. He’s just been going about himself as usual. I don’t know, maybe I was hoping the getaway with everyone would bring some sort of appreciation in him. But, it hasn’t. Not like I would have envisioned. And no, I haven’t brought it up to his attention. Haven’t really had the opportunity. Work’s been keeping him pretty tied up.”

Richie kept sitting there, listening and observing her. He didn’t bother responding to anything nor intervening in any way. He knew there she needed to express. His eyes and ears were attentive and listening.

“I mean, we’re still getting along fine and all. And we’re still sticking to our usual little moments together here and there, meals and such. I just�"I don’t know�"I feel like some part of me isn’t the same person I once was when he and I first married all those years ago. And that the trip to Ashton Groves was more than just a trip.” She paused, a look on her face realizing she’d dished out a lot of personal oddness she normally wouldn’t bother mentioning otherwise. Not like this, anyway.

“Is any of this making sense, Richie? Or am I just rambling about my married life?” Penelope’s questions were as filled with curiosity as they were a weird sense of self-questioning. It certainly wasn’t something he was used to hearing from her nor could his be considered the best mind to vent. Even her eyes looked uncertain as she wondered why she would bother asking Richie something so odd and personal.

“Well, Mrs. San�"” she looked at him, putting her hand in the air to cut him off.

“�"No need to be so polite. You can say my name; it won’t bother me or anything,” she assured him.

“Well�"Penelope,” Richie began. “First of all, you should know I’m not a Licensed Psychologist or Therapist by profession or anything like that. I may be skilled at listening to people, I suppose. Sure. But it’s not what I do by professional occupation.”

She searched his expression. “That being said,” he resumed, “What you’re saying I guess makes sense. You had another reason, another purpose I guess, for being out there with all of us. When your intentions didn’t happen the way you had hoped they would, whatever it was inside you that originally wished that may have felt let down? I can’t speak for all the years you’ve been married to Jesse; I literally haven’t known you, or your family for that matter, all your life. But what I have seen of you two, I can and will say this: it just seems like the two of you have as much work to do in your marriage as, perhaps, any other couple out there that has been married for however long you all have.”

“I’m sure these between you two have, or may have, changed over the years, what with life adjustments and whatnot. But I don’t think one short, weekend outing at a familial location would completely change who you are or what your life was like before it.”

He continued: “Rambling? Perhaps a little bit, yes. I’ll give you that. Every married person, I would think, goes through their phases and such when they have ‘bigger picture’ concerns brewing inside them they are hesitant to communicate with their spouses about for who-knows-what reason or reasons. I don’t see you and Jesse as any different from that, quite frankly. And obviously Noel and I aren’t married so I can’t speak from personal experience. But I will say that if you feel things will work themselves how you and he need them to, then they will.”

His words felt comforting and on the verge of astonishing. She was looking at him with an intent of appreciation and focus.

“Thank you for saying all that, Rich,” Penelope responded. “Maybe all that’s what I needed to hear. But…”

“�"But what?” he bridged.

“But�"what if Jesse and I are a little different from what you described? About married couples just needing to work through their situational issues and all.” Her question was interesting. Genuine. Even a bit unusual, Richie thought.

“How do you mean, ‘a little different’?” he asked, not sure where her responses were taking them. “I mean, say what you will; I get it. But, and keep in mind I’m not a Counseling professional here, is there something else you’re not sharing? Just asking, really.”

“I mean, I don’t know if I still love him the way I once did, Jesse I mean. I don’t know if me being back here with him around has helped me or…what’s that word…hindered me?” Her words felt true and honest, as if she was allowing herself to not hold back from being the married woman everyone knew her as.

“I’m sorry, but what are you saying, Penelope? You don’t know if you love your husband anymore like in the past, or that you don’t altogether, and if that’s a good thing or not? I’m not quite understanding. Not completely.” Richie’s words were as frank as they could be without having some plaque hanging on his wall somewhere in order to offer full, professional input at a wonderfully fair and balanced, mutually-agreed upon rate, “for services offered” they might say.

Penelope looked at him without reservation: “I’m saying�"as you mentioned�"maybe…” she continued, “…maybe my husband isn’t all of what I want anymore, or isn’t bothering to ask if I do want everything with him and from him. And maybe that’s bothering me. And, as it happens, maybe I invited you over here to see if I was wrong about that or I want more… you know.”

Richie took the cue plain and simple.

He scooted himself over just enough to where his body was more than 2-3 inches apart from Penelope’s. It was merely a prompt of sorts. Deliberate. But not overacting. Penelope took his positioning with an inviting expression and leaned over to him. Seated on a couch made interlocking of any body part, parts, somewhat difficult. So, for now, she merely opened her arms and forwarded her head to the side of his. He took her cue with ease, allowing his arms to spread eagle and embrace the woman, clearly in need of at least some level of emotional support. After all, he had no idea of where exactly she wanted this, his presence with her that was. Nor was he going to dare asking the awkward, but obvious, and open question about what her intentions were. She’ll let me how and when she needs to, he figured.

They embraced and held one another, Richie clearly recognizing some sort of emotional surgent demand her body requested of her, of them, as her grip held onto him tightly; at least, tighter than he had known her to normally do every other time they’ve shared an embrace. Their leaning bodies made their positioning a little unusual�"there was nothing side-by-side nor face-to-face about their stances. Their meshed proximity only offered their upper bodies to dwindle together, like the two slices of bread without the contents therein to necessarily hold them together. Nevertheless, Richie felt Penelope’s warmth as her arms crossed over his shoulders, her legs angled to his right side through their covered denim, and her chest lightly but notably pressing up to his. Without a word escaping his mouth, it became obvious to him she needed their hug. And he was not about to inquire as to her reasons or motivations. He was much more inclined to enjoy the moment for what it was. Penelope wasn’t trying to notice his physical reactions as much as he, perhaps, was. Nevertheless, her mind met her senses, telling her a handful of things: he feels good, welcoming and…proportioned…in his upper body area. He also feels like he could be getting other reactions I can’t see right now. Her senses, though sending mixed signals, could only ponder their curiosities in her given position. She noticed, however, before extending her arms that his legs were also stretched out to his right side, hanging over the couch cushions. Perfect chance, she thought, as she realized she could sneak in a quick, subtle look at just the right moment if she wanted. No, not “if”, she admitted to herself, “when”. She used her hands to grip onto the back of his left shoulder with one; the other found itself tracing up to his lower neck and the back of his hair…that whole area. Then, in a swift and quick motion, her left hand swept up and down his back, just for its feeling.

After what felt like…forever…they motioned themselves apart, Penelope instigating the parting. “Hold on,” she said. “Hold on.”

“What?” Richie replied. “Is something wrong?” A split moment passed, maybe, when Richie heard his own words. His eyes half shot open with an “oh my” expression realizing the double meaning of what he’d just said. He was hoping she wouldn’t catch that last little question and look at him in a decidedly direct manner, a scolding of some sort potentially awaiting him.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Penelope replied. “It’s just, well�"we’re here on this couch.” He paused to look at her, not sure what she meant or where she was going with that. “Meaning it’d probably feel more comfortable if we were on the bed. Don’t you think?” He smiled, an easy acknowledgement of her proposed idea. “Yes, I think so too, now that you mention it.”

She lifted herself up and off the couch, reaching her hands out to his as if to bring her with him. “Follow me,” she said, taking his left hand slightly hooked into her right, directing them to her bedroom. “Yes ma’am,” he replied, taking the directive with a calm welcoming. It felt funny to her: this was the second time in a matter of days she’d invited someone far younger than she into her private dwelling arena; someone who wasn’t a family member and wasn’t there, necessarily, while visiting with more of the family for a simple purpose like, say, changing into a swimsuit. Even funnier to her was how comfortable, a little surreal and yet how altogether different the level of excitement that was running through her body felt.

She entered the bedroom. Richie followed in just behind her. He immediately noticed how clean and orderly it was�"the times he’d asked to use her restroom on the occasions it was the only one available, he always noticed how tidy she kept it�"and how everything seemed to just…fit in place. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable on the bed or anywhere you’d like,” she began. “I’ll just be a moment.” He noticed her walk into her bathroom, closing the door behind her completely. Okay, he thought to himself. He first sat himself onto the edge of her mattress, wanting to get acquainted with its feeling. That reacquainting took all of about a minute. No more. He noticed her furniture scattered about her room as he heard some fumbling and indistinguishable noises coming from behind the door. His curiosity started pondering what was behind that door. His mind, though, wasn’t as driven by wonder. It directed his attention to her window area, hearing some odd noises erupting from there as well. This time, his curiosity felt a bit more tolerable, enough to allow him to get up and pace himself over the framed edge. The sights and muffled sounds of the intersecting Westchester Avenue, no more than a full block length away from the building he currently found himself, were busier than usual. Or so he could only assume. He was generally familiar with the area, yes. He just didn’t know all the little ins-and-outs of the locals and how they approached the traffic in the area. There were more cars on the road, certainly. Noticing the sun was out and about midday’s time, their plentiful flow didn’t surprise him. Shopping, the residents running weekly or random errands, he figured.

It didn’t matter much to him anyway. Observing out the window made the mere few minutes he was physically there almost forget that someone was in another part of the room. That’s when he heard the fumbling by the bathroom. Tweak. Crank. Whoosh. The door opened, and Penelope stepped through the doorframe and into her room, her eyes shimmying over to meet Richie’s, who’d already gone from half-turn to turning to see that she had emerged. His eyes and body half-stalled in their movements: he immediately noticed she’d added on her thigh-length silk robe. It was barely knotted in front of her waist. He could also tell she had, indeed, changing into something a little more…inviting; it just wasn’t easily determined based upon her top covering layer. But, from what Richie thought he could tell, Penelope was now in an evening attire, possibly a partial nightgown-type dress of sorts. An, though they weren’t completely visible, he thought he saw two straps going over her shoulders. It was definitely an attention-luring look.

Richie looked as intrigued at her choice of wardrobe selection as he was eager to see more of it; all of it. “You look, comfy,” he said aloud. “A little different in your getup, especially considering the time of day and all. But comfy.”

“Yes, I do, don’t I?” Penelope responded. “I hope it’s not too odd.” “Too odd?” Richie’s speculative voice said what anyone might deemed a suitable, bridged response.

“Richie, come closer,” she said. He did as requested, approaching her in a quick but controlled fashion. “We both know that you and I are the only ones here.”

“�"Yes. I know that,” Richie replied.

She continued: “Now, it’s been a little time since our little predicament at Ashton Groves. I’m sure you can remember, full well even.” He nodded in agreeance. “I’ve been thinking about it more. And…yes, I want more. Richie, and I almost cannot believe the words I’m about to say, but…” she sighed, “…I want you to have more of me. I want you to make love to me as if we were a young couple experiencing the first few times of exploring one another. I’m not going to say I want it without hesitation. I’m saying I want you to make me feel appreciated, if you understand what I’m getting at.” He continued looking at her, his eyes looking at her in a way, heartbeat and pulse turned up a few dials, but controlled. His focus was sharp, and was his ability to listen.

“I don’t need you to question�"” she began again.

“�"It’s something between you and Jesse, am I right?” he intervened, with a gentle touch of empathy and understanding than interrogating and seeking juicy, too-personal detail.

She let out a brief sigh. “It is, yes. It’s nothing too unusual, I don’t feel. I just�"the passion in our marriage, our relationship, just doesn’t seem to be there anymore, I guess. And it’s something that has ticked at me for a little while now. I suppose our venture out to Ashton was the tipping point that spoke to me most about it.”

“I hear what you’re saying,” Richie replied, calm and direct. “At least, I believe I do. In my own way, yes I hear what you’re telling me and want. And yes, I will oblige to your request�"happily.” His budding smile told her all she needed to know to be reassured. “My question to you is,” he continued, “will you trust me enough to show you I listened and am here for you?”

She looked at him attentively but surprised, her head barely turning to her right. “I believe I can…trust you that is. Yes,” she replied. “Well…” she concluded with a warming smile, letting the word linger as if to say, okay, now show me.

Richie approached her; he was no more than a foot-and-a-half away. His hands reached for the loosely compiled knot in her robe. Her fingers met his, guiding them to opening up the garment-designed locket. A tug or two later and the crossed-over flaps released themselves and fell freely into their respective sides of their owner’s body. They slide enough to let the belt hang at her sides, the waist opened with its natural looseness, and the hemmed flaps of the front body length parted ways just enough to where Richie was able to see the cotton, silk-meshed fabric underneath. Both of their hands lightly gripped the material and slid it back and over Penelope’s shoulders without difficulty; it was as if the top most layer was deliberately placed there by the hostess, the robe a sheer invitation to draw the young man in for the festivities. Once it escaped its “clothes hanger position”, the garment fell easily to the ground.

