We started chatting more after her son left again last month. Small stuff at first: she asked for help with her WiFi, then invited me for tea once. One evening she texted saying the kitchen light fuse blew. I went over, fixed it in two minutes. She poured whiskey instead of tea. Two drinks in, she got quiet, said it's lonely with no one around. Her hand rested on my leg — not bold, just there. I didn't move it. She looked at me, I leaned in. We kissed. Messy at first, she giggled when our teeth bumped.
Bedroom was dark because she felt shy. Clothes came off slow. She covered her stomach a bit — stretch marks from pregnancy years ago. I kissed them anyway. She was wet but not crazy soaked like in stories, just ready. Went down on her; she guided my head gently, came with shaky breaths, no loud screaming.
She climbed on top. We fumbled for a condom — found an old pack in her drawer, probably expired, but we used it anyway and laughed about it. She rode slow then faster, keeping moans low so neighbors wouldn't hear. I held her waist, she leaned down, hair in my face. She came again quietly, I finished right after. We lay there breathing hard for a minute, then she pulled the sheet up fast.
Afterward it got awkward. She said "this was wrong, right?" I shrugged, said it felt good though. No long cuddle — she got up, put on a nightie, told me to leave through the back so no one sees. I slipped out like an idiot.
Now we pass each other every day. She smiles normal, but her eyes linger a second longer. Sent me a "bring milk" message yesterday with a smiley. Don't know if it'll happen again or if it'll stay one time. Feels exciting and guilty at the same time.
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