Something else to focus on. Something to take the mindlessness of the grind away…
Then she appeared.
Walking down the steps like a goddess in discombobulated sleeping attire…
Hair piled high in a scrunchy. Blonde-streaked, but still mostly brunette locks stacked on the top of her head with ringlets drifting around her ears like angel’s wings. A green tank top with DD breasts galore, spilling out of the sides and at the top. Yoga pants. Wonderful, God-inspired Yoga pants. Commando for sure. She was a vision.
“Hey,” she offered, coming down the steps, a limp to her gate, favoring a bad heel.
“Hey,” I offered, looking up from my computer over a set of readers.
She secured her ipad from the charging station to my left, scored some reading glasses of her own, and flopped in the loveseat ten feet from me across the way. Dear God, she is beautiful. Sexy as hell in her librarian’s glasses, functional sleepwear, and bare feet. She had no clue how alluring she could be to her backwater, redneck husband.
“How’s it going?” she wanted to know.
“Just knocking out a few pages before I hit the recumbent,” I let her know. The recumbent, another holiday purchase, had become a permanent resident downstairs in the den.
“OK. Will probably join you downstairs for some yoga after I catch up,” she informed me. Yoga had become a staple morning routine for her. It had its positive effects on her for sure. She was slimmer, more self-assured, a better human being because of it.
I secured her a cup of coffee and she received it without much recognition—royalty with an upturned nose securely fastened into Facebook.
“Any word from the kids?” I wanted to know.
“Don’t know yet. Still fishing around for what’s new. Why do you ask?”
Why do I ask? They were my fucking kids too… the anger was stowed away, not generated by her, oh God, not from her, just another pile of shit I had to deal with. “Just checking in. Miss those buggers…”
She gave me a smile, halfhearted at best.
“See you downstairs,” I declared, and headed out.
Six miles in, I was a wee bit light headed and took a pull from my water bottle. Sandi waddled downstairs to join me.
“I’m … Yoga …here. Will ….bother?”
I pulled the earbuds out. “What?”
“I’m going to do some Yoga. Will that disturb you?”
“It’s all good.”
The earbuds went back in and I pedalled that much harder.
Podcast. Somebody talking about being so much better than you are right now. I thought about the last time Sandi and I were physically together almost a month ago. 69. I thought about Coral Gables. I thought about the fuckfest we had before Coral Gables. My, how times have a way of changing.
We were in a lull. Another fucking lull.
I just needed a diversion.
Sandi was well into her routine a few feet away on the other side of the couch. Some Canadian dude was on the big screen TV, softly spelling out where her breathing should be, where her next move should land her. I wondered if he still lived at home with his parents.
Twelve miles into my ride. My thighs ached. My balls ached.
God, she looked sexy.
An old expression an ex-brother-in-law from the past echoed in my ears: “She’s got an ass like a $40 mule.”
No, it was better than that.
Sandi’s ass was epic. Perfectly curved. Large—I’ll give you that—but in perfect proportion to the rest of her. An amazing ass. Accented by an hourglass figure. And those boobs. Amazing boobs. I was a very fortunate man, indeed.
Sandi is exquisite.
And a diversion.
Hopping off the recumbent, nursing an unsteady knee, I made my way over to Sandi as she was locked in downward dog. Her ass was extended, beautifully, athletically, and I took the sight in.
Without a thought of intrusion, I kneeled behind her, yanked down her Yoga pants and began licking her ass cheeks.
“What the hell?” she wanted to know.
Join Sandi and Robert as they embark on the next phase of life: Life in the empty nest–a time of discovery, of self-revelation and fresh starts.