Cindy and Dana Ch. 01

She had the whitest skin I had ever seen. And the blackest hair. The contrast was startling. And she was young, maybe twenty-five or -six. Too young, anyway, for me, deep in my forty-seventh year, to go legging after her. Besides, she was talking earnestly to Jimmy, the young computer whiz that occupied the desk just outside my office. If she's the girl he talks about all the time, I thought, lucky him.

She was what is usually called "petite", about five-four or -five but with that straight-up posture that short people often have. Her hair, crow-black and thick, was cut in a pageboy style that I associate more with children, but on her, it was not childish. Her skin was milk-white and smooth; her features were regular, with a somewhat wider and more petulant mouth than it should have had. It added interest and sensuality to a face that would have been pretty but unremarkable otherwise.

As she moved around to the side of Jimmy's desk, I couldn't help but notice the full swell of her bottom rounding out the summer print she was wearing. Her legs were bare, slender and looked strong. A wave of sad appreciation went through me. It's tough to have middle-age creep up on you; tougher at some times than at others.

Whatever she was saying to Jimmy, it seemed serious. She had that kind of look on her face. I knew it was trouble when I saw Jimmy run his hands through his hair and shrug in an I-give-up gesture. Up to this point I hadn't heard so much as a word, office noise being what it is, but then Jimmy stood up, took her by the elbow and I heard him say, "C'mon, we'll go settle this now".

She looked around to see if they were making a scene and I felt guilty when she caught me watching and held my eye for a second. I found something on my desk to be busy with, but glanced up in time to see her remove her arm from Jimmy's grasp as they went through the door. I hoped, for his sake, he wouldn't blow it.Ten minutes later, Jimmy came back with a scowl on his face, grabbed a folder and disappeared into the computer room, slamming the door behind him. Ah, yes, young love.

I took an early lunch, about eleven-thirty, and went for my usual walk along the river promenade. I was surprised to see her sitting on a shady bench. She saw me so I nodded and smiled and continued up the walk to a shady spot of my own where I paused to look out at the water.

"Excuse me." And there she was at my elbow. "I saw you in the office while ago. You're James Ross?"

"Yes."

"Jimmy's mentioned you; you're his boss aren't you?" It wasn't really a question. Her voice was surprisingly low and very clear; steady and even with no hint of stress.

"I guess you could say that. I don't sign the checks, but I'm responsible for the office."

"I'm Cindy McCarthy. Would you please do me a favor and take this to him when you go back?" She held out a key with a plastic tag on it. "It's an extra that I had in my car. I don't want to go back up there."

"Yes, I'll be glad to." I thought she would turn and go, but she didn't; she just settled her arms on the rail and looked out across the river.

"Tough day?" I asked.

"Tough enough. I hate going through that sort of thing in front of people, but he's been avoiding it. He hasn't been back to the apartment for two days and I had to get it over with."

"Well, the course of true love never did run smooth, they say."

"It wasn't true love, it was just an arrangement that was great in the beginning and not so great later. We both know it but Jimmy doesn't like to lose anything so he was dragging his feet."

Maybe it was the open and matter-of-fact way she had of talking about her private life to me, a complete stranger, that got me interested. Most people are reluctant to part with details, especially while the wounds are still fresh, but she had this no-nonsense, clear-minded line that told me she wouldn't spend much time looking back and wouldn't hurt much, if any. I was sure it wasn't bravado or pretense, this kid was the real thing. Poor Jimmy.

"Is there anything you want me to tell Jimmy when I see him?" I asked.

"Just tell him you ran into Cindy on your way back and she asked you to give him the key." Simple, no adornment. I was beginning to like her. She was completely refreshing and I didn't want her to get away.

"I've got about half an hour left, would you like some coffee?"

"Can I have fruit juice instead?"

"Sure."

I bought it at a small stand near the riverwalk and we drank it sitting at a wrought iron table in the shade by the river. Thinking about it now, I honestly don't know what I was thinking at the time. Certainly I had no idea that things would turn out the way they did --- wouldn't have believed it if I had thought of it. I think I just wanted to hang on to her company for a while, to listen to the straight talk that was a bit naive but genuinely honest. It's in short supply these days.

