When The Mood Strikes (Chapter 3)

Milly flung open the door of John’s car and lifted herself out. She fluffed out her skirt, an A-line silhouette that made her waist appear much smaller than it really was. The stiff cotton fabric, white with a lemon pattern scattered across it, swished and swayed in the spring breeze. The outfit was sunny, bright–and even better–new.
“I like that smile on your face.” John lifted the picnic basket he’d prepared from his back seat.
“It’s a gorgeous day.” More than gorgeous.
She had on a new dress, had a date with a sophisticated and kind man, and the dogwood trees were in full bloom. Life was good—no, great.
In fact, her whole week had been spectacular. First, she’d slept a full eight hours and dreamt of blue waters and white sand beaches every night since her last time with John. A full week! It’d been years since she ‘d slept an entire night uninterrupted.

Then, there was the shopping trip on Thursday to update her entire wardrobe—from dresses to bikini underwear, from pants to lacy bras. She even bought a pair of skinny jeans, which had the sales lady ask her if she was sure about her choice–and if she could breathe okay in them.
She could breathe, just fine, thank you very much. She may be in her late 50’s but she was in no danger of keeling over from lack of oxygen yet.
So, she bought two pairs.

John grasped her hand and led her across the park, the grass blades tickling the sides of her feet in her brand new sandals. Finally, she just slipped them off and let her toes enjoy the freedom.
“Cute shoes, too.” He winked at her.
This man noticed everything about her. Her ex-husband noticed nothing, and he had always believed clothes for a teacher were a waste of money. Well, her ex-husband was a loser. An ass. And, she was done thinking about him.
She mentally ran through her few week’s progress around her therapist’s ten step program to “get over a divorce.”  She’d have to thank John for fulfilling many of them, especially number six. Last week, after their lunch meet-up, he’d orchestrated her first masturbation session in years. After he left, she’d fulfilled stage six again with gusto–all afternoon.
This week’s “assignment” and number seven of the ten steps involved doing something of service for someone else, Her therapist, Brenda, didn’t say what it had to be—just “of service.” What a strange request. She’d been serving all her life.
Brenda said she would know when she saw it – what “service” meant. It could be doing something small. But it has to be something someone needed and she could fulfill.
John set the basket down under a large shade tree. “This a good spot?”
“Perfect.” She sent her gaze around. A few other couples had spread themselves out on blankets or sat at one of the picnic tables strategically set around the open green. A bicyclist whizzed by, and a man with a little girl tossed a ball around.  “Popular place.”
“Never been here before?” He opened the picnic hamper and pulled out a thin red and white checked cloth.
Had she? “I think so. I don’t remember.”

He snapped open the cloth and laid it over the ground. He gestured for her to sit. 

She plopped herself down, letting her skirt fan out around her and peered into the open basket. “Oh, that looks good.” She lifted out a bottle of wine, jar of olives, some small cheeses wrapped in white paper, a small baguette, a small container of tomato-cucumber salad, and two plates.
“One of those packages contains chocolate goat cheese. I promise it’s good.” He set himself down next to her, and pulled out the corkscrew.
“Ooo, exotic. And I trust you.”
“A beautiful woman deserves exotic treats.” He began to screw the bottle opener into the cork of the wine bottle.
“Thank you.” She flushed, though she was past turning down his compliments. They made her feel too good, and she’d not punch a gift horse in the mouth. And John really did have a nice mouth. “So was that my surprise?” He’d mentioned he had one for her the last time they’d parted.
He ducked his head to recapture her gaze. Oh, she’d been staring at his mouth.
“No. I have a proposition for you. But, first…” He grasped a plastic wine glass and held it out to her. “ … we celebrate.”
She held out her glass so he could fill it. “What?”
“To you finally relaxing around me.” He filled his own glass. “It’s a terrific compliment for a woman to trust you.”
“Goat cheese isn’t too hard of a stretch.” She took a sip of the cool wine.
He recorked the bottle and set it back in the basket. “You’d be amazed at the number of people who would never… No, I’m talking about what I’m about to ask you to do.”
He began to unwrap the little cheese packages, and she snapped the top off the container holding olives.
“Oh? Going to ask me to remove my panties or something?” Well, her mouth certainly trusted John, though her belly rebelled, turning over a little, at her inappropriate question.
“Not until later.” He held up a scoopful of a soft white cheese dusted with something brown. “Open.”
Her lips fell apart and he placed the chocolate goat cheese on her tongue. “Oh,” she swallowed. “Subtle and… creamy.”
“Glad you think so, though you’ll find subtly is not my strong suit.”

She believed it. This man had her dancing at his restaurant within minutes of first meeting him, drinking wine during lunch, and now he held out another mouthful of food for her to try. The man did like his pleasures, and wasn’t shy about it.

For the next few minutes, he continued to place bits of other cheeses in her mouth, and directing her to take sips of wine in between. The combination of the cool wine and cheese was amazing.
No words were exchanged. She didn’t have any words worth uttering anyway.

Instead, he broke apart bread and handed her small pieces. He ran an olive along her bottom lip before inserting it in her mouth, the tangy juices coating her tongue. Bit by bit, he fed her other things, like the tomato-cucumber salad and bits of chocolate. He took bites himself in between.

