Another tale, based on various facts, but ultimately only fantasy.
*****
Sue, our neighbor, started the process to get a motorcycle license last fall. She'd borrowed her older sister's bike to practice on, then spent a number of hours in the mild autumn air tooling around. Her sister had also loaned her a helmet, a couple of jackets, and gloves, but apart from the helmet, none of it really fit.
Prompting me to offer her one of my old jackets. It was a water proof synthetic, had a removable liner, and a fair bit of padding at the elbows and shoulders, with an integrated (and likely not very useful) back protector. Not a bad beginner's jacket, though it did take a couple days for her husband and I to finally convince her to buy better gloves (neither her sister's nor mine had really fit). Reasonably outfitted, she started to spend more time riding.
We both work less than 40 hours a week, though our schedules don't really overlap. But on Thursday, a cold and rainy late fall day, I saw her getting off the borrowed bike. Taking off the wet helmet, shaking her dry, shortish, natural gray hair out, it was obvious that the weather had surprised her a bit. The gloves followed, clearly soaked, her fingers white and stiff.
"Riding in the rain long?" I asked, walking towards their garage, into which she was wheeling the single cylinder BMW.
"In the cold rain," she replied. "And much too long. My hands are frozen stiff. Thanks again for the jacket - it really helps."
I modestly agreed the jacket was useful, noting that I'd worn it for years. Watching as she unzipped it, then shrugged it off into my waiting hand, a number of drops hitting the garage floor as I shook it lightly.
She next shrugged out of riding pants shoulder straps, and said "I'm planning to drink a cup of coffee, then get into the jacuzzi to warm up. Want to join me?"
She was bent over taking off a boot as I replied "Sure, though without coffee."
"We could also open a bottle of wine. The kids won't be home for a few hours, and I've nothing else planned."
By now, we were inside the house, the garage closed. She took and hung up the wet jacket, both of us noting that certain arrangements needed to be made to handle such riding accessories, as the jacket dripped from the hook. She'd been wearing a tight sweater and a shirt under it, and as always, a bra.
Unlike my wife, or my bi-friend and her quite small breasted partner, Sue is a dedicated wearer of bras, for reasons that have never been apparent to me. Not that she is shy about her breasts, exactly - her bras tend to the utilitarian generally, though consistently worn. Not that I don't find it sexy. My wife, when she wears bras at all, favors the same general style - no wires or molded cups, though Sue's bras tend to have a bit more padding, keeping her nipples modestly from view. Unlike the pokies my wife's bras display when her nipples are hard.
Sue's newly acquired riding pants were just as wet, and after stepping out of them, she hung them above her jacket. By now, still covered but dry, having removed her cold and wet outer layer, she turned into the kitchen. I followed, noticing how her ass moved under the clinging thermal ski tights, surprised to see that apparently she wasn't wearing panties, the stretch material showing off her ass curves wonderfully. She switched on the coffee machine, turned to me, and took off her sweater. Her nipples were visibly erect, an unexpected treat, explained by how cold she become.
Her appearance was decidedly enticing, especially the contrast of how skin tight her clothes were in light of the fact how they covered her everywhere, except hands and head.
She made coffee, took a sip from the small cup, then asked what sort of wine would be most enjoyable. Being predictable, I suggested prosecco, just like the last times we had been alone in the hot bubbling water. Prompting her to move near, open the refrigerator to take out a chilled bottle, leaning towards the cabinet next to me while taking out two flutes.
"Want to drink it in the jacuzzi?" A somewhat leading question, considering getting drunk and being naked in the water was something we obviously enjoyed, alone or with our spouses.
I filled our glasses while she finished her coffee. She went to get a couple of the bath towels kept in the largish downstairs bathroom. Standing in front of the sliding glass door to the porch, Sue suggested undressing inside, followed by getting into the tub after taking off its fairly heavy insulated cover. "Quickly" she added, "I'm cold enough already."
A fact still nicely apparent to me. Catching my attention, she grinned, saying that it was probably something I'd already noticed, right? Smiling back, I agreed. We undressed, close enough to need to pay attention to the other's motions. She took off her top and bra as I removed my jeans, then she leaned against me taking off her tights. Viewing her hanging breasts, I noted how similar but delightfully different from my wife's they were, even to the way the nipples crinkled.
Even through my shirt, her hand was notably cold. Pushing the blue tights past her thighs made her shift to one foot as her hand pulled a leg past her knee, giving me a fine view of her thick black fur.
Memories of our first time alone in the jacuzzi rose, adding to the enticing view. Remembering stroking her soft leg hair, then playing with the floating curled hair under her arms, before my fingers slid through her then somewhat sparse bush. Never quite playing with her exposed pussy, as she spread her legs wider, head back and eyelids fluttering, the water pulsing between her thighs, her lower leg floating against my almost erect rod. Both us remaining in a certain framework of propriety, much like that of my past experiences with another married woman, renting a room from her and husband decades ago.