The conversation moved easily from her just-ended relationship with Jimmy to other things, her college courses (she was in pre-law), my real estate venture (I had just rented out a town house in the suburbs and moved to an in-town apartment). The next thing I knew I was five minutes over the lunch period and I never want to set a bad example for the troops in the office. She reached around to retrieve her purse from the ground behind her chair and the stretch brought the hem of the little summer dress up a few inches.

The underside of her thigh looked as smooth as cream. Then she straightened and the curtain descended.

"Thanks for the juice," she said. She looked straight at me and I got the full force of her eyes for the first time. They were a clear gray and large under sweeping lashes. They gave you the idea that you could see clear inside her, that nothing was hidden from you. They were to have a powerful effect on me later.

"Listen, thanks for giving Jimmy the key. It's been really nice talking to you." It was the sort of thing anybody would say to end a conversation, but she made it sound genuine. She held my eyes for a few seconds more, added a warm, wide smile and was gone.

I thought about her a few times over the next two weeks, let my mind wander back to that afternoon and the easy way she had talked and been with me despite the difference in our ages. I had been a little stuffy at first, defensive about the age thing, but she didn't seem to notice either the stuffiness or the age. And always, there was that parting image, that long, level look and wide smile she gave me before she left. Had she been flirting or was I just wishing she had?

Anyway, it was something nice to remember and I was doing my best, one day, to push it aside before it became a middle-age fantasy when the phone rang.

"James Ross speaking."

"Hi James -- Mr. Ross. It's Cindy McCarthy, remember?"

"Oh, --- Yes, how are you. I mean, what can I do for you?" I was caught completely off guard and bumbled like a kid half her age. Before I could recover, she launched into an explanation.

"My aunt bought me a membership in the Hollis Museum of Art and I want to go to the opening of an exhibit but I don't want to go alone because it's downtown and it will be late when it's over. How about meeting me there and taking me home later?"

"Well, -- I -- uh, when? I mean what day?"

"Tonight. Sorry. I know it's short notice. Feel free to say no if you want to. It's early, though, the doors open at six and the whole thing's over at ten. Free wine and cheese."

She stopped talking and I tried hard to make my brain and mouth work at the same time.

"Can you make it?"

I decided to ignore the apparent contradiction about the hours and lateness. "Yeah, yeah, sure. That's The Hollis at six?"

"More like six-fifteen if I hurry. I get off at six."

"OK, then."

"Great, see you there." The receiver clicked in my ear and she was gone again.

I'm not usually a bumbler. In fact, I'm known in my own bailiwick as a pretty cool head in both business and personal relationships. But Cindy's call had caught me at the very moment that I was trying to tell myself to forget her and stop courting a mid-life crisis. The timing had been spooky. In any case, I was able to resume my usual confidence by the time I arrived at the museum a deliberate ten minutes late. She was waiting, dressed casually in jeans and a pale blue shirt.

The exhibit turned out to be something called a "Double Retrospective" featuring the work of two local artists, now dead. One was a folk artist who painted in a primitive style on old pieces of barn siding, fence posts and even corrugated roofing; it left me cold. The other one was a photographer who had recorded life in the South and the Mid-west during the 'thirties and 'forties. That, I liked.

When it was over, I drove Cindy to her apartment, one half of a duplex that had once been a single dwelling. It had been a fashionable neighborhood when it was built, had fallen into near-slum condition during the 'fifties and 'sixties, and was now being resurrected by urban pioneers and speculators. My own apartment was something like hers but bigger and in a slightly more up-scale area on the other side of downtown.

"You better park here, there's never a place in front. It's only three houses down."

She led me down the walk, up onto a large verandah-type porch and around to a side entrance where she unlocked a door leading into a hallway.

"Come on in. I've got a couple of specials I've been saving."

The specials turned out to be two cold bottles of very good English ale.

"I'm sorry," she said as she brought them in, "I didn't even ask you if you drink beer."

"I do, and this is a lot better than any beer. Thanks." She plopped down sideways in the center of the couch, one elbow on the back, her head on her knuckles and watched me while I drank. I sat on one end.

"I thought it would help make the evening worthwhile for you."

"Nonsense, I thoroughly enjoyed the exhibition --- well the photographs, anyway. I just hope I was an acceptable stand-in."