The taste extravaganza did little to shift her attention from his mouth. Kissing–that was another thing she hadn’t done in a while. Would his lips taste like the olives or the wine? She wanted to know. 

“Had enough?” A half smile formed on his face.
She nodded slowly. “You do so much for me, John.”

He never once took his eyes off her, except for quick glances at the food. To be gazed at–really seen–was an incredible turn-on. Was she that much of an approval seeker? She hadn’t been, but she could get used to all this… attention.
“You need more pleasure in your life, Milly Jackson.” He leaned back on one hand. “Besides, you do a lot for me, too.”
“Oh, yeah, fall asleep in your car and hike my skirt up, inappropriately.” She laughed a little at the memory of their first non-date where she drank too much, and the ensuing masturbation session–in front of him.
“There is nothing inappropriate about skirt hiking. In fact…” he rose up to sitting. “… will you do something for me?”
Another nod of her chin, and his smile grew wider. “Go sit on that picnic table.” He inclined his chin toward the one closest to them, about 25 feet away. The couple who sat there before had vanished.
She rose and dusted bread crumbs off her skirt. Perhaps he had a special dessert planned that required a table. Or he was tired of sitting on the ground. She sat on the bench seat, and noticed he hadn’t followed her.
Rather, he’d stayed on the red and white cloth, stretched out his legs long and leaned back on both hands. “On the table top, feet on the bench.” His voice carried well. Strong and direct.
At least the old wooden surface didn’t look dirty. Flouncing out her skirt around her, so it fanned around her, she placed herself as he’d directed. One of her black sandals slipped off her foot and fell to the grass.
“Leave it,” he said. So, she did.
He gazed at her for long minutes.
“Going to paint my picture?” she teased. “Or are you hoping someone else will see me sitting here and–
“Hike up your skirt? No, only I get to do that.”
A sunburst of nerves went off in her stomach. Oh, my. Was that jealousy? It felt oddly satisfying.
Her thighs squeezed together, and she glanced around to see if anyone was in earshot. So far no one seemed to notice them at all.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His voice held no amusement whatsoever. “Revealing yourself to me?”
She shook her head vigorously. “We’re in public.”
“We are.” His lashes lowered a smidge so his gaze was squarely on her knees. “It would be a great service to me. For you to share yourself with me.”
Service. “My therapist really did hire you, didn’t she?”
His eyes snapped up, the hazel color turning to golden fire. “No one would ever have to hire me to spend time with you. Or…” Once more his gaze fell to her legs. “…pull up that skirt. Even in public. I must say, the lemons are a bit of a turn on. Very 1950s housewife. The hot kind,” he added at the end quickly. “The kind they made posters from that made teenage boys spend way too much in the shower.”
The man really did have a way with words. Words that induced knees to spread and panties to drop. Her neck prickled with heat. It was really warm today, wasn’t it?
“I’ll have to wear this skirt again then.” After quickly glancing around, to make sure no one got a view they should not get, she inched her legs apart.
His lips parted. Good, she’d surprised him. His lashes flicked up so she could see the smile in his eyes, and then he returned his attention to between her knees. She widened them more, leaned back on her hands and sent her face up to the sky.
“John,” she purred. “Did you order this beautiful weather for us? The air feels so soft on my legs.” She returned her attention to him.

She widened her knees more. In fact, they were inappropriately and deliciously spread. Warm air floated up under the fabric. Her inner thighs cooled immediately which only signaled they’d grown a little wet. Probably from the way John’s eyes kept trailing over every inch of her body.
“The weather is better in Greece.” One side of his mouth tugged upward in another half smile. “And that skirt will look amazing as we sit on the veranda of our villa overlooking the Aegean sea. Only no panties next time.”
No panties. Or maybe the fact she could spread her legs in public, give him a view of, well, everything, was because this man ignited every fantasy she’d ever had, even the smallest ones tucked away in the corners of her mind, abandoned when her former life did nothing to feed them. Like have a man admire her while sunning herself in an exotic locale.
“I’d let you do anything on a Greek veranda,” she whispered.
He must have heard as his eyes snapped up to hers. “Show me.”
She pulled her skirt up higher on her legs and leaned back once more on her hands. Her knees began to rock back and forth, like a teenage girl might to tease a boy.
John licked his lips and rose. She didn’t close her legs as he grew closer. He placed his knee in between her feet and leaned down close. “If you kiss me, then I know you’ll go with me, that you’ll say yes to my surprise.”
“Go with you?”
“To Greece. I haven’t had a vacation in years, and something tells me you haven’t either. And before you say it, yes, I’m serious.”
“But…” She shut her mouth. Think, Milly. Greece. With John. With her lemon skirt he wanted to take off her. That he wanted her to wear without panties. Holy shit.
“It would be a great service to me. There’s nothing sadder than a older man travelling to romantic locales without—”
“A travelling companion?”
He moved his lips a few inches closer to her. “A lover.”

What do you think? Should Milly go to Greece with John?
Watch for the June newsletter for Part 4 of John and Milly’s story