Lunch that day was memorable for the setting. We traveled to one of the many local Tuscan hilltop villages, and under the shade of a grape arbor, indulged our tastes in local food and wine. The sun beat down on the surrounding hillsides, flooding the panoramic view with a brilliance that almost hurt the eyes. The table banter was light and amusing, the two girls teasing each other, and the adults gently goading them along. A soft breeze kept us cool enough under the umbrella of vine leaves not to want to retreat inside in search relief from the heat of the early afternoon sun.
Andrew sat at the head of the table, Lori-Anne next to him, with the rest of us spread out either side. Helen, my wife, sat next to me. Our hunger sated, we lounged around the table, sipping at the remaining wine, idle chatter filling the air. Penny sat sandwiched between her grandchildren, refereeing their teasing. I looked at Helen. Our eyes met, and we smiled at each other. She slipped her hand in mine, and gave it a squeeze.
"Idyllic." she said.
I smiled again, and nodded agreement. It was indeed a perfect afternoon.
The restaurant owner arrived with a platter of cheese and bottle of brandy, soon followed by espresso and a large bowl of local fruit. We continued to indulge until the sun began its descent behind the hills. Relaxed and happy, our little band finally packed up, and filling the two cars we had arrived in, headed back to the farmhouse.
Later that evening we gathered out on the patio at the farm house, watching the girls splash around in the pool. The flagstones radiated their stored heat from their exposure to the daytime sun, and the breeze kept the air in motion, creating an ideal ambiance. Penny headed up for an early night, and not soon after Lori-Anne rounded up the kids for a shower and bedtime. Andrew remained and we chatted about the day for awhile, before he too headed off to bed, leaving Helen and me alone.
We sat there for awhile, savoring the remains of the evening. I had not felt to utterly content for a long time, and shared that thought with her. She smiled and nodded.
"Time to hit the hay," she said "before I nod off."
No dispute! I rose and stretched. Helen leading, we made our way inside, closing the door and shutting out the night. Upstairs all was quiet, a faint snoring coming from Andrew and Lori-Anne's room as we passed.
Our room at the end of the hallway was directly under the roof, but the heat of the day was disbursed by the cross current of cool night air from the bedroom window out through the bathroom window. I headed into the bathroom, shucking off my shirt and shorts as I went, and tossing my briefs into the hamper by the bathroom door. Relieving my bladder into the toilet, I could hear Helen moving about as she turned the bed down and disrobed. I finished peeing with a final small shake, washed my hands in the basin then loaded my toothbrush and cleaned my teeth.
Helen joined me. Lifting her nightgown she sat on the toilet and relieved herself. I glanced down at her and crinkled my nose at her familiarity as I brushed. She grinned back at me. It had been a perfect day.
Reaching for the toilet paper, she wiped herself dry and flushed the toilet as she rose, letting her nightie fall back in place. Rinsing my mouth, I spat out and made way for Helen to clean her teeth while I patted my mouth dry on the hand towel. I put the lid of the toilet down and sat on it, the cool plastic sending a small jolt through me as it met my bare bum. I sat there, one leg crossed over the other, enjoying the sight of my wife as she brushed her teeth. Helen and I have been married for over 30 years, and although the fire of initial passion had long died out, we are very much a 'couple', very comfortable with each other. In her mid 50s, Helen works at keeping fit. A crop of short brown hair frames her face. A somewhat angular nose is softened by deep set, doe brown eyes, and a smallish mouth that is quick to grin.
That evening, as she worked away at her teeth, I sat there and watched. We didn't indulge in much sex these days. In fact, I couldn't exactly remember the last time we'd fucked. But watching Helen as she scrubbed her teeth, I could feel something stirring inside me.
Not tall or statuesque, Helen is nevertheless well proportioned. Shapely legs supporting a compact frame, she has a trim bust, and a nicely rounded tummy. All of this was currently contained within her nightie, a thin, pale yellow cotton affair that just met her knees, was sleeveless and supported by two spaghetti straps over her shoulders.
As she rinsed her mouth, I reached out and placed my hand on her buttock. Her body heat radiated against my palm. I left my hand there, and she glanced at me as she spat into the sink. Running both faucets, she leaned forward and splashed water in her face, rinsing off the days film of perspiration. Her nightie fell forward. Sleeveless, I stared at her small exposed breast, hanging there, pert and pointed.
Reaching out, I grabbed a towel and passed it to her. As the straightened and rubbed her face dry, I stroked her buttock through the thin material, easing the tips of my fingers into her cleft a little.
Dropping the towel, she looked at me and said "You're feeling frisky."
I shrugged, smiled and followed her into the bedroom.