Penelope stood in front of Richie, knowing nothing more than a simple, silky material of fabric and matching underwear set were all that covered her from him. She felt inclined to make things a little more comfortable between them. Her hands reached for Richie’s waistline area, gripping onto his shirt as best she could. He immediately noticed her actions, understood what she was attempting, and helped her by tugging at the part of his shirt around his abdominals and chest. Before another moment passed, the clothing piece found itself untucked and folding upwards. Richie took note of her movements, lifted his arms and simply pulled the shirt up and off himself, her arms lingering in the air like a late teen, college-aged girl embarking on her next encounter in a series of “growing up” moves.

As his top fell into a bundle at his feet, Richie’s eyes went up and down for a brief moment, taking in the sight in front of him. They didn’t linger there long. Penelope’s hands remained around the area where they began with his attire; they began fumbling with the buckle containing everything within…clothing or otherwise. At least, they fumbled how best they could. Richie reversed the roles: his hands and fingers guided Penelope’s along the intricacy involved therein. It didn’t take long for the hook-and-holes accessory and ingenious device to find its way unlatched. Then, loosened. Richie’s hands helped Penelope’s simultaneous “swing” motion until the piece found its way out of its loops. The dark brown, longer-than-ever rectangular prism crinkled some before Richie took it in his hands and circled it round-and-round. It really was more simple a process than it seemed. While his hands were making loopy circles out of his attire, Penelope’s fingers, from her index, thumbs and the rest, went about the simple and similar process of loosening up the guy’s pants�"at least, its button-and-zipper components. Richie tossed the belt onto his shirt, the makings of a pile that would serve the only purpose it had. His eyes shifted back to the front of his waist. Immediately, Penelope’s close proximity engulfed his point of view. Why not give it a go? he thought to himself. She was tied up with her intentions. He could embark upon his.

Her right hand held onto his button and its sewing attachment. With her left, her thumb, pointer and middle fingers played their functioning role: a zip noise erupted from around his crotch. The parting material loosened upon itself with more ease than Penelope would have originally thought. Of course, she’d seen men’s pants in similar situations at other times in her life�"this wasn’t a newfound surprise to her. Her hands held onto his attire just a few moments longer as she felt Richie’s hands cruising around the backside of her figure. She felt the material of her bedroom attire tighten at various spots on her. “It’s okay,” Richie said, “you can let them go. Don’t worry…they’re coming off as it is.”

“Okay,” Penelope replied, allowing her hands to tug just a bit. Richie felt the jostling and shimmied his legs and hips to help the clothing ease from himself�"he didn’t want to create too much of an awkward moment because of wardrobe malfunctioning issues. That wouldn’t be too helpful, now would it? His thought was as simple as was his next directive. “Penelope, turn around, putting your back to me.” His tone was respectful but upfront. “Sorry?” she looked a little perplexed.

“Turn around, facing away from me. I just want to hold you a bit, a little differently. You did say you ‘wanted to feel appreciated’, yes?” He felt and saw the bit of relief as she understood his minimal request with more openness. She nodded, realizing his understanding of her initial requests: “I did, yes. No problem, then.” And with that, she turned, knowing he was behind her, trusting him to honor them both simultaneously, albeit in an odd sort of way. Whatever honey, just go with it, she told herself, reminding even herself that she wanted this as much as he was willing and wanting to be there for her. She heard and felt Richie take a step closer to her. He began by placing his hands on her shoulders, slowly massaging and caressing them. Ooh and sigh came from in front of her head, from Richie’s perspective. The feeling of his hands sent little shivers of electric pleasure running through her body she didn’t know if she could contain. Or was willing to. Richie continued his trailing motions, running his fingers up and down the sides of her arms. From the tops of the curves of her shoulders to the curves of her elbows and onwards through her forearms and hands, themselves, his fingers made the attentive effort to show the sort of dedication to her he felt she deserved. Maybe had always deserved. The more and more they traced themselves over her open canvas, the more she sighed and let out whimpers of ooh, ah, mm and whew. It was as if Richie had somehow transformed himself into a private masseuse of some sort with only sketchy, rare training garnered here and there.

All of that…was only the beginning. His hands continued their tracing technique. “Are you OK with this?” he whispered to her. “Yes,” she replied in a soft but lively whisper, “I am. Please…don’t stop. It’s feeling good. I’m beginning to feel relief. Don’t stop…” she trailed, as she felt hands beginning to wrap themselves around parts of her body, lightly. Delicately. Her head leaned a bit to her left side, her eyes slowly fading into a light trance, her sense of touch taking over her whole body. A certain feeling no doubt found its spark in her system and was on the verge of completely taking over. Penelope was aware of it, letting it run its course. That feeling included letting Richie’s hands begin to roam over her chest, her belly and from the tops of her thighs to her waist area. He used cautious, gentle strokes to help bring about her newfound sense of self. He eventually pulled the robe from her shoulders and helped her slide it off her arms and altogether from her frame. Rather than attend to it immediately, it remained. Richie then took the chance to place his hands into Penelope’s, not quite sure what she wanted next or where her body desired. A little sigh of invitation escaped her mouth: “Richie…feel me,” her words filling their cohabited space enough for him to hear her and her to feel lost in her the touches consuming her senses. “Okay,” he whispered, the words barely more than little poofs of air in noise level, deliberately low enough to where only her ear and mind would take his response in.

Her hands clenched his with even more certainty. Her movements told him she’d pretty much left it up to him to dictate where and how he could roam over her outer layer. Needing no further permission, his left hand reached around, under her left arm and coursed upwards, stopping at her chest, only to lightly grope and cling to whatever amount of her covered mound his fingers managed. His other hand, simultaneously, found its way from just underneath her right mound covering down to her right hip and curved inwards, reaching a soft inclining. At that point, his fingers performed the same amount of light pressured touch as his left in the area forming the enclosed entrance between the tops of her legs. He carried these movements in continuous fashion for the better part of a few moments, noting all the ah’s and ooh’s and ugh groans and moans, slowly but steadily creating a warmth in her body language that told him whatever was happening inside her was triggering the right sensations. Her body feels warm too, Richie thought, allowing himself to scoot a hint closer. Wanting to engulf her in a mood she would welcome and appreciate, he took an extreme precautionary step: with the gentlest and most subtle of advances, his hips initially positioned themselves at the backside of hers. In his next movement, he placed them forward just enough to where the fabric of his boxer briefs “stacked” themselves upon the material of her nighttime-based attire, the cotton-meshed silky fabric feeling like a soft, liquid-like blanket acting like a suction cup to whatever other material or object it came into contact with. Her body suddenly came to something of a stand still. Penelope felt a small pressure, like something was teasing itself against her clothing, greeting her physical domain, behind her: “Richie, is that what I think it is?” her silence contemplating her question and the answer she’d receive. “It is, yes.” Honesty and openness filled his voice. He wasn’t holding back. “Sorry if it startled you. Is startling you. Suppose it’s just reacting to everything...” His words were straightforward. Inviting.

“Its fine, Richie. Don’t worry,” Penelope replied, an unexpected stirring beginning to brew within her she knew she wouldn’t be able to ignore. “At the very least it tells me you’re neither homosexual nor uninterested in what’s going on right now. Clearly.” Or at least, it was the kind of stirring she’d have an unusually hard time ignoring, even if she wanted to.

And, in some odd way, she welcomed it. Hell, it almost made her feel like she was 16, 17, or 18 all over again. Almost. She gave that thought a little more input between her mind’s ability to think, her body receiving an overwhelming amount of reactions and impulse feelings coursing all over her, and her gut just telling her it was OK to feel what she was: you’re only human and you have the right to feel as you are.

She grabbed his hands and turned, facing Richie. It was the most unusually surprising yet wonderfully alluring sight she’d witnessed as of late: the young man she knew standing in front of her, only his boxers covering all of him in her presence; herself, flowing nighttime attire covering her interior frame, standing in the way of her inner world of natural composition and wonder of all that could be. “Can you help me?” Penelope mentioned, as her hands reached for the hem of her three-quarters length nightgown piece. “Yes, I believe so,” he said back, softly keeping his attention focused on the material making its way north. The more and more of it that rolled upon itself, the more of her was directly revealed to him, an indirect benefit of helping the lady find her rejuvenating self. Without much fuss, her arms lowered themselves and were raising just as easily, with Richie’s fingers, hands and arms in the same, lifting motion alongside her. It was a curious predicament, reminding him of Ashton Groves from what seemed like half-a-period of time ago at that point. And in a jiffy of time, Penelope’s gown-thing formed a bundle of fabric atop the woman’s head, in which she collected it in her hands, letting them organize it in a way that enabled it to be maintained while…not in use.

They both noted their level of exposure at that point: only in their respective undies. They each took a moment to glance one another over, not lingering too much on any one area. “Wow,” Richie said. “You look good, like you know how to care of yourself and maintain everything.” He wasn’t sure if that was what he should have said, but it’s what came out. His modesty was barely held back. And Penelope let out a slight smirk, knowing just the same. “Well, thank you, Richie,” she replied. “�"I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen women in the same sort of outfit you are in now before now. It’s just that�"”

“�"you haven’t seen me quite like this, even included that night from a while back, am I right?” her words cutting him off were as necessary as they spot on accurate. “Precisely. Yes. Yes exactly,” Richie’s reply was calm. He’d clearly taken the politeness and formality out of his tone, and his body relaxed upon itself. Penelope sensed the tranquility and decided to pursue that bit so as to keep the talking to a minimal. “It’s alright, Richie,” she continued. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Keep in mind I am older than you, have probably seen my share of different things than yourself and have a lifetime more exposure to all this sort of thing than someone your age. Literally, yes?” He nodded, understanding her. She moved right up against him: “Are you feeling OK? I mean, you’re comfortable with this? With me, like this?” She shook her hair, balancing it more evenly behind her head than it already was, letting it fall back behind her shoulders even more than they are were. As she did, Richie’s eyes noticed the tops of her breasts jig somewhat inside their cups; her body twerked and tweaked a bit as well, carrying itself with the momentum. Nothing was totally exposed…not totally anyway.

“Yes,” he whispered in a longing fashion. “Yes I am…” his voice lingered and faded. “It’s just, seeing you like this is such an awesome, warm, sort of thing I’m feeling an altogether different kind of joy from it. From you…how you look and standing here.”

“Yes, I suppose I can tell,” Penelope chimed in reply, her eyes trickling themselves down to his toned frame as well, settling themselves upon his crotch. Her eyes noticed the bulging hill making itself known to them both. “No doubt, I can, actually.” She reached for it, being careful not to grip too tightly causing discomfort on any level but only to produce a warming sensation, if it wasn’t already there. Her hand planted itself over his delicate area and began a caressing motion. “Ah…” his mouth responded, eyes partly closed, electrical currents of pleasure and energy flowing through him. “Does that feel good, Richie?” Penelope whispered to him, fully attempting to entice him further. “Oh yeah. Absolutely…ooh, mmm,” his body reacted more and more. Until a certain point.

His mind clicked a switch, needing no further words for the time being. His body knew what the next levels of steps entailed. Or so they thought. With Penelope’s hands down in his neck of the woods exploring him, he pressed against her body; he also helped turn their heat up even further. They shifted their stances a bit to accommodate for one another’s comfort. Richie used this to his advantage�"he placed his hands on her lower back, sliding them up and down as he desired. It got so to the point where he reached the tops of her buttocks. He grazed the tops of where her cheeks began to define themselves, teasing only so much (given their position at least). His next sequential move found his hands roaming up her back, slowly. With an attentiveness he felt she hadn’t experienced in who-knew-how-long. Her breathing went from slow and steady to quickened and now deeper bursts, matching her body’s rhythm. His had done just as much.

