The Dare

Louann's eyes met Brett's as he tentatively poked his head around the curtain and into her cheery room. Sleep had barely left her eyes, and she blinked and managed a faint smile from the mass of sheets atop her rumpled johnny. In the sun streaming through the hospital window, her left leg, long and supple, lay lazily in the warmth, carelessly bare from toe to hip.

"Hey there, lady!" Brett began, and struggled to turn his eyes from that attractive calf to her eyes.

"Hi," she managed through a barely stifled yawn. The lumpectomy late yesterday had gone well, and though her right breast was sore to touch, Louann felt an enormous relief to be rid of the worrisome cyst. As the fog of sleep evaporated from her mind, Brett's was a welcome familiar face. She stretched and lazily rolled onto her back, unaware of the show she presented her sister's husband. "Where's Linda?" she asked.

Brett stared at her naked side, exposed from ruby toenails nearly to her hip bone. He had never seen this much of her, or at least of this part of her. Was she toying with him?

"She's, um, over at your place, making, um, sure it's ready for you to come back to. I'm, ah, here to pick you up," he replied haltingly, unable to tear his eyes from her captivating display.

Louann puzzled at Brett's apparent discomfort. He was normally so self-assured and confident.

"Oh," she said, "it may be a while. The doctor won't be in to release me for a couple of hours yet." As she raised her wrist to glance at her watch, she became aware of how exposed she was.

Is that what's bothering him,

she thought. Then, perversely, she made no attempt to cover up.

"W-was it warm in here?" Brett stammered, grasping at words, embarrassed at the lameness of the question - and puzzled at his sudden awkwardness.

"Umm," Louann smiled demurely at Brett's obvious attention. That fascinating leg, creamy and white in the sunlight, still rested uncovered, and he was unable to tear his eyes away. He'd seen her toes and ankle before, and her calf clear to the knee. But that thigh and hip were new, and Brett found himself fascinated at the sight.

It wasn't the first time Brett thought of Louann with less than pure thoughts in his heart. Their relationship, she, the sister of his wife, inhibited anything more than friendship. But secretly Brett had considered her lips, full and teasing, and once he wondered what they might taste like during a long and passionate kiss. Brett had marveled at her ample breasts and wondered how firm or soft they might be to touch, to nuzzle and caress. Brett mused about her hips, generous, inviting, and he wondered how comfortable they might be to rest his head between.

But most of all, Brett was fascinated by her hands. Long, slender, supple, he found her hands infinitely attractive. Sometimes, at the oddest times, he found himself idly thinking about her slender hand, hoping for its tender touch. He imagined her hand touching his ear, caressing his cheek, kneading his back.

Now well into his middle age and in the sexless haze of a long-stagnant marriage, Brett had often considered -- what might have been -- had things been different. Over the years they had had opportunities, and at times Brett sensed she felt as he did. But the timing was never good, the circumstances were never right. They had grown close, but neither of them dared consider crossing that unspoken line from friendship to dalliance.

Brett caught her eye, and with a sly smile, reached for her naked toes, expecting her to pull away from the certain tickle that he had always teased her with before.

But she held his eye, and with a slight arch of her eyebrow and an equally sly smile, she willed her foot to stay, daring him to tickle, yet trusting that he wouldn't.

Instead, Brett grasped her foot firmly across the arch, and sensed a thrill.

At his touch, Louann felt an unfamiliar spark that coursed up her body and ended as a nearly imperceptible gasp.

Unsure of what to do next, Brett gently massaged the thin muscles and cartilage that formed her slender ankle.

Louann straightened on her bed, smoothing the sheets and holding them there against her breasts with those slender hands, wincing slightly at she touched the healing breast. From her pillows, her focus fell now on his hand, and after a moment, she looked directly into his eyes.

Arching an eyebrow, she said softly, "You don't dare." Her eyes sparkled with defiance -- and something more -- a request, a plea, perhaps.

Her words stopped him short. Had Brett heard her correctly? Was it, "Don't you dare!" If it was, he'd softly release his grip and continue with frivolous talk of the weather and stuff like they always did, for Brett respected her and their relationship too much to take anything further.

But no, she had clearly dared him to continue, to go further. His heart jumped, and he felt the beginning of a warmth in his groin.

Looking her straight in the eye, Brett placed the bag of clothing he brought her on the table beside her bed. Reaching now with his free hand, he lifted her foot and gently and firmly massaged her sole. Louann winced slightly as Brett rubbed each toe, fighting back the urge to jackknife her knee, drawing her foot from his grasp.

Her eyes still said, "You don't dare."

Brett worked both hands up her leg and massaged the tendons above her ankle. The muscles of her calf were soft and pliant, and Brett worked them with his fingers and palms.

Louann realized her heart was beating faster and she felt emotions she only faintly remembered, from a time long ago and a place far away, and from one whose touch was now only a vague and pleasant memory.

Tender hands, hungrily massaging my knee,

she mused

. It feels so good, but those are Brett's hands!

