Age has got nothing on Gloria Amador's face. Her pores are still perfect, and her eyes are beautifully canvased within cat eye frames.
Her hair is longer, and her cheeks ever more radiant. A book lies haphazardly on the bed in the background, and a pillow is behind her neck. I did wake her.
"How are you, baby?"
"I'm good, mama. Just wanted to check up on you before Christmas tomorrow. And with this new lockdown."
Smiling, she licks her lips and yawns mildly.
"Oh, such a caring daughter. I love you."
Her voice is a little raspy.
"How have you been?" I ask her. “What have you bene up to?”
She raises her brow and thins her lips.
"Oh, you know. A little of this, a little of that. Taking care of the birds as they come. Oh, you know, I found one of your father's old shirts in the attic yesterday."
"Mama, why are you going to the attic? I told you, get that Fred kid from next door to help."
"Yeah, but you know these teenagers. They want five dollars for helping me carry in groceries. It's too much."
"Ay, mama. It's just five dollars."
"And what would your papa say about that, hmm?"
"He would always agree with you, until he agreed with me," I say, smiling like a seven-year-old girl in her father arms, wearing a hand-stitched dress.
"I miss him too, baby. So, what are you doing for Christmas? Are we going to have to Skype too?"
"I know you hate it, mama, but it's no different than me being there with you."
"Ay, will you have a taste of my chicken through the phone then?"
"No," I mutter.
She laughs.
"Then it is different. But it will be nice to see you when all of this is over, huh?"
"Oh, it will be. I'll come over and finally paint the dining room for you."
She sighs.
"Ah. Or I'll just get Fred over here and make him do it. He has an older brother, you know. About your age, too."
"Mama, come on," I chuckle. "Not now, okay? It's late. I have to sleep."
"Oh, I'm just saying. Every young beautiful woman like you needs a strong man by her side. Like your father was to me. Like your abuelo was to my mother, and so on. I won't meddle, baby, but I would really like some grandchildren to keep my mind busy someday."
"Good night, mama. I love you."
"Good night ,Nellie. Merry Christmas. Stay in touch, okay?"
"Okay."
I won't chat with Denue tonight. I can’t. It's too soon, and there's no telling what these two days, or two weeks, or however long it will be, will bring.
It's funny how I randomly chose to bring myself to him, like hooked bait right into the fish's mouth. Closing my eyes to think of how he wrangled that towel, watching me like he intended to have me for dinner instead... mmh.
It should be easier this time, running circles around my clit, to make myself cum while thinking about him. It's always easy. Only this time, I'm in his den. In his house. He could be right outside the door, waiting for me to moan, to call out to him.
"Oh, Denue."
I catch myself shuddering, the danger of the act itself whispering into my bones, daring me to go on. He should be listening. He owes it to himself. He’s the one who makes me think such naughty thoughts about those thick biceps.
That lean washboard core.
Red lips for days.
Big brown eyes, opening and closing to see my spread-out legs, the length of the robe up my thighs and grazing my ass.
Pushing a finger in, he would play with it, and playfully he would pursue my hidden clit, wooing it out for a game. His thick hands would grab my ass cheeks, squeeze and linger for a minute as he pleasured me all over.
Jolts of joy would scar my body, as the first orgasm escapes me.
He would not stop.
I add another finger and keep playing with myself. He would get close enough to kiss my pussy lips and suck my clit raw.
He would moan into my hot hole. and dive his face half-in. He would finally put my feet on his shoulders, and rip into my virginity, and his hand would muffle any scream I try to let out.
He would pound me, squeeze my breasts and tell me how much of a bad girl I've been, teasing him with coy texts and holding out on sending him nudes.
He would thicken inside of me, and the tip of his shaft would tap and explode deep inside my womb.
"God, fuck it."
My walls clamp around my three fingers, and I pull out with an arched back, clenched toes, and a wide, open mouth, whispering through the blood rush back to my brain how good of a fuck my boss is. At least in my fantasies. And I have a feeling he’d be even better in real life.