They picked up a hair even more when his hands found the interlocking works and clips holding the majority of her last bit of attire intact. Richie’s hands pushed into the material, sending a clear signal to his older lover Penelope of what he wanted. Penelope felt as much. “I think we both know what you want. Are you ready, young man?” He looked at her with a deep gaze in his eyes he did rarely showed…let alone occasionally. “I am ready, yes.” The four words he needed to say were the same four they both wanted to hear. “I can imagine you are. Alright,” she replied, removing her hands from his crotch area, having the impression she’d satisfied and teased him enough as it was. Her hands slid up her body, continuing until they skimmed the bottom-hemmed stitching of her cups, then flanked themselves backwards. Her arms were in a horizontal “V” shape. Richie’s eyes noticed her projecting cups firmed against her chest; her shoulders tweaked a muscle or two. Penelope’s head did a quick side-jolt, her eyes looking right into Richie’s, as her fingers worked their magic behind her back. Click-Pop. Click-Pop. Clip. Pop. After the last set, Richie noticed her shoulder straps come loose, the back, connecting flaps where she’d just undone the clippings flinging freely in the air on the backside of where torso and ribcage sections would be. The loosening action didn’t faze him. Hardly. Richie’s body’s attention kicked up a half-notch when Penelope brought the loose garment off her shoulders and down her arms, containing it “there” momentarily. She let Richie gaze upon her exposed chest for the briefest of initial moments when, after a good 2-3 seconds slipped by, she let the material fall into her hands, completely freeing it of her body. “Wow, very nice,” Richie said. His eyes took in the sight of her volleyball-sized breasts, noting their placement and how her dark-pink, quarter-sized areola’s and n*****s found their placement nestled suitably near the top-center of each of her mounds. They had what appeared to be a hint of a droop to them, but what did he know about that? I’m just lucky beyond belief to have the view I have right now, he firmly reminded himself. Besides, he wasn’t so much concerned with their lifelong appearance and overall complexion as just the sheer fact that he was being allowed to see them so openly; so freely; so exposed, even in an invited manner. “Thank you, Richie,” Penelope replied. “I’m glad you seem to like them so.” She began breathing a hint more normally just then, kind of getting the sense she’d passed whatever sort of “acceptance trial” she may have gone through just then. “Not that it matters in the slightest, but I can never quite tell how a man might take seeing them now. You know…at my age and all. But yes, they are naturally mine, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t, exactly,” Richie insisting, “but thank you for clarifying. Saved me the speculation of wondering such a thing, even if I did choose to do such a thing. Still, though, I believe they look and seem quite lovely and, frankly, a bit amazing, for what they are.” She blushed some�"clearly not expecting such sorts of compliments about such a personal issue for her. Literally.

“Well, seeing as we’re both topless at this point,” Richie continued, still riding on the sensations of seeing the grown woman, this particular woman no less, in nothing but a matching pair of panties, “let’s continue, shall?”

“Yes, let’s do that,” Penelope responded, feeling surprisingly more comfortable about the whole thing, even as they undressed in front of each other. No reservations, even more interesting, she thought. “Want to help one another as we already have? Or�"”

“�"Richie?” she cut in. “Yes?” “Let’s just continue, eh? No need to have it much more an eventful ordeal than it needs to be. You have your boxers, I see. I have my panties. They aren’t that difficult when it comes to removing, wouldn’t you agree?”

He gave a half-nod. “Touché, if that even applies. Alright. How about we together? Less awkward than it might have to be. Yes?”

She produced a half-smile of sorts. “Yes. That’s fine. And reasonable, considering. On three, okay?” “Okay,” he said. On that note, they put their respective hands and arms into gripping position on themselves.

Together, they called out the numbers: “1…2…3!”

And with a sudden and swift ease of collaborating movement in front of each other, they lowered the bottom half’s of the remaining attire�"Richie swished his boxers down to his knees, having bent them some as needed before they reached his ankles, stepping out of them as naturally as he would any other similar time; Penelope did a similar set of action, creating a slide motion for her undies to her knees, bending her legs a bit more than Richie, and easing them down to her feet. They came off just as easily, if not more so than her male counterpart. Easier and less actual material to handle, she figured, visibly noting the ease of their removal.

As it was, Richie’s hardened member sprang loose from within the confines of the cotton-stitched fabric keeping his previous hill, a hill. Penelope’s warmth was as could be expected: the folds were in place, with no visible hairs, hairline or similar maintenance marks distinguished around her crotch. Other than a hint of puffiness displaying her natural reactions to their teasing foreplay, Richie felt it all looked as “together” as it had to, he supposed.

Course the moment they gathered their respective pieces and tossed them into their piles, they glanced back at one another. Their eyes and body met one another in what could only be described as an astounding, welcoming, eye-opening…gaze. They were living and breathing every moment of “g-a-z-e”.

Standing so close, they took a moment as their hearts desired: taking in each other’s sights, their eyes strolling over every part as if being interrogated for some competition show or another. Richie held out his arms, caressing Penelope’s, collecting her for another embrace. Her hands lifted, reaching for his shoulders and face. Soon, their faces approached each other’s quickly and with intentional passion. They scooted their lips together as if they were teenagers relearning how to have their first kiss. They scooted. More and more. Then, their heads tilted to one side or the other. Sighs sprang from and erupted out of their mouths. Their hesitations held up no longer. They plunged themselves together, lip to lip. And held one another, pressing their bodies together in the process. While Richie welcomed her warm and moist mouth swooshing and sliding over his, he also f elt her chest press against his. It, too, felt warm. Soft. Plushy almost, as if begging to be pressed and felt however it could. Penelope, in turn, drooped her arms around his shoulders and neck, eventually cradling her hands down the smooth of his back. Furthermore, she also felt his hardened, hardening, member jab, press and mesh itself into the smoothness of her thighs, inner thighs and the soft, enclosed wrapping between her legs. He, of course, did not intend on inserting it within her�"not from that position anyway.

Their initial grown-up/late-teenage make out session bridged itself between their initial positioning and the place they both wanted to go: her soft haven already welcoming them, almost expecting them. Penelope’s body moved her to her left side a bit; Richie felt it and moved himself in its cue. “Mm. Mm. Ooh. Ah.” They could both be heard, as their bodies lunged forward to her welcoming mattress, an open canvas awaiting its next picture to reveal itself in due, good time. Swoop! Their bodies carefully sank down together engulfing themselves in the soft covers. “Whoa,” Richie yelped, more catching his positioning and breathe, making sure he hadn’t squished or harmed his lady-hostess. “You okay, Penelope?” “Yes�"yes,” Penelope replied, in between a few more oral exchanges and swaps, also attempting to jostle her own positioning simultaneously.

A fumble or two of adjustment played its part. Richie found himself on top. He could only suppose she meant for him too. Otherwise, she’d be where I am, he figured to himself. His face went to meet hers, planting his lips into hers, meshing and blending and intertwining again. And again. He felt her hands roam around and about the tops of his arms, and down to his triceps and up again to where his shoulders held the man’s body in place. It was a most enticing feel Richie’s senses informed him, having the woman’s caressing motions reach out unto him. Penelope began a flashback or two; her mind pondered: was this the same young woman who’d been atop her figure not too long ago? Or was the human someone else? Penelope’s conscious took only a moment to give her the answer, as parts of her legs felt the difference the woman previously there and the person above her now.

“Ooh�"ah�"ugh-mm�"mmphhh,” the noises escaped from her mouth; sensations continuing to overwhelm her. Richie sensed her enjoyment. He proceeded to trace his lips around her cheeks, briefly over her eyes and down to her chin. He told himself, pay attention…to the curve separating everything above her oral landscape and below it. They are different areas of her realm. Respect them as such. He traced more and more around the base of her chin, giving her neck and neckline a bit more of teasing, playful love. Her moaning and little groans of spontaneous pleasure were among the soundtrack samples he was hoping to evoke. His lips found her collarbone and sternum areas, whereupon Richie used his tongue and lips to obtain a physical and sensational depiction of the women’s external canvas; he could see her skin all he wanted through various outfits she’d wear, no problem. In this specific and wondrous capacity, however, he wanted an altogether more enlightened experience of who she was and how she identified herself.

Richie told his brain to tell his shoulders, brace and lock yourselves accordingly. And be gentle. His outreaching upper-body did as instructed, planting themselves firmly at Penelope’s sides. He lowered and raised his head in the respective motions�"his lips enclosing and replanting themselves, grazing up-and-down across her upper torso. The sighed and exclamatory reactions he eagerly listened for, as his oral investigator continued seeking out more of her landscape in which to taste, apply suction, and release, aiming to please versus use and dominate. No more than a handful of these consistent movements occurred as Richie came to her mounds. They seemed as ordinary of mounted breasts atop a wonderfully composed canvas as any he’d seen otherwise, or could see (for that matter). “Do you…like them…Richie?” Penelope whispered, not sure how we would take in the sight of her maturely grown breasts. She wasn’t so much concerned with his actual answer. No. In fact, she actually meant it as a rhetorical question�"something she just said in the way she did. Nevertheless: “Yes, I do…” she heard him reply, as he placed his mouth softly and carefully around each gland, his mouth giving each one its due attention. He kissed, grazed, traced his lips and tongue over each one and provided the suction necessary to her parts as he felt she deserved. All the while, soft moan after moan could be heard escaping her mouth. Her body, he also felt, churned and wiggled upon itself. Clearly, she seemed to be experiencing something else…entirely.

It may have felt a good, long while he spent nurturing her mounds. In actuality, it was a matter of minutes. Or so the clock would have indicated…if Richie even bothered to look at the thing. His mouth found itself trailing down her landscape just as it had before he made his purposeful “stop”. As Penelope widened her already opened legs, a wave of inviting warmth took her energies to another level; one she was not expecting. Richie kept planting his face up and down; Penelope recognized the same motion just as Ana had done before. Her body was trying to figure out which of the two felt better…of course, without saying a word the deciphering took place. With her eyes closed and Richie’s head finding its way to her belly and prancing lower with each bob, Penelope’s main thought was as complex as it was simple: distinguishing between two lovers giving her vastly different reactions of the same types of sensations…a thought she knew she couldn’t figure out in a few motions as she was, or her counterpart.

“Ahhh. Ooh. Ugh….ughh….ahhh,” were the main noises continuing to escape from the woman’s mouth, her verbal and physical reactions to all that was going on within her and more. Richie arrived at her most heavenly sweet spot. And Penelope knew it too. “You’re still OK, Penelope?” he asked. His mind knew it didn’t have to ask. He desired a verbal approval from her. He wanted to know that she not only wanted what was going on, but that she was (perhaps) wanting more. “…yes. Yes, Richie, I am still…ooh…okay.” He heard with enough clarity and distinction. “Want me�"” he began before she cut him off. “�"yes, please…I do!” (He needn’t say another word.) Richie’s mouth began its way about six inches “up” from his central target, on the inside of Penelope’s thighs. They seemed smooth, yes; even her skin looked nourished, eager for the attention. He planted his first, moist kiss on her right side: it tasted as sweet and soft as he’d hoped. The second found its mark about half to three-quarters an inch downwards. Each subsequent one followed the same pattern. Richie switched sides on Penelope, providing her right side the same attention as moments before.

Deepened, hard and meaningful breathing could be heard coming from the upper half of Penelope’s body. And in between the inhales and exhales, Richie peeked subtle glances at the grown woman, noticing her chest rise and fall with the rest of her frame. And a uniquely, particular delight & sight it was: her breasts, for instance, lifting and lowering with each breathe; her arms caressing her hair, further tingling her body in what ways they could while gripping the sheets when they instinctively desired. “Please, Richie�"ooh�"don’t stop. Don’t�"stop�"ooh, keep going,” Penelope belched in between breathes while Richie performed his magic. No need to verbally respond, he thought to himself. Just continue showing & pleasing. His mouth continued slurping and working away on her wetness and moist sweet spot for another little while. With no clear-cut idea of when to anticipate her reaching her climax, Richie continued his stimulation. The pace of his mouth’s pleasing hadn’t quickened much since he’d began his oral exploration at the heavenly gates to her kingdom. No. At this point, it had just pinpointed its routine pattern of slow slurps and moist suctions with quicker, slightly more pressured bursts of passionate, penetrating thrusts of his eager tongue. Richie was only concerned with pleasing… “Ooh…Richie…I think I’m getting close… keep going…!”

“Okay,” Richie cooed in reply. “I’ll keep going,” parting a warm breathe before continuing his oral actions. “Just…let me know…” and he kept applying himself.

“I will…ooh…I will…” her whispered words gasped in between the mixture of sensations rolling around between her lengths. She knew she was getting closer. And closer. And closer.

Her face was feeling the full effects of the warmth building within her; her cheeks felt flushed; her eyes were locked closed, capturing every bit of the world of pleasure marvelously revisiting her after God-only-knew how long; every other part of her body was feeling the full-fledged effects of a pleasurable release on the verge of exploding out of her system. “Ooh…ooh...Ugh…ahh…ah…ahhhh…ooh…holy Jesus!!! Ah, Richie, I think it’s about to happen,” Michael yelped out the words with all the mustered up pleasurable energy her voice would and could allow her.

“Don’t stop…don’t stop…don’t stopppp…ahhh!!!! I’m…” she squeaked one last gasp of energy-fueled breathed, “I’m…coming!!!!!” Penelope’s whole body shook. And kept shaking. And locked upon itself. A state of frenzied, overwhelming and pleasurable sensation completely overtook all semblance of feeling she had within her, from her senses to her conscious self to the nerves and muscles containing and releasing the surge that spilled out of her. As much energy as her body could muster shot itself into her release. It was unlike anything she’d felt or experienced in her recent memory. Or so it came across with such powerful, internal reactions.

Her body found itself calming as the moments subsided from her release. Her mouth still gapped half-opened, quenching upon herself as if trying to have a few sips of someone else’s drink without putting her lips to its opening. And her body laid there in its glorious slump, having to find the energy to collect itself with so much sucked out of her. “My God, Richie…” she said, as she felt him crawl up her frame and lay his head gently over her belly, being careful not to sink down on top of her chest, applying undue pressure. “That was…” she trailed off. “Yes?” he said, keeping her train of thought alive. “…Amazing.” There was no lie in her voice nor her delivery.

