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She ran to me, threw her arms around my waist and kissed me deeply. She rested her head on my chest while holding on and whispered, Im yours. I want to be wanted. I lifted her chin with my hand and said, I want you. She sobbed against my chest. I excused myself to shower and as I bathed I pondered that exchange, wondering if being wanted was her whole motivation. I briefly considered what neglect she must be going through married to that dickhead but then I decided I didnt care. When I came out she was standing demurely in the middle of the living room, just waiting. I considered her expression, her eyes were wide, her mouth was closed but relaxed and she looked at me unwavering. I was trying to get a read on her and wasnt having much success. She didnt say a word, I guess she was waiting for me to do or say something. I walked over to her, I hadnt bothered with a shirt, just my shorts which were already running out of room. I took her by the back of the neck and brought my face down. She'd handle him if he got too passionate, just as she always had, she thought as she waited for him to pick her up. He'd be here at seven, as he had every night, and they'd go to a movie or ride around or dance or whatever, and eventually they'd start necking. She liked necking with him, and had even gone so far as to let him play with her titties; she sat in the livingroom and blushed at the remembrance of that incident. The Sunday before she'd been out in his father's cruiser, sunbathing with Clyde beside her, and they'd began kissing, kissing until she'd felt the hardened bulge in his swim trunks against her thighs. She remembered his strong but gentle hands on her bikini top, and how after a while she'd made no attempt to stop him from undoing the straps, and the tender tingling sensations of his fingers as he'd traced over her hot, naked flesh and then kissed her exposed, hardening nipples. A dryness crept in her throat at the recollection, and how close she'd come to not.
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