On any given Sunday morning you will find my wife and I driving around checking out yard sales. This past weekend, at our first stop, we actually found this simply perfect coffee table. I remember standing there looking at the this stupid table, discussing whether or not we should buy it. How dumb! It was big, sturdy, in great shape: everything you want in a coffee table. But, like fools, we thought we would find something better. We were wrong.
At first I thought my wife decided to look elsewhere because the lady was flirting with me. Or, maybe I was flirting with her, who knows? It was hot and I just wanted to get things over with, but she was one of those women that are approaching 40 and from the side or rear still looks 20. Incredible full breasts and an ass so fine I'd lick it on television. She was stunning. My wife hates these type of women. I don't exactly share this loathing. Either way, this succulent, raven haired vixen was in a lawn chair, wearing a half shirt - that truly validated her flat stomach - , and baggy shorts, sitting at the desired table. As I hunched down to really get a good look at the grain quality, this sexy creature with dollar signs in her eyes went off on a tangent about how the table had sentimental value to her and hubby. We listened politely and even feigned interest. But, as she spoke she tried to address both of us: wife was at one end of the table standing up and I was squatting directly in front of this sun-bronzed honey, she shifted her gaze, and body, back and forth. That is when I really felt the heat. Her demure, shapely, slightly akimbo legs soon were far enough apart to become pen pals. Luckily I had sunglasses on, because, I couldn't have not looked even if I wanted to.
My wife was giving the girl the archives on why we needed to replace our table -- and I smiled, nodded in the correct places, and admired the woman's skimpy panties. They reminded me of the sky-blue popsicles, Jake, the ice cream man used to sell in my neighborhood as a kid. I could see her "camel toe" and was absolutely entranced at this ladies obliviousness. She and my wife talked and talked, and I watched and stared. The sexy panties were french cut, hardly visible on the sides of her thighs, and really fucking tight. The more she shifted in her seat the more the panties violated her. At one moment I wanted to reach out and pull the thin material from her slit. A second later, tufts of black peeked at me, then a itty bitty section of her an outer lip. I was dying! I pretended to look here and there on the table, even rubbing with my hand, just to get a better view of that scanty flavorful cotton and forbidden flesh. It was the best part of my day, and I was able to play voyeur for about 20 solid minutes. But we never bought the damn table. We were going to go back at the end of the day to see if it was still there, but it was too hot, we went home and jumped into the pool instead. I ate my wife underwater while thinking of the yardsale goddess.
Monday, I thought I would check to see if the lady still had the table -- as a surprise for my wife. I pulled up to the house, and then after thinking about it a second, drove halfway down the street and parked. After a few seconds of preening and a breath lifesaver the size of a silver dollar, for confidence in close quarters, I walked to the house.
I heard a vacuum running when I stood on the porch, and waited for a lull -- then knocked quickly.
The same lady, wearing a very short feminine bathrobe, looked quite surprised when she opened the door. I could plainly see her through the screen. "Yes," she said, almost embarrassed to be seen by a strange man, but then recognized me apparently, because her face lit up -- embarrassing me.
"Eh ... I'm sorry to disturb you ... but I was wondering if you still had the table."
A car went by, and she pulled at the bottom of the robe and stepped back a bit. "Uh, no. We sold it."
I'm not sure if I said anything right away. I remember smiling and watching her keep tugging at the bottom of the robe, as if it would make it longer. And she would run her other hand through her gorgeous locks. I then told her I was sorry we didn't buy it. We seemed to be having a nice conversation, except when a car would go by. Noticing my confusion over her little ritual, she volunteered, "I don't want any of my neighbors seeing me like this."
The look I gave her was -- "But I'm a stranger and I see you!" I then noticed she wasn't overly bothered about it, as long as she kept on hand tugging. She then realized that I was seeing her, more of her than she wished, and tugged at the lapels as well. More tugging.
"We have another one that we've decided to sell next weekend. Would you like to see it?" She glanced around the neighborhood modestly, and pushed the screen toward me. "It is a bit bigger."
I grabbed the screen, and walked in the house. "Bigger is ok." She sidestepped me and pushed the wooden door closed.
"Don't want my neighbors peeking into see me with a good looking man in my home."
We both felt the awkwardness of her statement. She thought I was good looking? I smiled, and thanked her. Our eyes met and I felt a bolt of electricity surge through my veins. Her eyes seemed to dance, and they smiled, actually sparkling when she spoke.
"Forgive my dress, I was cleaning house, and it is so hot."
"But the robe is terry cloth."
