We smile at each other, fix our makeup in the mirror, and leave the bathroom to find you sitting in a booth, waiting for us, with a round of drinks. I slide in next to you on one side as she does the same on the other. We toast to the night and all turn our drinks up. As we converse, both of our bodies turned in toward you, her hand slides up your thigh. I take notice and move my arm behind you, tracing your ear and the back of your neck with my fingers. It's hard not to acknowledge the bulge forming in your pants, and she and I have been exchanging glances all night. I move my hand down to meet hers, right at the top of your thigh, and you signal the waitress for our check. Back at your apartment we are in front of you heading up the stairs, our perfect asses on display for you. You open the door for us, and our hands are drawn to each other like magnets. Her lips taste like fruit as her tongue brushes over mine, gently sucking my bottom lip. I run my hands slowly up her stomach,. She was forty-three years old, and in good shape for her age. Hell, she thought, I’m in great shape for a woman any age. She removed the man’s undershirt (Robby’s!!) she was wearing, and examined herself nude. Her hair was strawberry blonde and cut short. Her eyes were bright, cheerful and slightly upturned at the corners. Ruefully, she admitted that if she looked carefully, she could see tiny crows feet. Her nose was nicely proportioned to the rest of her face, and her moderately full lips framed a smile composed of white even teeth. Her cheekbones were high–she had been a real beauty in her day–and her chin strong and smooth, with no loose skin underneath. Louise had never been pregnant, and her breasts, size 34C, were full and round with an inviting cleft between them. Her stomach was smooth and flat, and her hips, thighs and butt were sleek and toned, the result of 30 minutes three times a week on the stair-stepper. Overall, she thought, I am a damn good-looking woman. She smiled.
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