Page 73 of The Fed Sex Man

Tyson

Well-manicured lawns,neatly trimmed shrubbery, and driveways occupied with the occasional children’s play toys lined the streets.

I pulled into the steep drive and admired the two-story cottage. Each of the mullion-fitted windows were free of any draperies, allowing a full view into the home. Situated on an oversized corner lot and constructed of weathered white-washed brick and white lap siding, the home could have easily been placed along the coast of Chesapeake Bay.

An inviting brick sidewalk led from the edge of the driveway to the uncluttered front porch. I came to a stop alongside the walk and took one last look at the home before getting out of the car.

I meandered to the porch and brushed the wrinkles from my shirt. Before I had a chance to knock, the door opened.

Her hair was up, in a tightly-braided bun. Wearing a coral-colored sleeveless summer dress and flats, she looked remarkable. Breathtakingly beautiful was more like it.

She gave me the once-over and then smiled. “You look nice.”

I was lost in admiration. Her dress came to mid-thigh. Long enough to cover her assets, and short enough to garner my interest.

I gave her a nod of approval. “So do you. That dress is…wow. It’s perfect.”

“Thank you.” She pulled the door closed behind her. “I like that shirt. It looks nice on you.”

I’d worn my favorite pearl snap shirt, jeans, and a pair of well-worn – but polished to perfection – black leather boots. I reserved the shirt for special occasions, wearing it infrequently, at best.

Beaming with pride that she’d mentioned it, I turned toward the driveway. “Thanks. It’s a favorite. I rarely wear it.”

“Why? It looks good on you.”

“I hate the thought of something happening to it,” I explained. “It’s got sentimental value.”

“Well, it looks nice.”

I walked to the passenger door and opened it for her. “Thank you.”

She turned her backside toward the open door and paused. I noticed she wasn’t wearing her glasses. Her eyes twinkled with content. I raised my finger to her chin, lifted it slightly, and kissed her.

Before I met Jo, kissing was something I never really cared for. With her, I found it satisfying, but wasn’t quite sure why.

When our lips parted, she looked at me with wonder in her eyes. Her lips parted.

I kissed her again, before she had the chance to speak.

With reluctance, I leaned away. The surprised look on her face vanished, only to be replaced with one of content.

“Sorry.” I shrugged and gave her one last kiss, a quick one. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“That was uhhm.” She wiped her lips on the back of her hand. “That was nice.”

With our eyes locked, she smiled and lowered herself into her seat. I sauntered around the car, wishing we were going somewhere else. I was anxious about having dinner with her parents, and it was worsening the closer we came to our dinner date.

I sat down in my seat and buckled my seatbelt. “This was my father’s shirt. He hated spending money on clothes for himself, but never hesitated to buy me things. I bought this for him as a Christmas gift. He wore it all the time.”

“If he looked as nice wearing it as you do, I bet he wore it with pride.”

“He did. He loved this shirt.”

“What about your boots?” she asked.

I glanced at my feet and chuckled, surprised she’d asked. “They were his, too.”

“He had good taste. Was he built like you?”