“Good,” he replied, planting one or two more, soft kisses around the top of her crotch then just above her belly, his body pulling itself over her. He lingered there, not smooshing his face or lips in hers. Just…partaking of the moment. “Now,” he continued, “I suppose it’s your turn. Would you agree? What do you think?” Penelope looked at him, having recovered enough of herself. “I think…okay, sure. You were great in your part; now I suppose it’s only fair to return the favor. Yes, I would agree,” her thoughts took hold of her without even the slightest notion of repercussions lingering. Oh, never mind all that, she told herself. Just have at it and enjoy the moment.

“Let’s switch, shall we?” she asked. He nodded. Of course, he knew she was referring to positioning�"no brainer there, Richie thought, as he lifted himself from her comforts. They took about a minute to get resettled. Richie found himself laying comfortably on his back, his front side in full view to not only Penelope, but to privacy of her little world, window and all. Penelope pondered the one thing she felt would matter most: sit-squat on my knees and legs, or just lay on my belly as comfortably as possible? It was a very, very peculiar question to consider, even for the person deciphering its answer. She already knew her answer.

Penelope found herself nestling face-forward in between Richie’s legs�"a new spot to view the young man in, without question. This was more provocative than anything else she’d encountered near him, she admitted to herself. She curled her hair into a decent ‘do, then motioned herself forward. “Are you feeling OK? Not physically straining or anything, like in your legs?” she asked him, her motherly instincts perhaps kicking in for the consideration of it. “Yes, Mrs. S, I’m good. Feeling OK…excited, if anything.” The expression on his face, what with flushed cheeks and hazed eyes, told her he was adapting to this newfound position of theirs well enough. She sensed as much and let out a quick sigh of relief. “Trust me,” he continued, “I would have said something already if I were uncomfortable or needing to readjust, or you too as well.” His words provided all the comfort they both needed. “Alright,” she replied. “I suppose you are right, yes.”

“Now, just…relax…” she said softly, letting her words sink in. Richie’s legs were spread enough to allow her to move freely as she chose; she began in a sitting-squatted position, with her thighs situated on top of her calves and shins, facing him. Penelope then used her hands and fingers to graze up and down Richie’s inner thighs, all around her crotch and as far upwards as the waist area of his belly. This, she felt, was like most anything he’d probably feel or experience. She was letting her instincts guide her when she, herself, was unsure what to do…if she got to that point. Noticing his eyes were beginning to fade out, she placed her left hand just inside the small space between his right groin muscle area and the lower half of his package. “Ah…ooh…that’s…warm,” Richie cooed, the sensations stirring within him. “Then, tell me, Richie,” Penelope replied. “How does this feel…?” as the words concluded, her right hand reached for and grasped onto his hardening member, the physical sensation spurring a newfound jolt of electrical energy within him. Another ahh and ooh simultaneous vocal reaction escaped his mouth. Penelope took his part in her hand, stroking it a handful of times at least. She felt obliged to give him the same due treatment. She wondered if the looks on her daughter’s face after a (presumed) night she had with this guy would also show on her own. “It feels…great,” Richie replied. “Really great…warm…and soft.” His voice was barely able to muster the words; he was lost in the moment…or as close to “lost” as he believed he could be. “Okay…good,” Penelope said, sensing his delivery as well as the words themselves. “I hope this is feeling that way for you. I don’t quite know what you’re accustomed to, so…”

“You’re doing fine,” Richie quickly replied, hoping to assure her in these new moments for them both. “I’ll tell you what and how I want it if you need guidance or direction. But…ooh…you’re good for now…” The words were barely finding any semblance of understanding. And they both knew that. Penelope continued her stroking. Maybe I’ll give this a try, she thought, as she put some crème on her hand, a type of soft lubricating lotion, and went back to his member. Her hand applied the same level of pressure and sliding motion to his part as before the moisturizer. Only when Richie began yelping and moaning with more sensational grunts did Penelope begin to apply more speed and the slightest amount of pressure. She felt him building. And building. And getting firmer in her grip with each set of passing motions. It felt like she was 17, 18, 19 or 20 again, with “the guy” she first felt affectionate feelings towards…except this was eons beyond that phase. Neither she nor Richie were those same younglings.

This was a different phase of her life; and the environmental surroundings reminded her of that.

Nevertheless, her body continued its stroking pattern. She was purposely letting him build. Cautiously, actually. “Richie…need a favor,” she said. “Yes, Penelope? What…ooh…can I do for you?” his reply being as quick as it was warm and attentive. “I want to know something,” she continued, slowing her pace to make sure he could pay attention. “I can feel you building, dear. Do you want to release yourself like this? Or would you prefer to wait until…” she hesitated before finishing her sentence, “…I don’t know if you were wanting to just do this or more.”

“You mean,” Richie cooed back, “You’re asking me if I want to shoot my load into your hands like this or if I would, you would, prefer me to pull out later…is that right?” She stroked him smoothly, figuring it was a valid question: “Yes, Richie, that’s right.”

“Later. Later feels better. Soon, in other words…” he replied. She understood his message: together, after more.

“Okay,” she replied. “Are you ready for all that?”

He lifted his head, focusing his attention on his response: “Absolutely. I think so, yes. Yes ma’am I am.”

She smiled, not saying a word. Some things, she knew, were better left unsaid. One thing, though, she did know was to make sure he was at least a little lubricated before he entered her…completely presuming that was going to happen anyway. She made a quick, albeit surprising, decision: Richie was still laying down. And, as it was, she was still holding him within her grasp and grasping range of motions. “Hold on for just a moment,” she uttered, quickly seizing the moment. Before Richie could even respond, Penelope scooted herself down just enough to where she could lower her head closer to his crotch. She flipped and threw about her hair in a more “convenient” locale, tucked behind her left shoulder. She felt no need for guidance nor directive questions; not right now. She simply lowered her head, angled his hardened member upwards in her grip, opened her eager lips and took him inside her warm mouth. The fullness of his head and the border-lining ridge of his shaft inside her mouth was a different sensation than she could otherwise recall. She felt his pulse trickle through his organ, his excitement and energy as the pleasure stick he possessed filled her mouth with a realistic sense of a boundary undeniably crossed and a leap she knew she couldn’t quite jump back from.

And as Richie’s excited piece wrapped easily around her suctioning lips, Penelope knew she gone to a place within herself even she couldn’t quite believe yet felt the full empowerment therein.

Somehow, in the middle of her head bobbing slowly up-and-down, her body having reoriented itself to allow for easier movements, the patch between her own legs feeling its own warmth and her upper body’s glands happily exploring the open air as they dangled loosely & freely, she felt no immediate, conscious regrets. Any semblance or adult sense of betrayal towards another man in her world whom she had, in fact, all the more personal connections and bind was all but non-existent. Ooh. Ah. Ugh. Ah. Whew. Sigh. His words filled Penelope’s bed with the kind of earnest warmth only lovers could produce in such moments. That, at least, was Penelope’s view on Richie’s groans and moans, his body easing into her pleasures.

Suck. Slurp. Mm. Garb. Garble. A few more suctions passed when Penelope decided that was enough for there and then. Her oral delights of the young man’s possession served its purpose; her body decided it was time for more wonderful things. She slowly raised her head up and released Richie’s hard-on, the smallest of a pop springing from her lips. She stroked him a bit more, to ease his bloodstream some. “How was that, Richie?” she asked, a cool and sly smile producing itself. “Fantastic,” he replied.

She knew he hadn’t come. Not yet, anyway. Every indication would be have been there indicating that otherwise, Penelope knew. And figured.

“Eh, Richie?” she began asking.

“Yes, Penelope?”

“Would you care for me to be over you? Or would you prefer to switch sides?” He felt he understood her question, in spite of how she asked.

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I would prefer to switch sides,” Richie said as honestly as he could. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“I�"don’t mind at all, actually,” Penelope replied. “That’s fine by me. Just one other thing, really,” she continued. He looked at her. “Are you going to use protection?” He fumbled through the part of her drawer area he had arranged while she was indisposed beyond her bathroom door, and brought out his specialized latex friend. “Of course,” he replied, and proceeded to delicately ensure he was being as smart and careful as his body was eager. She smiled; he reciprocated, able to proceed.

They did so, carefully avoiding unnecessary bumps or accidentally knocks to the other.

Penelope took a moment to settle herself on to her pillows and sheets. Even positioning her hair took a moment of delicacy to comfortably arrange. Richie followed suit, taking a moment to catch his breath and focus how he felt he needed.

Within a few seconds, Richie positioned himself between Penelope’s legs, again. He gave one last glance up to Lady Santoro. She was looking at him, welcoming desire written all over. Without any further ado, he positioned his hard little guy near the entrance to her heavenly gates. And pressed himself forward, pushing past the initial suctioning grip of her outer layers. “Ahhhh” and “oohh” left their mouths, simultaneously. Richie could hardly believe he was actually entering Penelope in this fashion. Penelope could hardly believe herself that this young man was doing this to her. But they both let those thoughts go as quickly as they were consumed by the acquired feelings of pleasure that consumed them. Richie was slow and steady in his movements, sliding in and out with as much attentiveness and caution as he could physically display, not quite sure what Penelope wanted or nor was accustomed to.

Penelope was getting used to having a man inside of her�"Richie or not. Her hands had lightly clenched on to his shoulders and arms however best they could; her legs were spread, becoming accustomed once again to the general position she found herself in. Richie continued his slow in-and-out pace with a consistency and vigor. The area around his crotch was enjoying the newfound warmth. When Richie’s eyes looked down and saw Penelope jiggle and bounce back from his thrusting motions, it only sent further waves of electricity through him he was barely able to contain. He kept up his motions. She kept bucking her hips, her upward thrusts meeting him how she knew how. He added to his ripples. She added to hers. Their ripples circulating. Rippling. Thrusting.

They felt the ripples going throughout them both�"Penelope’s head swaying side-to-side as if she was 20 or 25 all over again meeting “that boy” from the other night, her moans indicating the passions she felt had long since left her coming back to life. Richie’s body was bobbing down and up with a certain sense of energy he didn’t recognize within himself, but welcomed for all it was.

“You okay?” Richie whispered to Penelope, not sure how to read the new expressions on her face and body. “Yes, Richie,” she replied. “I’m�"ooh�"okay. It’s just�"that�"it’s…” she moaned a bit as his hardened member continued sliding in and out of her warmth, the feelings arising as both new and captivating. “It’s been some time,” she continued, “Almost like I cannot even remember how long. Almost…” her words rang out with the kind of truth that could only arise in such occasions. Richie sensed her honesty, believing her. She didn’t have reason to need to lie about that…not now anyway.

Their thrusting continued. So did their sighs, moans, and ooh’s and ah’s. Their rhythms began pacing together; it was a synchronized, beautiful image of two bodies embarking on an unknown journey.

A few more moments transpired as their bodies felt the heated tension building. And the glinting hints of sweat told them both they needed to either calm down some, or change positions to avoid unnecessary hassles. Richie slowed himself, seeing Penelope also lessen her responsive, jetting movements. Still inside her, Richie tweaked his face some this way, then some that, to allow himself to refocus beyond the wonderfully odd sensations coursing through his veins. Penelope was mimicking him in her own way.

Before another moment passed, something in her couldn’t hold back: “Richie, you need to let me know if you are going to come or not. Or whatever you’re feeling like that,” Penelope said with distinct purpose. “Please? There is just no way I can have you filling me and deal with everything else that may happen if you do. Okay?” He looked at her, knowing fully damn well what she saying, and nodded his agreed upon understanding. “Okay, I promise I’ll say something,” he replied.

“Looks like your body is quivering, Richie,” she continued. “Do you want to, I don’t know, switch sides or something?” He had no problem being reasonable versus arrogant: “Yes, please. Let’s do that,” he said, “Wasn’t sure how much longer my muscles were going to hold up with me just then.”

She chuckled just a moment. May as well take in his humor for what it’s worth, she thought to herself.

They switched: Richie on his back, Penelope lifted one leg and, with a little effort, sat herself over his crotch area. “Here,” Richie said, noticing her hands fumbling around down there. His right hand joined the others, reaching for himself, grabbing and positioning it upwards, and remained until Penelope’s found his. They did, and opened her legs a hint farther while adjusting Richie at her opening. It took only a moment for her to feel it where and how she wanted. “-Thanks,” she replied. “You ready for some more? I’ll take it by how hard and eager you seem that you are.”

“I am. Yes,” Richie said, looking up at the grown woman, almost unable to accept that she was nude and on top of him as she was. In almost any other situation, Richie may not have been so intrigued by what was happening or with whom. But this wasn’t necessarily just some girl strolling through his life; this is Penelope, Mrs. Santoro, the mother of the girl with whom he had devoted a certain portion of his life. It was surreal; completely unexpected, almost nostalgic.