As his ministrations neared her knee, she raised herself up on an elbow, and fixed her eyes on his in a look he'd never seen before, and reached to put her hand atop his. Brett paused, afraid he'd gone too far, yet fervently hoping she wasn't signaling an end to this fascinating indiscretion. Her hand still rested atop his, warm and firm, so he held his there, just below her knee, in response.

A pang of conscience drove her to rise, to cease, that something was not right. But even as she reached for Brett's hands, she felt sensations that had long been dormant. Her nipples puckered, and there was a warmth growing in her pelvis. Ought-to-stop wrestled with this-is-

exciting.

His mouth was dry and his hands were sweaty, for this was entirely a new experience for them both. Brett really wanted to continue, to touch and caress the rest of this deeply interesting part of her anatomy. Still fixed on her intense gaze, Brett longed to know what her thoughts were at the moment.

At length, her eyebrow arched ever so slightly and her eyes twinkled.

Let's see where this is going,

she concluded. Slowly she pulled her hand from his. With an immense feeling of relief, Brett continued. As his hands moved to the muscle just above her kneecap, a nearly forgotten sensation stirred deep in his groin.

Louann leaned back, wordlessly, facing upward on her bed, eyes closed. Her graceful hands once again cupped her abundant breasts through the sheets. Unseen, her nipples hardened anew. Though her right breast faintly ached, it was altogether warm and it was wonderful. Brett thought he sensed a faintly rumbling moan of - happiness? -- from her chest.

At this moment it was certain. His stirring was real! A genuine, got-to-rise-up-and-be-noticed erection strained against his pants. It was uncomfortable and it was wonderful at the same time.

Brett removed his hands from her knee and walked around from the end to the side of her bed. Louann looked up as Brett lifted his hands, wondering if he had decided to end their curious dance. She glanced questioningly, imploringly, into his eyes, then dropped her glance to his crotch as he tried to stealthily wrestle that pesky pecker into a comfortable position.

Louann giggled as she realized Brett's dilemma.

Brett felt his face redden.

She settled back onto her pillows with a smile and once again, that faint purring moan.

His hands went back to her knee. Brett's eyes swept her form as he began again a firm but gentle massage of the muscle above her knee. The sheets had fallen away some more, and Brett gazed at her leg and thigh. Clearly the thin johnny was all she wore.

His hands continued working up her leg, higher and higher toward her thigh. His mind raced as he considered what

could

lie ahead. What would happen as Brett neared her thigh? Would either of them be ready for what

might

happen next?

His fingers and palms gently and firmly massaged her slim muscles. Louann shifted slightly as she lay there, fighting to control a squirm of delight.

Her eyes stayed closed as Brett touched the top of the muscle and the tendon that attaches it to her pelvis. His hands were sweaty with anticipation, but she seemed not to notice -- or to care. His hands paused, not daring to touch where his now raging hard-on demanded they go.

Brett marveled at his reaction to the events of the past few minutes, savoring the excitement of a genuine, spontaneous erection. He gently leaned forward, catching it between the edge of her bed and his tummy, and it felt good, it

was

real. It felt strange, almost painful in its growing intensity, yet so wonderfully right! Silently he thanked her.

Louann broke his reverie as she grasped his left wrist, then paused, as if gathering resolve for her next move. Brett's breath caught in his throat. Had he gone too far? He certainly had passed the unspoken line, probably many of 'em. Was this the end of the afternoon's play? Was this the end of their close friendship?

Louann, too, was troubled, and tears began to well up in her eyes. She moaned, perhaps more a wail than a moan. This was a new place for her and she struggled, as Brett did, with past loyalties to her sister and future possibilities with her sister's husband.

To stop at this point would enable them to step back from a brink. The route thus far had been tantalizing, way beyond pleasant, something they both could look back on in reverie. But this was a place from which they could withdraw without the baggage of the next forbidden touches.

But by stopping now, they could never know what heights of pleasure they might experience. Furthermore, they would thus build a greater barrier to future such temptations, and perhaps never know what sublime ecstasy might await them.

Thus they paused, his hand high upon the inside of her thigh, her hand grasping his.

"You don't dare," Brett whispered at length.

Louann's eyes popped open and a fleeting look of fear crossed her face. Expressionless now, she stared into his eyes and considered the moment and the man and the hand so near her sex.

How long had it been, she thought, since Antonio had caressed her body? Antonio, dark, handsome; the young tour guide, that evening at the hotel near the Prado. She, too, was young then, savoring a hard-earned vacation with an exciting Grand Tour of Europe's premier art museums. The trip had been glorious thus far. The highly vaunted masterpieces were overwhelmingly beautiful, the cathedrals magnificent, the villages enchanting.

Louann was alone in a sea of rapture. What she had seen, what she had felt, surpassed anything she had imagined from the travel brochures and catalogs. Antonio was confident, mature, attentive. They talked way into the evening about the masters and their works. He was knowing and perceptive of her quest for knowledge; she was wide-eyed, drinking in not only the depth of his information but also a seemingly endless glass of wine.

One by one, her other tour partners drifted away to bed, and before long, it was just she and he. And before long she and Antonio were alone in her room.