She smiled, almost laughed, swallowed a drink of ale and said, "You weren't a stand-in. I didn't invite anyone else." She whisked some foam off of her upper lip with the pink tip of her tongue. Her eyes were sparkling now and I got the first whiff of mischief. She was not silly, but very much in possession of herself and the moment. Her smile was was warm, her gaze was even.

"Do you always wait till the last minute to call your dates?"

"I didn't want you to think about it. I was afraid you'd talk yourself out of it because you think I'm too young for you."

"You mean you had this planned."

"Yes. You're not angry, I hope."

"No, just curious. Why me?"

She tucked one leg under her and turned on the couch to face me. "Because you're tall, you're handsome and you're older." Those eyes again. My God, she was telling the truth, holding nothing back. There was no coy smile, no simpering, no cuteness of any kind. Just simple candor clear down to the bottom. I could feel myself sliding toward awkwardness again, so I attacked.

"Older, eh. Did you think that was playing it safe?"

"No. It's something I wanted to do. I want the experience of spending time -- of being with an older man."

"And I got the honors. You don't know much about me. I might have terrible habits. I might mistreat women for fun and pleasure. I might take advantage of your inexperience. Hell, there are any number of melodramatic plots that you could be encouraging."

"Those things could happen no matter who you were. Besides, I know you a little better than you think. Jimmy's told me a lot about you. He looks up to you in many ways."

"I'm surprised. I've been kind of hard on him a few times."

"Well, he needs it. He even likes it a little, I think. You know, he took me to the office once before, a couple of months ago. I saw you talking to two men in suits with briefcases in the hallway. They were listening and nodding. I thought then that you would be an interesting man to know."

In other words, she wanted someone more mature than the self-important young Mr. Shepherd. It also occurred to me that she was probably tired of being treated like the sweet child she appeared to be. She was not a kid; she had surprised me all evening with her sophistication and self-possession.

"Jimmy thinks of me as some sort of cheerleader, a continuation of his college days when he was tearing up the playing fields and the hearts of co-eds. He thought I'd always be there waiting when he got finished doing whatever he was doing and decided to come back. I think it's been kind of hard on him to find out how things are in the real world."

"Well, don't you be too hard on him. He'll learn eventually."

"I don't want to wait."

That was her last chance to keep this on the level of a casual date. I lost my grip on my fatherly-advice pose. We locked eyes. Arms and lips followed with tongues not far behind. If I had had any misgivings about what was happening, they were melting fast in the heat of the moment. That first kiss was like opening the starting gates at the race track. Alarm bells rang and we were off! The next thing I knew, she was squirming into my lap with both her arms wrapped around my head and her tongue in my mouth. I leaned to my right and she went down on her back pulling me down on top of her. My left hand slid around to her breast. She gasped and took hold of it.

"Wait."

"What?"

"I want to do something. I'll be right back."

She slipped out from under me and disappeared into the bedroom. She was back in two minutes, the jeans and shirt replaced by a Chinese silk jacket that came down just below her bottom.

"I'd just like to go a little slower now," she said. And the smile she added promised that nothing would be left out. "There's a robe on the bed if you would like to change." That certainly got rid of any lingering doubts. She had obviously planned more than just the date.

I lost no time getting out of my clothes and into the robe, a black silk kimono-like affair, but definitely male. I was thankful for the time it gave me to get hold of myself. My pulse was racing with the thought of the gorgeous young woman waiting in the next room. I took a few deep breaths, relaxed my muscles and returned to the living room.

The light had been dimmed, but I could still see well enough. Music was coming from the stereo in the corner, some sort of cool, easy jazz. She was on the opposite side of the room and I had my first full view of her legs beneath the lounging jacket, trim ankles, strong calves, full round thighs that looked much longer than her height would allow. I remember thinking how beautifully proportioned she was. The word "architecture" went through my mind.

We came together in the middle of the room, neither of us hurrying, content to take our time now that the outcome was known. We danced a few slow steps, kissed, danced some more, kissed again and sank on to the sofa. She settled on my lap again where she seemed to like to be, kissing me deeply and gently. My hand went to her knee and started a slow, delicious slide up the outside of her leg. She pulled her lips away and smiled, put her hand on top of mine and pulled it around until it was between her thighs and pressed it tight.