Without saying anything, Penelope positioned him at her moistened opening and lowered herself, smoothly. A collective ah and ooh escaped both their mouths, their moans and sighs triggering the same warm sensations as when Richie entered her.

It didn’t take much effort for Penelope to lower herself entirely onto Richie. In fact, it felt among the smoothest “entrances” she could recall in recent memory. Richie felt Penelope’s warmth continue to engulf and surround him. Her waist and hips situated themselves to allow for the most comfort on her end as possible. It was something that, in the deep-down crevices of her being’s locker, she knew she’d been missing but couldn’t quite bring herself to terms with�"for whatever reason or reasons.

None of that mattered right now, though. Right now, her eyes were half-closed; partially taking in the new sensations filling her up, partially adjusting to the physical position she was in. She shimmied and squirmed only a moment or two more, her body finally finding its comfort. Opening her eyes more brought about a whole view that took even her by surprise, pleasurable surprise: sitting atop Richie. Sitting atop Richie almost made her think, what in the world am I doing like this? But then all the newfound sensations took over her body’s senses, filling her bloodstream with a pleasure she knew existed but hadn’t experienced in…eons, it seemed. And in spite of her mind’s persuading otherwise, Penelope reminded herself the only thing that she felt really mattered: woman, just go with it. Live, damn it! Live…then deal with everything else later.

Her hair dangled and fell in front of her chest and behind her shoulders how it did. Her legs loosened themselves from the tense and straightening-out she did. Her arms and hands pressed themselves onto parts of Richie’s body or her mattress; wherever they felt most comfortable. And her face did almost about what her breasts could do: hung in the air, openly exposing itself, themselves, to the young man with little to no hesitation in showing the expressions running through “Santoro River” below her warm and partially-glowing skin.

Richie, meanwhile, was getting used to having Penelope on him. Literally. Sure, in random guy-banter he could or might say he’d had women in this and similar position(s) as Penelope was now. This was, felt…different. In more ways than one. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly. Looking back on it at another time, however, a grown or professional mentor might say it was a “surreal fantasy realized”…or whatever that damn phrase was.

But for now, Penelope’s hole was suctioning and gripping him in the warmest and, possibly, most inviting of ways. A sigh and moan or two released themselves from both Richie’s and Penelope’s mouths. The physical sensations manifested as such. Also

Looking up at Penelope, Richie’s mind was soaking up the amazingly distinct sight before him: Penelope grinding slowly and steadily; hair scattering around her shoulders; her stomach and hips swaying and buckling forwards and backwards, up and down as both their movements started to flow in sync; shoulders acting with and counteracting her lower body’s motions; and her breasts dangling, bouncing only with the swaying motions of their owners’ body.

Penelope switched her glances wherever her eyes took her. Parts of her room, the top portions of her bed, and the upper half of Richie were all among her focus points while her lower body figured itself out down below, what with the combined warmth going on between their crotches. And Richie synced his light thrusts into the grown woman rocking over him while he placed his hands up and around her hips, waist and belly to help her balance. “Are you feeling okay so far, Penelope?” Richie asked, not quite certain if nor how to proceed. “I am, Rich�"ooh, yes,” Penelope replied, “Very much so.” She leaned her head forward to, her eyes searching for his: “It’s just a little different getting used to this. That’s all. It’s been…” She didn’t know what to say or how to continue that. All she knew was the hardened thing inside her was bringing back feelings and sensations Penelope knew she hadn’t felt in ages…if she even ever actually had at all.

Thus, she “decided” not to say much from that point onwards. She kept grinding and meshing herself over him, balancing her frame as best she could. Likewise, Richie was balancing her too. His hands and arms went back and forth between keeping a sustained grip on her hips and waist and cupping the outside of her cheeks, for stability. There were moments when he felt Penelope get into a rhythm. His hands trailed up her belly, cupping and fondling her breasts as they hung in the open air. The soft mounds sparked a sensation unlike anything he had experienced. Or so he believed. They were full and plump; soft and inviting; and had all the texture of a woman who’d seen herself grow through the years. That was at least Richie’s opinion. And Penelope noticed. She moved her hands to her front side, placing them gently over his, joining him as her cradled and paid attention to her chest. “Ah….you…like them, Richie?”

“Yes, yes….I do,” he replied. “Very much so. They are warm and full and�"ooh�"wonderful, I must say,” Richie continued, as she continued her sways.

Their ooh’s and ah’s and moans continued filling the room, almost as if they had transported themselves back to her little cabin space back at Ashton. And thus they continued their synchronized motions: thrusting in and down, the ripples of pleasure flowing through them both. Penelope’s hair “bouncing” here and there in front of and behind her shoulders. Richie’s hips kept up their thrusting motions, meeting the woman’s downward movements, his arms & hands continuously holding on to and grabbing for whatever part of Penelope’s body felt most comfortable.

Ethics had long been thrown out the window: Penelope had almost all but dismissed the fact that she had a husband, without whom Richie would not be involved in their lives as he was. Richie had almost all but dismissed the fact that he was in a relationship with the youngest daughter of the woman currently riding him. Their facial expressions told the real story, though, which anybody watching could conclude without knowing or having to know the specifics, the details. Neither Penelope nor Richie cared about the realities their individual world’s played in bringing the two of them together as they were. It was as if they had each found the ability to and had given themselves unequivocal permission to forget their “morally good, responsible” selves…whatever that really meant.

Fact was, at that moment, the only thing that seemed to matter was the pleasure driving them both crazy, shooting throughout the bodies. Their thrusting continued: “Penelope�"oh, Penelope�"are you OK? Or are you getting close…?” Richie said, more in verbal outbursts than full, coherent sentences.

“I don’t know�"” Penelope replied. “I’m feeling�"oh�"good. Like it’s building. But…I don’t…know…” her trailing voice was hint enough that they’d need to switch positions soon. Richie was not about to let neither himself nor her let loose a load of cum with the other still inside. Not going to happen, he thought, we don’t need that. He made a decision; a call. “Here, let’s switch…if you don’t mind that is?”

She slowed her pace a hint so as to listen easier and understand his words with clarity, bringing herself to a slow-and-steady rocking motion, like that in a rocking chair. “Switch?” Penelope asked, looking at Richie making sure she heard right. “Yes,” he said. “I was thinking if you wanted to get on the bed and either…say…lay on your back or get on your knees and wrists, elbows. Switch to positions like those.”

He continued: “You’ve been on top for a little while now. Figured you might want a break from being upright is all.”

She looked at him, huffing and breathing a little heavily given the last few moments, holding herself steady. Attempting to eliminate awkward stillness and second-guessing, she made her choice: “oh sure…yes. I don’t mind being on the bed�"I can try getting on my knees, I suppose. I’d be ‘OK’ and fine with that.”

“Yeah?” Richie said, asking more than verbally acknowledging. He knew this was new territory for them both. Without full certainty of how to proceed, he figured it best to give her the choice to confirm her own decision than completely presume she was really “OK” with what she just said.

Plus, he knew she might have odd thoughts about the whole ordeal later�"thoughts he knew he couldn’t control. So, he could only go along with her agreements. That was fine by him, given what and how much they’d done thus far.

“Yes Richie, yeah,” Penelope said. “It’s fine.” She pulled herself up and twisted to his left, her right, side enough to slide off. “Just one thing. Two things, actually…”

“Yes…? I’m listening,” he replied.

“One: I’ll be on…how you kids say it now-a-days…all fours? It’s just that I don’t think I could let you enter me in a traditional position�"it’ll remind me too much of when I was younger, with my husband and all. I hope you can understand that.” Richie nodded his head in understanding: “Think I can about that, yes.”

“And the second: that no matter what, until I say otherwise, we do not speak about this whole thing to anyone. And that includes Jesse and Noel, obviously. I mean, I know I shouldn’t have to say that. But I wanted to be quite clear on that little branch of truth.”

“Oh you don’t have to worry, Penelope,” Richie said. “That is completely understood already. All of this…it’s like the saying about Las Vegas: what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Here, now, you and I here in your room, is our little Vegas…thing. Not a word to anyone�"this is between you and me and you and me alone…unless you tell me different if and when you do.”

His words were clear and solid enough for them both. “No need to say more, is there?”

She let out a slight sigh of relief: “No, not really,” Penelope replied. “Good, though. I’m glad we agreed. It’s just that�"”

“�"you’re okay, Penelope,” Richie interrupted her. “I can understand where you’re coming from. We’re both taking many risks, serious and otherwise…you know, being here. It would only be courteous and helpful to communicate our perspectives for when ‘later’ happens. Trust me, you’re good. I’m cool with it.”

“Okay,” she replied. “Thank you, dear Richie. I really do appreciate�"” but before she could go on, Richie leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. And held himself there.

As he did, her hands found themselves holding onto his face, cheeks and chin areas mostly. The next moment saw them jostling for a “falling” position, their upper body’s swaying forwards and backwards some. Not wanting to get into a power struggle, Richie let his lady lover press herself more into him than he did her…and simultaneously leaned back, bringing her with him.

They lay there only for a moment or two, Richie balancing himself so his part wouldn’t send his brain unwanted nor unnecessary ache-and-pain signals. Penelope felt what his motions and slid her body upwards a hint, just enough to allow him to adjust while her full breasts pressed completely into his chest. Knowing they would switch positions, either way they enjoyed this “meshing” feeling for what it was�"frankly, it was again something neither expected to experience. Much less with each other.

He looked into her eyes after pulling his face away from their oral embrace: “You are a lovely woman, Mrs. S,” Richie said, in case he’d never explicitly used those exact words. “I mean, really. You feel lovely. You act lovely…typically,” to which they both casually giggled. “It’s just…you are making this feel more compelling and more…exciting, I think…than almost anything else I can recall.”

She was looking at him with captivated eyes, swelling with sincere liquid puffs, wonder and pleasing bafflement pressing the “valves of permission” to feel as she was. It was as if this young man knew to be saying all the things she hadn’t heard in years; eons, almost. They were very much welcome, in spite of the complete oddness and morally-twisted dilemma they found themselves.

At the moment, though, she didn’t care about all that other, “external” stuff. Her body was screaming at her that this, this ordeal she was choosing to partake with him, was everything she had secretly and deep-down hoped it might be. And damn it, she was going to honor what her inner self was telling her�"it was her life and her body after all.

“You are much kinder than most people, most women for that matter, give you credit for, Rich,” Penelope said. She sniffed her emotions back just enough to have kept herself together: “And I thank you for it. Sometimes I don’t always know how you managed to enter our lives. My life, even. But that’s something for the divine folk to figure out.” They chuckled, understanding what she meant. “Shall we, you know, with the positioning and all…?”

“Say no more,” Richie said, picking up the direct cue.

He motioned himself upwards and on to his right side while Penelope rolled to hers, twisting her body to allow him the room to reposition himself. Without difficulty, he twisted his body onto his knees and situated himself behind her. Simultaneously, Penelope had the easier task of propping herself up onto her knees and arms. She went back and forth between her elbows and hands, figuring out which part she felt more comfortable. Her forearms rested themselves along with her elbows; this will do for now, she thought as she heard Richie approach her.

She let out a breath or two, finishing her adjustments. Her body nestled itself just as Richie crept close enough to feel her warmth close to him. He grabbed his hardened member in his right hand, putting it into a 90-degree angled position to both his body and hers. He held onto Penelope’s left cheek using his left hand…naturally…balancing himself for position and alignment. Whew. Ah. Their collective breaths came out in mutters, barely recognizable but noticeable. It was a sight Richie never quite thought he’d see, let alone with such ease and in this manner.

“Richie, are you ready�"?” Penelope asked, unable to finish her questioned though as she was beginning to wonder about him.

He’d aligned the tip of his c**k against the warm and moist lips awaiting him just below her full cheeks. He purposefully declined a verbal response. He pressed himself into her warmth, opting for a straight and direct insert into the heavenly moistness she possessed compared to a slow-and-steady or ramming gesture. “Ahhh,” Penelope said, letting out a gasping moan at his unexpected “entrance”. Her body motioned forward a good inch in physical reaction and reception to his pressing. “Ooh,” Richie said in yelping reciprocation.

It took a good two seconds to physically, emotionally and sensually embrace the feeling overtaking them both.

Penelope’s body reminded her of feelings long-lost from eons ago she felt; the pleasures & sensations of having a hard c**k penetrating her womanhood in this precocious and inviting position. Her cheeks feeling the expansion of a young man’s throbbing sensation causing pulses to sweep throughout her body in places she no longer felt were capable of becoming alive. Her breasts dangling in the open air, begging to be held; asking to sway and bounce from the pleasuring thrusts. The waves of electricity coursing through her body.

