Giggles, light and airy and distinctly feminine, drew him out of the kitchen and into the den. Like the lure of a sirens song, Michael Brady was no stranger to Nikki's lilting. His throat now dry, a heaviness in the center of his gut tugged down towards his groin in a way that demanded his attention. He made his way towards the glass slider doors, a gala apple gripped in his palm he no longer had the appetite for.
Mr. Brady was aware, vaguely, that he'd have the pleasure of her presence at his home that Sunday morning. Marcia had crept into his den late the night before with her signature respectful candor while he toiled away at his latest project. He knew full well by the meekness of her tone, and the way she rocked onto the tips of her toes she wasn't certain - but she was confident - in getting him to acquiesce. It was late, he was tired, and in an attempt to appease his oldest daughter and not break his concentration, he was eager to grant her request and quickly send her off to bed. However when her name left her lips, he was at Marcia's mercy whether she knew it or not. He agreed to her proposal without a word of protest. She beamed, pecking him on the cheek with a kiss goodnight, skipping off to bed. All mention of their plans to sunbath in the yard, in his yard, fallen on woefully deaf ears. That next morning as he trotted down the stairs with his golf bag over his shoulder and sunglasses already perched on the bridge of his nose, his plans of an easy-breezy summer morning 12 hole jaunt at the green came to a screeching halt when he saw Nikki in the living room with Marcia.
Now here he was, a grown man well into his forties, gawking at the sight of Nikki with a boyish fascination and an adult shame. Her nubile body languished in the suns hot rays, narrow shoulders and the tops of her knees already turned pink. He swallowed against his parched throat, bringing the apple he forgot he had been holding to his chest to rub the waxy skin against his shirt. His stomach hardened in protest at the thought of eating anything in that moment, but if he didn't have something to sink his teeth into, he was liable to crack his molars with the force of clenched jaw.
Grateful for the fact that his leering by the back door had gone yet undetected by the pair, he continued to size her up from only a few feet away, their giddy chatter muffled, and the exact words being exchanged indistinguishable over the blood pounding in his ears and rushing to his most neglected of extremities. As if the mere thought of his deepest, darkest desires manifested the action, he watched with a stalled heartbeat and his apple raised - and paused - at his poised lips as Nikki shifted from her prone position and stretched her limbs in a languid manner, not unlike a kitten in the middle of her sun bath, before she stilled to perch on all fours. He could feel his eyes bug nice and wide as she presented her rear, as if she were trying to goad him. With reinvigorated hunger, he sunk his teeth into the apple and voraciously tore a sizable chunk from the tiny fruit with a sharp crunch of his canines snapping the skin.
He was supposed to be out golfing.
Holding her salacious posture, head cocked over her shoulder to continue her conversation with Marcia, he drank in the sight of her delicate curves. His eyes followed the dips and perks of her form, it was as if he had designed her himself. The way her floral printed bikini bottoms hugged the perky musculature of her glutes, tantalizing him with his own insatiability when it came to this his most forbidden of desires; Nikki.
After what felt like an eternity she ceased her torment and flipped to lay on her back. Now getting an eyeful of Nikki's front, her form lithe and sun drenched, he licked his lips and bit into his apple yet again, futilely looking to satiate his burgeoning appetite. The way she sprawled out on the lounger to bask in the late July heat was almost beckoning, as if she were a feast prepared and displayed solely for him. A feast of hot, supple skin, flash-frozen at the peak of beauty and youth.
As the two girls continued baked in the California sun, blissfully unaware or naively uncaring while he observed - more accurately gawked, his face flush with shame - Nikki reached over to her now watery lemonade and plucked an ice cube from the top. Already beginning to melt between her polished finger tips, Mr. Brady swallowed a groan as she proceeded to rub it between her budded breasts, and up along the path the sinews in her neck made up from her collar bone, rolling her head from side to side as her tanned flesh now glistened from the melting ice. The sight was enough to bring him to his knees as they buckled beneath him, a whimper lodged in his throat with the bite of apple he hadn't even realized he swallowed. He could almost taste her, the salt of perspiration and contrasting sweetness from the artificial coconut of suntan lotion he ached to rub into her skin himself. And the sickly sweetness of sugary lemonade traces smeared against her pulse.
He thought of flattening his tongue against her neck, lapping at lemonade like a hungry dog, standing there in his den with a just an apple core left and an itch swelling at his groin, unaware of just how stern the set of his jaw and the furrow of his brow were.
I'm supposed to be golfing. He thought to himself grimly.