Max sat back in the cooling summer air, a cold beer in one hand and his other draped casually over the back of the chair. Though never uncomfortable with being in the middle of the conversation, tonight he just felt like being a bit apart. Maybe part of the reason was that he had just changed from being on Maine time to being back home in Texas. In fact, the party (such as it was -- it was mostly a gathering of neighborhood friends who had grown up together) was supposed to be his "homecoming" party... though he knew that it was just an excuse to grill some burgers and drink.
As he observed the group, his mind wandered to the way things had changed while he had been gone. There -- a couple that had never meant to be one, until their little boy came into the world. And there -- the couple that wasn't a couple (they had been "just friends" for about ten years, but neither had dated anyone else). Even his own family had changed. His sister, the eldest, had moved away and no one had seen her in years. The oldest brother would never leave. His younger brothers were both taken -- one by his wife of two years, and the other by someone else's.
His own love life was nothing to speak of. Women had always been interested in him, but he had always felt as though each was missing... something. He couldn't explain it, but there it was. He wasn't too good for them, no, they were usually leggy model-types with the fashion sense of Coco Chanel and the brains of rocket scientists. And yet... their cynicism matched his, and drained his energy while their ambition was boundless but tied up in "adult" affairs. He couldn't see himself doing anything youthful with any of them, and time was beginning to tug on him. Max wasn't old, but his thirties were halfway over, his career was settled, and the only thing missing was a girl.
His eyes drew back to Diana. She was most definitely NOT his type -- she was short, almost tomboyish (a self-described "one-of-the-guys-in-a-dress"), naïve, optimistic, and a dreamer. Her hair was short, not so much as a fashion but because she didn't like styling it. Her uniform was a V-neck tee and low-slung jeans that clung to her hips, ass, and thighs. She avoided sandals tonight after the warning about the ants, but wore sneakers with the laces permanently untied instead. Yet there was something about her that made him want to kiss her, to have her look into his eyes with her deep brown eyes and show him hope, and innocence and trust. He wanted to show her the world, starting with all of himself. He wanted her soft, pouty lips to discover every inch of his body and whisper warmly against his neck. Her small hands would fit perfectly in his, and her body would fit snugly against his own if he held her pressed against him. He wondered if she trimmed her pubes, or if she left them as natural and untamed as her spirit. Unfortunately he would never find out; she was his new sister-in-law.
...
Diana pressed the cool rim of the wine cooler to her lips and tipped her head back, feeling her hair tickle the back of her neck as it fell the short distance behind her. Draining the bottle, she debated getting another. The evening was cooling, but it was still summer in the Southwest, and the heat clung to her like her damp shirt. She wished she could take her bra off, but there were too many men around, and she reminded herself that she didn't have the freedom she once did. Her breasts, once small and weightless, had grown into 34Cs, and had gathered some weight that she was self-conscious of. Her peers still called her "tiny", but at 5'4" and 120lbs she was closer to average.
Deciding in favor of the coolness of a drink, she decided to head to the ice chest. This would make three strong drinks and two wine coolers -- more than enough for one night, but she didn't care. The chest was between two chairs, one of which was occupied by Max, the only brother-in-law that she had never really gotten to know well, given the distance between their homes. He wasn't visiting with anyone, so she decided now was as good as any to visit. Besides, she had seen him looking at her and figured he wanted to talk to her too. An idle conversation began as she sat on the lid of the ice chest, one knee pulled up to her chest and the other dangling over the edge. Truthfully though, she wasn't paying attention. It started by looking for family resemblance, but finding little, she began just looking at his features. He had eyes that looked almost black, and straight hair to match. His thin features were just shy of being angular and fine, and the fingers that gripped his beer were not quite delicate. They looked strong but precise, like an artist or a pianist, though not as long as a musicians. She decided that if she didn't already know his occupation, she couldn't guess. His shoulders, too, were in-between; not broad but not slim, not bony but not fleshy either. She was beginning to look at his chest and waist, wondering what they looked like without his shirt, when she noticed that the conversation had stopped.
...
What was he thinking? He remembered asking a question, and realized that she hadn't answered, but other than that, Max couldn't remember the last ten minutes. Or was it twenty? He thought he had seen her eyes wandering all over him, but that couldn't be. She was so happy, wasn't she? When she stammered -- was she nervous? -- that she needed to use the restroom, he offered to escort her, and then felt immediately stupid. She had been to this place more often than he had, she didn't need an escort. Thankfully, she declined and went in.
Without her around, he could finally start thinking, and reflected that he should maybe apologize for not being attentive. She had clearly come over to talk to him, and his mind had been entirely focused on the way that one of her breasts had been almost pushed out of her shirt by the knee pressed against it. Add to that the fact that the crotch of her jeans was worn thin with age, washing, and wearing, and he had been tormented with the perfect combination of tantalizingly pale skin on her breast and the promise of more down below.
Setting his drink down in the cupholder of the chair, he made his way inside. The bathroom door was open, and no one was there. It had been a few minutes, so she might be done, but there was only one way back outside and he would have seen her. A sniffle drew him to one of the bedrooms, where he saw her lying on her back on the bed. All thoughts of apologies flew from his mind as he saw her legs spread wide and her shirt pulled up to expose a thin strip of her stomach, the skin pulled tight by the arch of her back over a crumpled sweater.