Richie’s body found itself in a parallel world. It wasn’t “The Upside Down”; just the opposite: “Wonderful Land”. It was a magical place, he felt. The throbbing and stiff part of him felt an inviting and warm suction clinging to his anatomy as he penetrated her in-and-out in motions he felt were reasonably sufficient. The quads area of his legs felt the muscular mounting needed to keep his back-and-forth intensity steady. And his arms held onto Penelope’s hips and outer borders of her cheeks for controlled grip while his knees and below maintained his posture. Every little moment or so, his arms attempted to venture to Penelope’s lower back area, feeling the pulsating part of her that trickled alongside the outer vibrations of their thrusts.

Their thrusting and rippling motions continued for a good while. Neither cared how long they had been going about it; nor how long they were willing to go. That felt irrelevant in that actual moment; it would soon become an issue worth deciding.

But not now. Right now, they were both half-dazed, inhaling and exhaling pulsing breaths, absorbing the moment, still bouncing together in shockingly discovered frenzy of theirs.

They knew what they were doing, and didn’t. They cared. But didn’t. It was wonderful. Yet mischievous as f**k.

Penelope allowed all of it to continue for the decades and years of feeling her body knew had escaped her along the way of life, somehow. Someway.

Richie did as well for all the new sensations he was experiencing and allowing his body to live through. All of them. Every. Bit. Of. Them.

                “Ugh,” Penelope said, yelping out the sensations her body could muster. “Ugh. Ugh. Ah. Ah.” Richie let out similar reactions: “Ooh. Ah.” He sucked the saliva back in his mouth, the air barely escaping and slithering off of his lips as his adrenaline and heart beat steadied themselves at a pleasurable, working rate.

                Richie went back-and-forth between Penelope’s cheeks and hips as he continually thrust himself in and out of her, meeting her bodily slaps and grinds as they flowed together.

                For them both, it was a moment unlike any other either had ever experienced.

                Their thrusting continued for what seemed like half an eternity but was a few minutes in retrospect. “Richie?” Penelope said, barely able to muster the strength needed to call out his name. “Yes, Penelope?” he said, forcing his attention to double itself as their pounding motions were beginning to take him to a certain level he knew would reach its maximum soon enough. “If you’re going to�"you know�"come,” she replied, focusing to get her words out right, “I’d prefer to be on my back.” He slowed his thrusting pace a notch. Wanting to make sure he heard her correctly, he replied: “You’re sure about that?”

                “Yes, dear,” Penelope said, taking her right hand to curl back the parts of her hair that had loosened itself behind her ears. She did the same to her other side in the next, simultaneous motion, balancing her body and her swaying breasts how she could. “It’s just…well…I want to be able to see you come and not just have you pull out and shoot over me or the bedding.” He slowed his thrusts into a much slower and reserved pace, holding onto her hips all the while. “Hope you don’t mind that.”

                “Not at all,” he said, his casual and calm tone acknowledging her with ease. “Totally fine by me.” “Okay,” she said, “want me to turn over then?” Richie’s reply came in the form of pulling himself out of Penelope’s warm hole, the ease of sliding out tingling him even more than he would have expected. He wasn’t about to get used to being inside her regularly, but that wasn’t the main objective on his mind at the given moment. His hard and pulsing erection throbbed as Penelope turned herself over onto her back, situating her hair and body knowing she was allowing him back inside her…for however long it would be for him. And maybe for her too.

                No sooner had she settled herself than Richie lightly grasped himself, giving his stiffy a good stroke or two manually ensuring some stimulation. He then had the help of Penelope’s legs wrapping around him as he positioned the head at the opening to her most inner womanly warmth. Giving it a simple, grazing caress on the outer most layers for the briefest of moments, Richie used his left hand to position Penelope’s right leg slightly wider than it already was; his right held the shaft of his part, aligning it as he saw necessary, and pressed forward, slowly.

                He wanted to ease back into her as he eased out a moment ago. Let her feel the satisfaction of the moment, he thought to himself. Richie didn’t want to make her feel like he was forcibly pressing into her just to release the load building within him. He wanted a moment like this, all of it, to be as genuine as it was pleasurable. They both went ooh with half-opened mouths, gasping at the feelings they were both undertaking…again. Penelope’s hands planted themselves onto the biceps & triceps area of Richie’s arms as her spread legs felt the sensation of this younger man easing himself inside her. From her neck to her breasts down to her belly and upper & outer thighs it even seemed, her body glistened with a light layer of sweat having erupted from the energy it rediscovered. Her face looked up at a man she recognized; only this version of him and this expression he carried was something else she had never come across. She saw it in his eyes, naked as he was. And as she was under him.

                Richie continued his steady and paced inward and outward thrusts, noting how to “lock” his muscles in order to eliminate as much fatigue as possible while his muscles worked themselves and the woman beneath him. Richie’s face also looked down at a woman he recognized but with a new set of expressions he was unfamiliar. Course he literally had never seen Mrs. Santoro in this way, let alone been with her in this way; thus what he was seeing was to be expected, they might say at some later point in life if or when he ever cared to recall the tale when “that moment lead to the other moments”. For this moment, though, all he could feel and focus on was his member warmly sliding in and out, and the sensational picture frame of Penelope below him: her belly lightly bobbing up and down; her breasts reacting with a slight bounce to them after their thrusts met; and the feeling of her calves and feet lightly tapping the back of his legs as he was going deep into her before his eventual release.

                Their continued ooh’s, ah’s, moans and groans were beginning a rhythmic trance that could only mean one thing: Richie was getting close. Freakishly close. As was Penelope. “Getting close Penelope?” Richie asked. His curiosity for where she stood in her orgasmic capacity and threshold for exploding was valid. Even warranted. “I�"ooh�"am, yes,” Penelope said. “Yes, Richie, I think I am. I can feel it.”

                “Are you?” she said, more whispering than saying. “Ooh�"eh�"yes, I think I am,” he said, calmly replying as simply and directly as his body would allow. “I can feel it building, like you mentioned for�"you,” he continued. “Well…” she continued, simultaneously taking in his words while responding with her own while taking in the thrusting motions of his stiffness. “Let me know when you do…please.”

                Richie nodded in understanding. “You already know but just wanted to�"ooh�"say again: I am in no mood to risk getting pregnant from this. I don’t mind�"ooh, ah�"if you want to… (she sighed contently)…’shoot your load’ on me. That’s…fine. I’m okay with that, yes. Just please, I’m begging you: don’t release inside me. Understood?” Looking directly into her eyes, Richie took the half-moment to soak up all her words. And nodded…slowly.

                His nodding turned to intensified thrusts as his hardened member probed in and out of Mrs. Santoro, her legs hooked over his, arms clenching onto Richie’s arms how they could. Richie’s sole focus was in two, simultaneous places: his forward-and-backward hip action feeling what was happening down there while mentally noting when he was about to feel his shoot his load; his gaze taking in bursts of Penelope’s face and breasts, gasping looks consuming her expressions and her full mounds bouncing in “vibrating” motions with the steady pounding, her pink-dark pink n*****s and areolas hardened in the air, distinguished by a mild layer of thickness from their erected mounds of pleasure sweeping through their owner.

                Not a word was spoken. Not a single word. Only ooh’s and ah’s, sighs and grunts filled the room as the mattress made tiny squeaky noises, the bodies engulfing it with their art-form; their passionate love-making becoming something of an unexpected creation neither of them intentionally sought to create…least not until just recently.

                “Ah, Penelope,” Richie said, gasping out the words, “I’m close…think I’m about to come. It’s about to happen,” he continued. “Then…for goodness sakes…you know what to do Rich�"” Penelope said in a mumbling reply, a mumble all she could muster.

                “Ah�"ah�"ah…” Richie continued, and just before either he or she could freak about into an unwanted b***h fest of an argument, Penelope felt his physical need to escape as his body pushed back on her legs with about 1-2 inches of forced pressure going into her legs that wouldn’t have been there otherwise; she knew what that meant�"or thought she did.

                Richie instantly refocused his thoughts, pulled himself out of her warmth, her smooth and wet hole, grabbed himself and positioned his engorged c**k well over the area where he suspected her bush would have been had she not shaved or waxed herself. His gaze went immediately to the area of her naked canvas between her belly button and the intersecting region between her hips and crotch.

His right hand had a solid grip near the end of his shaft and its crowning head. And, while Penelope firmly cupped her breasts in her hands, Richie yelped and groaned as he released the come that had been building within him. Ah….. He huffed and puffed out loud as at least 5 major shots of white goo burst out of his c**k and onto Penelope’s warm and “illuminated” skin. He continued shooting whatever was unloading itself upon her, his entire body consuming itself in a physical phenomenon that felt unlike anything he could recall experiencing recently. Well, maybe with one slight exception. But that was a solid “maybe”.

“Oh my�"dear me, Richie�"” Penelope could be heard saying. “You certainly did shoot a ton out, did you? I mean, really,” she continued, her eyes widening in amazing shock at what the young man looming over her had produced, not completely used to seeing so much white, transparent-like sticky globs of warm liquid cover her so quickly. It has been some time, she had to remind herself, as he remained in a kneeling position while she laid there, taking in his sight, so as to not become too overwhelmed. I mean, she thought to herself, the guy did just come over me.

And as soon as that thought entered her mind, she found herself strayed in a balance battle. It was that fine line between what she wanted to experience, what she was experiencing, from this and what she was already envisioning the next little while of time to feel like. But that was for later…and she knew that.

Right now, this was happening. And like most things right now, she wanted to live through it.

“Are you�"feeling better, Richie? I mean, how was that?” Penelope said, asking with sheer curiosity, not having been in this situation before really. Ever, actually.

“Oh yes,” Richie said, “I’m feeling better. Fantastic, actually.” He continued: “you felt fantastic. And it was amazing. And everything in between, must say.”

She saw it in his eyes. He was telling her the truth. For what had just happened, he was.

“Good, I’m glad,” Penelope said, not quite sure really what to say or how to say anything back. “I could tell…” her words trailed some.

“…yes?” Richie said. “�"you could tell what?” he continued, having grabbed some dampened tissues to help clean her off before any real, visible messes became an issue. Another issue, at that.

“I don’t know. I could tell you had been wanting to do that for some time, perhaps?”

Richie didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes was the same one written all over his expression: of course I have. Sometimes, some things don’t need to be spoken; sometimes, not saying anything is more powerful doing so.

He simply nodded his head, and whispered yes. There was nothing else that had to be said. They both sighed, taking in the moment for what it is and all that it meant. Richie stretched himself out and laid himself next to Penelope, resting. He nodded his head once or twice as if unsure whether to reciprocate the courtesy back to his lover. “Penelope, sorry. Must ask: had you been wanting to do that as well?” His curious tone hung in the air. For the first time since all of their encounters and talks, Richie felt that assured confidence in him become slightly less so. Penelope’s eyes shifted their position by millimeters; she picked up on his cue as well, as subtle or telling as it was or wasn’t.

“Well,” she began, “I mean, I hadn’t thought of it nearly as much as you probably have. It may have come across my mind here or there briefly, I’ll say that. But certainly didn’t expect all of this to happen. It’s not really in me to do all this�"you know me enough to know that’s fairly true, right?”

“Right,” Richie said, acknowledging her. “But still, here we are.”

“Yes,” Penelope said, acknowledging him. “Here we are.”

They both laid in her bed for a little while, which felt like half-a-century with their emotions and physical sensations stirring as they were. Both of them could tell neither wanted to say anything awkward or too weird, though they knew they eventually had to.

“What do we do from here?” Richie said, finally breaking the air of silence. “What do you mean, Richie?”

“I mean, what happens from this point onward? Are we going to keep having our moments? Are we going to avoid each other until we decide we can’t continue this?” He began making good points, which gave Penelope dumbfounded looks but also told her he was right, to a certain extent.

She barged in: “Look, Richie. I think what we had and did just now needs to stay between you and me. Lord knows this is completely unlike me, doing all this. Yes, it felt good. Better in ways than I may even care to recognize. But you’re also a part of my family how you are�"with Noel. And, truthfully, Jesse may begin noticing things and start asking questions. There’s all that to consider.”

“So, for now, let’s just remain how we were: mutually-close adults. Don’t you think?” Her words sounded better in her head and heart than they did aloud, she admitted to herself in her head.

“No, that’s fine,” Richie said, acknowledging her position. “It’s probably best we didn’t find ways to make this too unusual for either of us more than it may be right now. Even if we wanted to, it’s probably best. I agree with you, as enticing as all this is.”

He lingered in his last words there. “I mean, I may want to feel your body here or there when no one is really paying attention and cup your breasts again. Things like that. But who knows if bad things may happen as a result?”

“Anyway,” he continued. “That’s fine. Shall we clean up and get dressed? Won’t Jesse be coming home soon…?”