It frustrated her now to be unable to recall the details. Too much vino, she long ago concluded. Yet somehow she still felt today his hands confidently exploring the contours of her voluptuous body, somehow she still tasted his lips on hers, felt his lips on her breasts, on her... But from there her memory failed her, just as it had that next morning - through the fog of a crashing headache that aspirin and coffee barely blunted.

And even at this moment, many years later, Louann felt a growing warmth in her most private parts. It was a familiar warmth. She felt it each time she saw a Tintoretto or a Fra Angelica and recalled Antonio's description of their origin and history. Over time, his words became more an echo of the vibrant terms he related to the enraptured young woman. The words had once effused a warmth and a wetness, and often as she leaned back, orgasms of joyful memory washed over her maturing body. Today she could still evince the warmth from her reverie, but the delightful climax had been long past.

There,

Louann mused,

Brett's hands, so near my sex.

She felt the warmth that only Antonio's memory had been able to raise before. She felt a wetness, unfamiliar and sweet. She felt an excitement unlike any she could remember.

Brett, Linda's husband, steadfast and trusted,

she mused. He, too, knew the Masters. He, too, loved Classical music. He, too, savored theater -- and even tolerated Opera. And long into a lazy Sunday morning over coffee, he could discuss current issues with her as an equal, with knowledge and confidence.

Louann had thought about Brett in her dreams, and in her dreams he was tender, caring -- not for sister Linda, but for

her!

In her dreams it had always been Antonio's lips that pressed hers, that caressed her body. But lately, she wasn't so certain. Were those lips ...

Brett's,

Brett's lips on her lips, on her neck, on her breasts, inside her thighs?

Not knowing how real the moment was, she was simply aware that a hand, Brett's hand, warm and moist, rested so near her sex. Far from threatening, it was comfortable and welcome.

"You don't dare," Brett whispered again.

Drawing a deep breath, Louann guided Brett's opened hand across her bountiful pubic hair to rest directly atop her pubic mound. She shuddered a little, as it tickled when their hands rubbed over her pubis. Perhaps her shudder was in anticipation of excitement to come.

Brett could scarcely believe what he saw -- and felt beneath his palm, for the motion had pushed aside the sheet and the hem of her johnny. They paused, savoring the flesh to flesh, fingers to lips moment. Tentatively she pressed his wrist to her sex. Her purring became a ragged yet sensuous moan.

With the heel of his palm resting on her pubic hair, Brett gently pressed his fingers onto her engorged cunt lips. The slit between them was wet as he teased a finger along the slippery crease.

Tentatively he pressed his finger between her lips. Each time Brett moved, Louann tensed and pressed his hand harder against her pussy. Her moan became more intense. Brett paused at the edge of her vagina and pressed his finger around the inviting opening. Sliding his finger gently along her inner lips, Brett found her clitoris, still hidden within its slippery hood but tense with excitement.

"Mmm...," she keened, and the moan became more guttural, more primal. Beneath his hand Brett felt her orgasm grow. Wave after thunderous wave wracked her straining body as she thrust her pelvis upward into his hand.

As her body stiffened, she clutched him to her chest. Off balance and uncomfortably positioned to begin with, Brett tumbled onto her bed, falling heavily across her straining torso. His head thumped to rest on her belly, his body atop that leg that started it all. One arm found itself around her waist; the other reached between her legs and grasped her ass cheek.

Louann roused from her afterglow and gazed at the maze of sheets and arms and legs and the back of Brett's head. As she gazed on tumbled mass, Louann began to giggle, as much in relief as at the ludicrous sight. Sliding to his left, Brett placed a kiss through her pubic hair on her mound of Venus. His kiss tickled, and her whole body convulsed, her toe nearly kicking him in the balls.

"Ooph," Brett cried. The kick was gentle, but it still got his attention.

"What's so funny," he asked, annoyed. He struggled to extract his arms and stood, glasses askew and hair sticking out. Nervously he pulled the sheet over Louann's naked lower body.

The sight inspired Louann to hoots of laughter, and she grabbed a pillow and slumped into it to muffle her laughter. "Oh, Brett," she tried, but the laughter overcame her again.

Louann's thoughts were equally jumbled at the moment. The joy at the sublime ecstasy of her intense orgasm mingled with the guilt that her orgasm came at the tender hand of her sister's husband. With her thoughts came the realization that Brett was obviously aroused at the sight and touch of her body. At some level she basked in that realization that she had been physically desired, genuinely and ardently, by one she respected and admired.

At length, her laughter dissolved into tears and sobs at the release of years of pent up desire. Brett sat on the edge of her bed and awkwardly tried to gently rub her back. "Oh Louann," he began, "I'm so sorry..."

"Hush," she managed. "Just hold me close." She sat up and swept her long arms around him, and Brett gathered her close in an immense hug.

"Oh," she yelped as her healing right breast cried in pain. "Maybe not quite that close!"

"I guess I sort of forgot," Brett apologized as he unwound his arms. Then arching an eyebrow, "Would it make it better if I kissed it?" he offered, as the sound of footsteps announced the approach of nurse Julie.

Louann grinned. "We should discuss that subject," she responded, "but maybe another time. Yeah, later. Maybe later."