Later, he got an interesting bulge in his board-shorts when she went inside to the open-air cafe and breasted the bar beside him (literally) and suggested they have a drink together. He was indeed alone, it seemed, a refugee like she was from a very busy work period. Em was in hunting mode that weekend. So was he. She was after cock. He was after pussy. It looked as if it could be a perfect match. They introduced themselves. He was Max and he was in something financial. T hey had a drink. He had a Long Island Tea, she chose the slightly crass and suggestive Sex on the Beach. They had another. He was twenty-six, she was thirty-seven. He was in some sort of relationship. She was married. They were both there for three days and they were both there to get laid. “Perhaps we should do lunch,” said Em brightly. The young man’s bulge became even more plainly evident. He looked long and deeply at her and said, “We should. I’d love to eat your pussy.” Em’s nipples hardened and rose.. I firmly but gently held her hair in my fist. I pulled her away from me and looked into her eyes, and then she pulled her face back in and started making out with me again. This is crazy! I remember thinking. This woman is, like, twenty-five years older than me! What am I doing? But it felt so right, and it had been a long time coming, and it had already begun. I wasn’t about to stop now if she wasn’t. After a few moments on the step, Laura rose to her feet, ran her hands through her hair, steadied herself as she wavered with wine, and asked if I wanted to go back inside. Sure, I replied, my head seeming to be in the clouds and in some realm beyond my control. In the twilight, orange streetlight glow, distant clamor of Friday night comings and goings, the clash of a train car somewhere: it was surreal to me. Like a dream. The door closed behind me and Laura grabbed my hands and I pushed her against the stovetop. I pressed my body against her as our lips met again. She pushed her body.
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