“I must be dreaming.” His big, broad, dopey smile made her heart tip sideways.
“Don’t wake up, then.”
She held out her hands to him and he took them, padding after her into the bedroom.
She let him go so she could light some candles, and he went to sit on the bed. Outside it was still light and birds sang from the rooftops. Some children were kicking a ball around, and every so often it hit the garage doors with a mighty clang.
Shadows were needed. Something to hide the flaws, the beginnings of crêpe-like skin between her breasts, the hated layer of extra padding on her hips that just wouldn’t budge…
“I want to watch you undress,” said Ben when she turned to him.
“Oh, God, do you? Really? It’s nothing special…”
“Shh! Of course it is. Let me watch you.”
She looked for mockery in his eyes but found nothing but the most earnest intent.
Well, perhaps it was ridiculous, at her age, to be coy about nudity. She wasn’t a slip of a girl any more, but she wasn’t a hag, either. She had all the right curves and everything a sexy woman needed—including, at number one, confidence.
So she threw back her head and shook her hair, then she began to pull off her top. If only she’d worn a shirt today. The slow unbuttoning would have been so much more alluring. Pulling this silly thing over her head didn’t have quite the same effect.
But once her breasts were revealed in their balconette bra, Ben didn’t seem to notice the difference.
“Ohhh.” He exhaled, licking dry lips. “I’m dying to touch them.”
“In time,” she said, feeling the first surge of her female power over him. Why had she never considered a younger lover before? Well, Milan was, of course, by a couple of years, but nothing significant. How intoxicating Ben’s blatant worship was.
She reached for her waistband and unlooped the side button of her skirt. Once the zip was down, it fell to the floor. Her teal green satin briefs matched the bra, and the warm weather had happily dispensed with the need for hosiery. Although…
“Are you a stockings man?” she asked.
“I’m not, uh, averse.”
“Maybe I could wear some next time.”
“Would you do that? For me? Wow.”
She pirouetted, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror that nearly shattered her resolve.
You’re forty-two, love. Act your age.
And now there was only the underwear to go. Were her legs okay? When did she last wax them? And should she have done her pubes? Would a young man even know what they were, in today’s world? Perhaps he would be horrified and appalled, like John Ruskin in that story about his wedding night.
Stop being so bloody ridiculous!
And would she even remember how to do it? What if—
“That bra’s pretty, but I think there’s something even prettier underneath.”
Ben derailed the unhelpful train of thought, reaching out his hand, fingers waggling suggestively.
“I hate to admit it, but I’m incapable of taking a bra off sexily. Can’t reach the clasp. Perhaps you could…help me out?”
“Gladly.”
She presented her back to Ben, who was only too happy to oblige with unfastening it. He tried to reach
around and cup her breasts, but she danced away from him, leaving him swinging the bra in his fingers, unsatisfied.