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Eric won the hand as Devin scrambled back up to his seat. Before he scooted the chair in I got a pretty good look at his stiff member. I had made this young man hard! Wow. Little ole’ me.“No excuse now, Mrs. T., 'BLOUSE! BLOUSE! BLOUSE!'”Brenden said, “Wait, wait… give her another chance.”Eric countered, “Fuck that! I won the hand!”I looked reproachfully at him, “Hey, no cussing! You know the rules in my house.”Brenden said sheepishly, “What if we just… ah… make her unbutton a button of it. She’s a gal and poker apparently isn’t her thing.”Jamie got up and moved toward me and said, “Yeah. Just a button. Come on Mom… that’s fair. Isn’t it?I couldn’t help but notice as my son put his hand on my shoulder that my little boy’s hard-on was pressing against his pants. I covered the top of my blouse with my hand protectively, pushing my boobs inward against each other as I did.*CLICK* HEHE.“Damn it, get out from under there and quit taking pictures, Devin! Or should I say 'Devil'?” I shook. ...’. The last word hung in the air with loaded tension. I noticed your eyes glance over me and settle on my groin where I couldn’t fully hide the arousal I was feeling. ‘I’m sorry, but visits are allocated by reception’, I replied trying to defuse the chemistry which was busy brewing between us, ‘it was one of the receptionists who allocated me’. ‘Yes, I know’, you said, ‘and I had a favor to call in with one of them so....here you are!’, you smiled gesturing to me with your hand. Taking me by the hand you led me into the lounge. My mind raced. Your touch had set electricity off within me but my mind resisted the sensation trying to restore professional decorum to the proceedings. ‘Please, sit down’, you said. Then I noticed how thin the fabric of your nightwear was. I could make our the shape of your breasts beneath it and noticed your hard, erect nipples against the silk. The garment clung to your body, emphasizing your sensual curves and stopped just short of your mid.
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It was six hours since she knocked at my front door. In that short time I’d learned more about Gina’s inner world than ten years of living together had taught me. My life, my past: I’d put it all on the shelf as soon as the divorce was finalized. Gina’s absence from my home gave me a convenient excuse to lose myself in my professional work again–to bury the emotions that she had first kindled. Now all my repressed memories came back to haunt me as I sat and watched her sleeping peacefully upon my living room floor. Our marriage had been a casualty of too much routine, too little joy and passion, too many stresses and strains and outside pressures. Every moment we spent alone together felt like borrowed time. We tried to fit a lot of excitement into times when we were least assured of outside interruption. Probably like a lot of other couples, we experimented. Tame experiments. We watched erotic films. Films like ‘Emannuelle’ and ‘Sex, Lies, and Videotape.’ Films that reminded Gina.

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