“He’s out until tomorrow,” she replied. “He already let me know. You won’t have to worry about him intruding.” Richie followed up on that: “Okay then.”

“Do you want me to stay for a bit? Or is it better I head out?” His questions were as simple as they were practical. Mystical, almost.

“I’m OK with either, Rich,” Penelope said. “I live here, you know. I don’t mind you staying. I don’t. If you feel you need to head back to your own place for whatever it is you need to, I’m not stopping you. Do what you need to do. Please.”

“Okay,” he responded.

Richie stayed for about an hour more, having got himself together in the bathroom, soaked up raspberry lemonade and a light snack with his hostess; then felt inclined to return to his own roof. They shared their mutual goodbyes at the door and agreed they would decide how to proceed in the next few visits�"neither was of sound mind to really know how to move forward now. So they chose not to.

 

 

Chapter 25

                Richie ended up visiting the Santoro’s about twice-a-month over the next few months with Noel, like usual. Nothing about his being there with them seemed out of the ordinary. Nor was it really meant to. Penelope would offer meals here and there as she was known to do. Penelope prepared meals for everyone just as she had most of the times she knew Noel and Richie would both be over. As always, they came out to as close to exquisite perfection as could be expected from the world’s most developed, non-professional & specialized cook anyone had met. Jesse was around whenever his schedule allowed him to be�"weeknights some. Weekends when he could join them. That was just his typical routine. He didn’t think anything of Richie being over any more than he had grown accustomed to just seeing him around. Like usual, he would gather. Dude seems harmless anyway.

                Interestingly enough, neither Noel nor Jesse noticed anything unusual about Richie being over. Nor did they notice anything odd about Penelope. It seemed the two new explorers were treading their path with as careful of precision and delicacy as could be fathomed….and that was just the way the adventurers preferred it.

                Sometime in late summer, though, Richie was invited over for a dinner with the Santoro’s; usual, he thought to himself. The subtle moments had been building up. He knew that; so did his female companion. Richie completely presumed he was going to have another dinner of delicious quality among the family that had become an extension of his own. And, truthfully, maybe that’s all it was. There was some bug in him, though, that just said this little gathering was going to be different. He wasn’t sure how or what prompted it. It just arose. No need to overthink that right now, he thought to himself. It’s just dinner, a most-likely amazing dinner, with them. Nothing more. And on that note, he changed himself into an outfit more semi-formal for being over�"casual pants and a short-sleeved polo would suffice he felt.

                Richie arrived around 6:15 for the planned 7PM meal. The timing wasn’t particularly important to any of them, no. What was: Noel would be there and her dad was out on an errand, so he was told by Noel just before he had left his place. “Do you or your mom need me to bring anything?” he had asked before heading out his door. “Eh, I mean if you want to bring a side appetizer dish you could. But that’s up to you. My mom told me she’s all set�"the lasagna should be ready by the time we all arrive. She has most the other things we’ll need,” Noel told him.

                “Okay,” he said, his reply eager to bring the sides. “I’ll swing by Whole Foods and get an appetizer tray for all us. I don’t mind and I’m sure it’ll be enjoyed by everyone.” “Thanks Richie,” Noel said, feeling odd about being grateful for his genuine effort. “I’m sure we all will too.”

                “It’s no problem. See you all soon,” he said, hanging up the phone. That had all been about an hour-and-a-half ago at least.

                Now, here he was standing at the doorstep to their place. He felt as accustomed to the site of their door as he was eager to enter the residence it led to. Knock-knock-knock!

                “Coming!” Richie recognized Penelope’s higher-pitched voice through the doorway and walls beyond. His mind’s eye envisioned her walking towards the door while hearing a body approach. The rattle of a lock and key switch crowded his eardrums. “Ah, hello Richie!” she exclaimed, pleasantly greeting the young man whose relationship towards her had…dramatically…changed in the last little while of time. He immediately noticed her dark, navy blue blouse that clung to her body in delightful ways and the cotton, horizontal-lined grey-plaid skirt that waved down her legs three-quarters length. His eyes told her she was a sight to take in at least for the moment. “Please, come in. We’re almost ready.”

                “Thank you,” Richie said, taking her gesture and cues as simply as they meant: a welcoming courtesy. “I brought an appetizer tray. Noel mentioned it’d be fine to have a little something on the side or while we waited. Thought to include part of the meal in my visit this time. You look lovely too, if I may say so.”

                “Ah, well,” Mrs. Santoro said. “Thank you very much. That’s rather kind of you. And I’m sure we’ll make use of the tray, of course,” she said, as they funneled themselves through the entrance hallway of her pad. “Smells great by the way,” Richie said. “I’m already ready to eat!” As those words came out, he couldn’t help but notice Penelope’s body slightly swayed as if her instincts caught the subtext of what he meant, even if he didn’t mean anything in subtext. Richie merely presumed that, intentions or not, his words had caught a hold of her in more ways than she was able to convey at that moment. All he really knew was that he enjoyed seeing her jolt a hint; it caught his body’s attention where his senses were consumed by the delicious menu awaiting them.

                Dinner itself was good and quick. Penelope made the right portions and everyone was able to serve just the right amount without worrying too much about leftovers. “Hope the lasagna and salad are to everyone’s delight,” she exclaimed proudly yet mindfully. “Oh yes,” her husband Jesse first responded, “It absolutely is. As always I’d say, dear.” His words filled the air with noted emptiness…almost as if recognizing he maybe took some things about her for granted. “It all tastes great mom,” Noel added, not having said much other than remarks about the trip to Ashton recently, how were friends had been since and what her short-term goals were. Richie wasn’t at all surprised at her conversation�"in fact, he didn’t seem concerned about it even if he was hiding that fact well.

                Noel’s input had run its course. Jesse contributed to her discussions: “I’m glad to hear you all had a good time. Sorry for not being there�"I was busy at work. You all know how much it can irritate me when I get called in last-minute to cover or put in the extra day.” He said some other things too, mostly how he felt Noel was on the beginning of a productive path for herself. Lingering too, however, was the heavy feeling they all knew filled the room: Jesse felt guilty about not being with his family in order to have had to answer reality’s demands and “provide”. They were accustomed to it; so they let it go.

                As his words filled the dinner table air, however, Richie took glancing moments here and there back-and-forth between Noel and Penelope. He didn’t say anything; just observed their expressions responding to his words. A picture was certainly worth a thousand words, even a mental one at that. Or in this case, two.

                Noel looked indifferent yet attentive. If he hadn’t known better, Richie might have thought she was half-thinking about the wonderful meal she was consuming while hearing empty but routine lingo streaming from her father’s mouth. Penelope had that same expression on her face she had shown him while they were at Ashton: the accepted look of odd dismay but supportive, excluded, understanding. “Does anyone need anything? I’m going to get some more lemonade from the kitchen. You all mentioned there was some left after we first served, right Penelope?” “Eh, yes. There should be some. I saw it there after I finished serving and I was the last,” she replied, honest as ever.

                “Of course you were,” he quickly replied. “I’ll be back in a moment.” While he was there, he overheard Penelope begin asking if she could take some plates back. He heard a clang or two of silverware and plates, a chair go rev on the floor and the unmistakable sound of a person approaching where he was. Interesting timing, he thought to himself. He gripped the handle, making sure he held its weight before proceeding to pour. His focus simultaneously shifted to his glass as the swishing sound of liquid entered the open barrel. The liquid flowed down and began its swift rising, naturally.

                In the next moment, Richie’s vision picked up another person entering the kitchen area alongside him: sure enough, Penelope had a little stack of plates in her grip. Richie noticed her: “Thanks again for the dinner, Mrs. S,” he said, just loud enough to where he knew she would hear. “It was delicious.” “Oh, you’re welcome, Richie,” she calmly replied, placing the dishes next to sink, not intending to clean up just yet. “It’s no big hassle having everyone here, you know. I just consider it another meal, really,” she continued. She was unaware that Richie had finished pouring his glass and was standing no more than six inches from her.

                She became aware of his presence when she felt his hands zip up the upper-half her arms just below her shoulders, then graze themselves down the upper part of her back. “Oh!” she let out a slight gasp, barely keeping her voice down to not attract any unwanted attention from the table a few feet away. “Richie�"not now…” she cooed to him, “everyone’s over there. Please�"” she whispered to him, feeling his waistline press against hers from behind ever so slightly, the semi-obvious feeling of a developing hard-on beginning to press into her skirted material, as if wanting to nudge its way through layers of fabric. Then, as if by muscle memory meeting desire, Penelope felt the slightest graze of fingers wondering from her backside to her front, under her arms, and gently massage the outsides of her bust before pressing inwards for the shortest 2 seconds she’d ever known. Kid’s got some nerves, she had to admit to herself, standing in place while he fondled her in the most simple of fashions.

Then, perhaps by instinct, she felt her body begin to “rock”, sway rather, in a forward-and-backward type of motion. Her hands gripped the edge of the sink�"her right on the closer one to them both; her left out over the sink, using the far edge to brace herself as she felt her backside being bumped and thrust against, if only in the slightest of motions. She couldn’t believe it even if she said it to herself in her head: oh my god we’re dry humping in my kitchen! Both she and Richie were caught up in the moment. He felt an instinctive urge pull him back from her; something told him not too much more. People were there, and close by, he figured to himself, and let her be.

“Don’t worry,” he quickly replied. “The lemonade’s waiting.”

                Without missing a beat, he took a step back, regained his composure and went to the glass awaiting him. “I’ll be at the table then,” he said to her. “Do you need anything while I’m up, Penelope?”

                “Eh�"no,” she said. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be there in a moment.”

                About a minute, or what felt like a minute, passed before Penelope composed herself and got herself to turn around. As she did, another figure caught her eye. And made her half-freeze without realizing she had. About halfway across the hallway, she could have sworn she saw Jesse standing in the bathroom, just enough reflection available to him to have seemed like he noticed what went on in the kitchen. He had gotten up to use the restroom without saying much to anyone. His usual-yet-unusual habit of having the door open to wash his hands allowed his eyes to wonder where they would. Their wondering brought about a half-baffled, half-curious look on his face; she couldn’t be sure. Her brain told her to move about the kitchen like usual, to seem like nothing happened. Keep moving and act like nothing odd happened, she told herself. She took a few steps before she heard a voice in the kitchen from behind her: “So, are the dishes cleaned? Or were you gonna wait ‘til later to do them?” Jesse’s voice rang in the air like a FBI Investigator. “Later, Jesse,” she calmly replied. “You know I’ll get to them later once everyone’s gone and we’re all done here.” He nodded, arms crossed over his shoulder, as if sensing what he thought he saw moments earlier was indeed what he witnessed. “Yes, I know,” he said, his tone a mix of straight-faced and dead-serious as it was knowing how she worked in the kitchen after all the years. “Did Richie enjoy his lemonade at least? He was in here, right? Just hadn’t seen him return to the table a few moments ago.”

                “Yes, he was,” she replied to him. “He did, as you heard, and served himself some more. Think he went back when you ventured over here. You hear him back at the table, don’t you?” They both heard his voice contributing to the table discussion of laughing small-talk.

                “I do indeed,” Jesse said, following the conversation. “And yes, I did hear him. I’m thinking we’ll have to talk more about things later. We haven’t done that in a while; what do you think?” His question lingered in the air with so much weight someone could have sensed there was a humungous elephant in that compact kitchen area just then. “That sounds fine. We haven’t no, so we should,” she said to him, attempting to keep it as under control as possible. “After we clean up and everything, yes?” she suggested. “Yes,” Jesse replied. “Yes.”

                Evening set in without anyone even noticing. The meal signified it was time to proceed forward with all the usual routines. “Rich, do you have to be going soon?” Noel asked, figuring it was a work night and all. “Yes, Richie,” Jesse’s voice quickly followed up. “Do you have to be going? Or were you planning on sticking around here a little bit longer?” Not only were his words simple, as was usual for him around the dinner table, but they had an unusual amount of directness to them. Almost like an odd coldness that Jesse intentionally used, as if insisting on using a deliberate tone to question whether the young man should bother staying and mingling or leave their place, knowing his place.

                Richie sensed the subtle tone and played it cool as he could: “No, I was planning on heading out in just a moment. I just needed to use the bathroom first so it won’t be so uncomfortable a ride going home.” No lingering signs. No awkward tones. Just a plain response from the kid who’d established a certain level of involvement with the Santoro clan. “Okay, Rich,” Noel mentioned. “That’s fine. I know you have another long day tomorrow.” She followed up: “Can I walk you to the door?”

                “Sure,” he said. “In a moment of course.” He got up, went to take care of his needs and found Noel waiting for him by the hallway leading to the door. Richie already made sure he had his things with him and said his goodbye’s to the sire and lady of the house. Noel heard the audible “thanks again” vocals and met him soon thereafter. “Thanks for coming over, again, and for the tray, Richie,” Noel said to him. She rose to give him a peck on the cheek. “I know they appreciated the gesture.” “It was a good meal and I was happy to contribute how I did. Let you know when I get home, yes?” She nodded. He opened the door and left. She closed it and went back to the table to begin helping with clean-up.