She was as soft as clouds, smooth as silk and her warmth traveled up my arm and spread through my chest. I glanced down and saw my hand buried between two voluptuous, ivory thighs. The flesh was deliciously warm and soft, pliant but firm. I slid my hand up and down to feel the velvet smoothness of them, ran my fingertips over them, watched them as she moved them provocatively together, held a handful of it, patted it, watched it jiggle and quiver as I slapped it a little harder. She mewed a little sound as I gripped the inside of one of them and felt deeply, massaging and kneading.

She lifted her face to mine and with another warm, wet kiss, her hand slid inside the robe onto my chest and kneaded the muscle there. I was delirious with desire. I let my hand wander up and down her thighs, around to her pert little bottom, squeezing and kneading, feeling her heat, her legs moving under my hand in squirmy anticipation.

I pushed between her thighs again and ran my fingertip over the dampness in her crotch. She surprised me then by pushing off my lap and standing up directly in front of me. She untied the sash on the jacket and it slid from her shoulders, down her arms and onto the floor. Except for a very brief, wispy excuse for a pair of panties she was nude. She posed frankly, her hands demurely behind her back, displaying two round, surprisingly full breasts just inches from my eyes. Not big, but the same luscious ivory color as the insides of her thighs, with a thin tracery of blue veins faintly visible and nipples that were sharp and hard and pink. Her waist was tiny and served to accent the sudden flare of her hips. I could see the dark shadow of jet-black hair through her panties.

She settled back into my arms and lap with a sound like a cat's purr and a light in her eyes that promised everything that I could think of to want. After another long, slow kiss she showed me that the surprises were not over yet. She turned and lay on her stomach across my lap presenting me with a close view of that wonderful rear end that had captivated me in the office. I didn't catch on to the game until she looked over her shoulder, grinned and bit her lower lip in a mischievous way that tipped me off. I experimented with a light smack on that gorgeous rump. She took my other hand in hers and laid her face in my palm, kissing it.

I'd known only one other girl who had liked this sort of fun. That had been in England twenty-five years ago and I had been too young to handle the situation with any sort of aplomb. I had been so flustered she finally gave up on me, called a cab, and left... I'd had a sense of failure about that encounter ever since.

Cindy's breath came a little faster now. She looked up, smiled, wriggled a little in my lap to let me know I was on the right track. I smacked her again, harder this time and she yelped a tiny yelp. I started playing a slow, languorous rhythm on her bottom as she squirmed and mewed. Each stroke caused the flesh on her bottom and thighs to ripple and quiver. My blood raced as I watched her soft ivory flesh turn pink. She clutched greedily at me, urging me on.

"Oh-h-h-h, that's good! I like that so much!!," she sobbed. I slapped her bottom a few more times, then slowly rotated my palm on the hot pink flesh, squeezing and feeling her soft, springy cheeks. She squeezed her legs tight together making a valentine of her delectable bottom and causing her pale white flesh to quiver deliciously at each slap.

I decided to up the ante. I drew my arm up and sent it down with more force than before. It produced a sharp smack and caused her bottom flesh to quiver and shake and got me more heated up than I had been in years. I paused long enough to slip the panties down to her knees, then my strokes got harder and her face screwed up with the sharpness of it. Her milky-white bottom was laced with red hand prints. I let the next few fall on the backs of her thighs. She caught her breath and kicked a bit in surprise at the sudden change of target but controlled herself. Her fingers dug deep into the pillow she had beneath her head.

"Harder," she said through a tight throat, and I picked up the pace and the force of the blows, letting them fall randomly on her beautiful, full round bottom and thighs. Each time my hand descended on her firm, gleaming, white flesh the slap was sharp and her cries were soft little sounds from behind clenched teeth.

Then, quick as a cat, she was off my lap and on the floor between my knees. She tore open my robe and grabbed hold of my cock which was standing up iron hard. She looked at it for a minute with a smile of happy anticipation, tears running down her cheeks, her pretty, red lips trembling. Then she took it into her mouth with a sound like a soft growl. Her head went up and down several times in rapid succession, then she backed off until only the head was in her mouth. Her big, luminous eyes locked with mine and my senses swam. That pretty, innocent face, tear-streaked and pale, with my raging cock poised right on her lips is one of the most erotic sights in my memory. Her tongue came out and played slowly around the head, her eyes shone into mine.