                She found her mom already beginning the process, as usual. And her dad went to his room to change into more comfortable, relaxed attire. Or so her mother told her.

                “Well Mom,” Noel said. “Thanks for allowing Richie to come over. He said he enjoyed the meal.” “Oh of course sweetheart,” Penelope answered her daughter. “He’s welcome anytime you know. I don’t really any reason he wouldn’t be.”

                “Yes, I know,” Noel replied. She helped clean the few glasses and placed some of the utensils in their designated spots in the dishwasher before hitting “the wall” in her body. “Well, if you don’t mind

Mom, I’m going to head out to bed. I’m tired and feel sleepy.”

                “Don’t mind at all,” Penelope said. “You do sound a little tired, yes. We’ll see you next time then, yes?” “Yes,” Noel replied. And on that note, she also left, having gone to her dad’s room and told him goodbye as well. They side-hugged before the front door eventually opened and closed.

                Then, it was just the two of them�"Penelope and Jesse�"as he was anticipating.

                “So�"now? Or in the morning?” Jesse asked, in his mildly direct tone. He figured there was no point of stalling any more than necessary.

                “Now can be fine,” Penelope said. “We’re up. Give me a minute and I’ll be in the living room.”

                “I’ll be waiting,” Jesse said.

                Penelope walked into the open space a few moments later, noticing Jesse had just switched the channel from a basketball game that had just gone to commercial break to some random channel she knew he didn’t care for…a home gardening show or so it looked. The game must not have been that interesting or was between two teams he didn’t care for. “Who was playing?” she asked, wanting to seem curious. “Dallas and someone else I don’t usually follow,” he replied. “. Middle of season. Neither team was doing that great; it seemed boring too…so now, I’m here.”

                “On a home improvement channel? That’s the last channel I’d think you’d be likely to watch.”

                “Well, at least I’m watching something worth watching,” he replied, then gave her a direct, yet subtle, look of curiosity. “So, you want to tell me anything about dinner I might need to know about? Beyond the great-tasting meal I mean?”

                “What are you referring to? We didn’t have either Noel’s friends over, like we might have sometimes. Richie brought the extra side dish�"he thought it a generous thing to do�"”

                Jesse cut her off: “How was the kitchen? Clean? Occupied?” His words were piercing. His look interrogational.

                “Of course it’s clean. I just came from there,” Penelope replied. “What do you mean ‘occupied’ Jesse? That’s not a word I might normally hear you use.”

                “Damn it Penelope! I could have sworn I saw Richie in the kitchen standing near you earlier. I mean, I didn’t actually see anything nor do I know what he or you were doing. It just seemed like he was awfully close… I had a brief glance but didn’t want to say anything in front of everyone earlier.”

                “So, again,” he continued. “You want to tell me anything about dinner I don’t know about already?” His impatient and concerned tone was on the verge of insecure fuming. It was written all over his expression. Penelope saw it and knew she couldn’t refrain from him. Not this conversation.

                She sighed, validating his hints: “Richie stood by me in the kitchen, yes. It was after he had refilled his lemonade. Well, not ‘by’ me. He stood behind me. Very closely.”

                “What else did he do? Or did you allow him to do, I should say?”

                She continued: “He put his hands on my arms, gripped them gently, and gave me what could be called a soft massage as I stood by the sink.” Jesse kept looking at her, sensing either she wasn’t telling him the whole truth or was refraining on purpose. “Was there more? Doesn’t sound like you said everything that needed to be said.”

                She sighed a bit, mildly shamed but honest about the actions that took place only moments before that evening. “He grazed his hands around my upper body. And he pressed his waist behind me as we stood in the kitchen for maybe a second or two. That’s all.”

                The silence in the room was defining. With the TV on Mute, the lamps and flashing images on the screen flickered enough light to highlight the tremendous tension between Mr. and Mrs. Santoro. “Well, that says a lot about the kid I could have sworn seemed harmless ever since he first started coming around, now doesn’t it?”

                “I mean I suppose it could,” Penelope replied, not quite sure how to respond to that, her facing showing as much bewilderment as it did neutral defiance.

                “You think we should ask him over once, just to get some clarity on things?”

                “Now why would you want to do that? To make it even more awkward and unusual the next time Noel or one of us invites him over, which you know is going to happen regardless?” Penelope had an odd point, though she couldn’t quite believe she was saying those words aloud herself.

                “It could certainly provide some interesting conversation from a guy who always seems as polite as he is productive with all he has going on,” Jesse’s words only seemed to lean on the verge of exploding in front of Penelope without actually giving the hint. “Speaking of, neither you nor Noel ever really quite mentioned all the stuff you all did when you were at Ashton that weekend, did you? I was curious about that as I hadn’t heard much. Care to fill me in?” Now Penelope knew he was just being overtly awkward about this whole conversation. It was making her feel a hint uncomfortable; she was desperately trying not to show any signs. “Not right now. It’s late. Maybe tomorrow or over the weekend, when you’re not at work?” “Over the weekend is better,” he said, as casually as he could, striking an odd tone considering how surprisingly be brought it up.

                She continued, as something caught her attention in the most unusual of ways. “Speaking of, how have your business trips been going? You haven’t mentioned anything about those lately. You did mention they’ve been keeping you rather busy lately, yes?”

“Yes,” he said to her, shifting his gaze back on to the TV, taking in the sight of a newly remodeled living room that looked as appealing as it did expensive for its layout. “They have been. Besides, I actually have some things I wanted to discuss with you too…” His words trailed as his gaze went methodically from the screen to her face, catching her face in full view of his. “It’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you for a little while now. I just wasn’t sure when to bring it up is all.”

                And, for the first time in possibly a long time, Penelope looked at her husband in a way she never thought she would.

                “Should I sit down for this?”

                “If you want to,” Jesse replied. “I mean, you don’t have to. But you might want to.”

                As she did, Jesse noticed the clock read 9:43PM. He didn’t want to leave this moment for the morning. But he didn’t want to delay this conversation anymore. Here goes, he thought to himself, switching off the TV.

                “Those business trips haven’t always just been business trips.” His first words rang in the air deliberately, carrying the weight of a f*****g ton they felt. Penelope’s eyes were gazing at his, shooting back and forth. “Go on…” she said.

                “I didn’t go on them by myself,” he continued.

                “I know that�"you mentioned you had some of your team with you,” Penelope said, trying to downplay whatever he was leading up to. “And that you all had been preparing for the next models to be coming out for the upcoming quarters, where the company wanted overall direction to go. Things like that. At least, that’s what you’ve been mentioning…” Penelope now found herself surrounded by the same confused look he had before he began.

                “No, no,” he replied. “It’s not about why we were all out there…” his words trailed for the final time. “It’s who we were all with.”

                Penelope looked at him, unsure she wanted to hear whatever words may be forthcoming, knowing she was going to either way.

                “What�"what do you mean who?” she asked, feeling like a long-lost investigator to the man she thought she knew.

                He sighed, briefly. “Some of the times, yes, it was the team.” She continued looking at him, her face half about to lift out of its self. “Other times, it was just one person.”

                “Jesse Santoro, shut the f�"” Penelope surprised even herself as one, she was never the type of person to just openly use profane phrases so casually and, two, she was about to continue when he cut her off.

                “Yes, okay. Yes�"” he chimed in.

                She stood up, unable to sit any longer. Her hot flusters were about to boil themselves over in her veins. “Yes…what?”

                “Alexis. Alexis Sandoval, from the Accounting department,” Jesse said the name clear as day. “She’s been going with me on the other trips. She’s been going with me for the past 3 years now. …And no, not just because of business.”

               

Penelope took a half-gasped breath and one hunched step to her right, mindful avoiding any furniture to not combat her already fragile physical state. Her hands held themselves over her face, hiding the disbelief, the shock below.

                The longest, quietest and most deafening 5 minutes passed between Mr. and Mrs. Santoro than either could recall in recent memory.

                Those 5 minutes felt like 1,000 moments of silence. Jesse sat up, straightened himself forward in his seated position, and spoke. “…well, aren’t you going to say anything?” His tone was as curious as it was shamelessly guilty.

                Penelope turned and walked the 12-15 feet from the floor to her door, pausing about a foot from it when she heard his voice ring out: “Hello…? Earth to Penelope?!”

                She turned and looked his direction, slumbering a bit as if betrayal and death were about to pay her some sort of odd visit behind that door. “Jesse…” she started. “I mean�"really�"what all do I need to say? Or even ask about that I’d want to know?”

                With that, she half-turned, softly grabbed the handle and began turning. She was about to enter when she simultaneously heard his voice, again, as he stood... “Should I be saying the same thing about you…and Richie?”

                She paused at her door. She knew he knew�"her body gave every answer without a word spoken.

                His voice continued, in the most mocking tone as she had ever heard him utilize: “Or do I need to even ask about anything I’d want to know?”

                Her body quivered. It wasn’t able to respond. It didn’t. Her instincts took control. They told her to open the door as smoothly as possible, enter and close it behind her, so he wouldn’t have a chance to get physically closer to her nor say anything he might really regret.

She followed her instincts and found herself safely behind her door. She didn’t lock it at first; last thing she wanted was to give him the impression she was keeping him away for her own safety.

She heard his footsteps approach her door. “Penelope?” his voice rang through her door. “I know you’re there at the door and can hear me. I’ll ask again.”

“Should I bother asking about you and Richie?”

“There’s no need,” her voice finally rang out from her side.

“Because it’s true? Or because I’m accusing you of something�"something to which I have no actual proof?”

She knew she had to respond in the most delicate of ways. Only, her mind didn’t know how to phrase said-response, especially not like this. “Even if it’s true, it’s because you’re accusing me, I don’t appreciate it and, quite frankly Jesse, I don’t give a damn right now to be having this conversation. Neither of us is in the right frame of mind for it. You know it and so do I.”

“Penelope!” Jesse said, yelping her name as he placed his hand firmly on her door with a soft thud. “Please just open the door so we can make this discussion as short and simple as it needs to be. You and I both know we don’t want this to drag on and on.”

No response.

He gave her another moment. Still, no response.

Damn, she’s in a stubborn and locked mood, he thought, acknowledging this conversation was going (to go) nowhere. “Alright, well, I’m going to be back in a few then head to bed. If I see you in the morning, I see you then. If not, I work ‘til late tomorrow and you’ll probably see me then.”

She heard him leave her doorway. Then, the front door open and close. Then, their home became quiet. Moments later, after a warm shower intended to have rinsed off the first layer of everything, Penelope felt it best to get the rest she needed.

Morning came. She didn’t see her husband here or there. No note. His keys were gone. His room was in order. Bed made. He’s left for the day, and will be back later, she reminded herself he said.

 

Just around 2PM rolled around the clocks. Penelope reached for her phone, scrolled through some numbers, stopping at ‘D’. She pressed a button and another then brought the phone to her ear.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz�" “Hello?” a woman’s voice answered.

“Debbie? It’s Penelope,” Penelope replied.

“Penelope! Haven’t heard from you in a while,” Debbie responded. “How are you? How is the family? Is everything alright?” They were not meant as literal question-and-answer prompts, she knew. Penelope knew that was Debbie’s way of saying, what’s going on that you’re calling me to need to talk, which I am guessing you need to do anyway?

“Are you free at the moment to come over? This may be longer than a simple phone call’s worth of a discussion,” Penelope replied to her friend.

“Of course, I’ll be right over. See you in 20-30 minutes.” A moment later, they both hung up.

The phone left the right-side of her face when she noticed a ‘1’ inside a red cell circle by the phone icon. I don’t remember getting a call, Penelope thought. She pressed on it�"it wasn’t a call she missed. The red directed her to the voicemail section.

It was from Jesse.

She pressed the phone to her ear, and listened to the words that equated to about a minute and 30 seconds. “…probably won’t be coming home tonight. I don’t know exactly what this means for us, let alone the family, although I think we already both know…” she heard near the end.

A distinguishable sigh left her mouth, heaved out of her body and took some of last night’s energy from her; it was…one of “those” sigh’s.

Knock-knock-knock went the door. “Coming,” her voice rang. She opened it up and welcomed Debbie in.

“Hello dearest,” Debbie exclaimed to her good friend. “You sounded a little frazzled on the phone…” her voice trailed, with an idea of what she was about to hear but with no certainty.

“Yes,” Penelope replied, “I was. I am… I do need to talk. There is much to tell.”

“I’m here for you, for as long as you need me.”

And, for once, Penelope looked at another person in her world knowing the other side of their talk was where she wanted to go.

 

Author's Note

Manuscript is 475 pages; 148,552 words. Edited some but mostly unedited as I did much of that through the drafting process.