Eve

…of love?

…and before I knew what was happening, my lips sought hers, and we kissed, hungrily.

It was well after the official end of her day when Eve finally donned the skirt to mask the wetness which had formed at the crotch of her swimsuit. We shared one last, brief kiss at the front door before she left the house, and when I closed the door behind her, I breathed a sigh of loss and of relief.

This was happening so, so quickly, and I was not sure that I was in control of my own body any longer.

*****

Friday afternoon finally arrived, as did Eve. On this day, she was dressed “sensibly,” wearing a nice blouse and skirt combination. However, the black blouse was mostly unbuttoned, so when she was turned in just the right direction, I was afforded a nice view inside to gaze upon the lacy red bra supporting her well-formed breasts.

There seemed to be a tension in the air, as if neither of us was willing to make the first move toward what we both wanted.

The doorbell rang, and my assistant quickly buttoned her blouse as she left my small office. A few minutes later, she returned, with a package from a client.

To my surprise, it was salmon steaks. I could only smile as I remembered that both times we went out for dinner when I was visiting him a few weeks earlier, I had ordered salmon.

“Do you like salmon?” I asked Eve.

“Definitely!” she replied with an enthusiastic nod.

“Then how about dinner tomorrow evening, to celebrate the end of a successful first week on the job?”

“That would be great, Mr. Randall!”

“Then it’s a date?”

Only as she agreed did I realize the significance of the last four words which had left my mouth, but then I smiled, already wishing it was Saturday evening.

As 5PM approached, I took out the business checkbook and wrote a check to Eve for the hours she had worked that week for me. As soon as I had handed her the check, she hugged me. “Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Randall,” she said sincerely.

I should have thanked her, for not only was she helping me by handling the administrative tasks, but she was also helping me to feel younger again, and for that I could never pay her enough.

*****

I had not felt this way in years. I carefully selected my clothes to both look presentable and be able to get out of them quickly. In the end, I opted for a nice button-down shirt with no undershirt, and a pair of jeans. Despite wearing sandals, I wore socks as well, but the colors matched quite nicely.

About five minutes earlier than expected, the doorbell rang, and when I opened the door, I saw Eve smiling up at me with a sparkle in her eyes and cat ears in her hair. I had to laugh at the unexpected surprise, and it reminded me of when Carrie had been in middle school and wanted desperately to be a catgirl for Halloween. Unlike my daughter had done then, however, Eve did not have whiskers drawn onto her face, nor did she sport a tail.

I noted, however, that Eve also was dressed in a manner which would make it easy to undress quickly. She again wore a skirt, paired with a form-fitting top with sleeves extending only to about her mid-forearms. The low heels she wore seemed slightly loose upon her feet as she stepped into the house, as if she intended on kicking them off rather soon.

Since Eve was still two years shy of being legally able to drink alcohol, I had purposely bought sparkling grape juice to accompany dinner. To my surprise, she had never tried sparkling grape juice before, and she loved it – she ended up drinking nearly half the bottle herself. But fortunately, she definitely could not become drunk from it, or else I doubt her mother would have liked me anymore.

Dinner was nice, the conversation friendly and cheerful, and the company definitely wonderful and pleasing to the eyes. Eventually, the chatter turned to Carrie.

My daughter would call the States every Sunday morning my time. One week she would call me, and the next week she would call Eve. The conversations were short, generally about ten minutes, but they were enough to help me make it another two weeks to the next time when I would hear Carrie’s voice. As Eve and I spoke about what Carrie had told each of us over the past few weeks, I came to recognize something:

Carrie approved of Eve being close to me.

“Carrie suggested it,” Eve said, talking about working for me. “She knew that you could use some assistance, and that you’d be quite comfortable with me because we’ve already known each other for years.”

It was strange in a way to think that, even though she was on the other side of the planet, my daughter was still trying to take care of me, via a surrogate.

“Carrie’s right,” I admitted with a smile. “I know she practically considers you a sister, and in some ways, you’re like a second daughter to me.” Eve smiled, her eyes alight. “I’m a bit surprised that I hadn’t thought of offering you the admin position much sooner. When Carrie calls again, I’ll definitely thank her.”

Eve reached across the table, and we grasped hands. There was an energy flowing between us, and a gaze of fondness, of connectedness.

…of desire.

The desire had been percolating all week long. Eve’s desire had been quite prominently on display. She had seduced my eyes and enticed my manhood while working her way into my heart. Sitting at the dinner table on our date seemed like the perfect and logical culmination of the week.

“Do you dance, Mr. Randall?”

Eve’s question jarred me a bit. “Um… Not very well,” I admitted. “I can dance a slow dance, but just barely.”

“That’s fine,” she assured me. “I’m sure you have some slow dance music?” she prompted.

While I put the dinner dishes and leftovers away, Eve combed through my CD collection, and soon a CD Carrie had bought me of slow music featuring the alto and soprano saxophones filled the house with a sensual backdrop which seemed to permeate everything. As I emerged from the kitchen, I was not entirely surprised to see that Eve had removed her low heels. She waited until I had removed my shoes, and then extended a hand to me.

I had never been good at dancing, and even a slow dance had always felt awkward to me. I had assumed that the next time I would dance would be at Carrie’s wedding, and that she and I would have ideally had plenty of practice beforehand.

Never had I imagined that I would dance with Eve, or that my body would respond so prominently to her proximity. There was something about her – something beyond just the feel of her against me. There was something which tugged at my heart, which drew me to her, and as we danced slowly with her head against my chest and my hardness unmistakable against her, I knew:

I had to make love to this young woman.

I held her a little tighter, and Eve responded in kind. We stopped dancing and hugged each other tightly. That something was growing ever stronger, becoming more prevalent, linking us in a way I had not felt in many, many, many years.

Of their own volition, my hands moved to the base of her form-fitting top and slid underneath the material, up above the waistline of her skirt. Eve’s skin was warm indeed, warmer than one might expect from simply slow dancing. She looked up into my eyes, and I could see both nervousness and desire.

I placed a gentle kiss to her forehead as my hands gently kneaded her sides. She smiled, again communicating both nervousness and desire, but desire was definitely gaining in prominence within her. It was strange: The person who had confided to my daughter once that I was “hot” was before me, was in my arms, was looking up at me with hope – hope that this was true and not a dream, hope that I felt the same way for her, hope that I might accept what she offered.

She offered me herself. She was still fully clothed, and so was I, but the trajectory of the week had made it clear: She was offering herself to me. It had been such a long, long time since I had last enjoyed a woman’s body that I began to feel an animalistic urge arise within me, so as I tried to squelch that urge, I once again tightly hugged my daughter’s best friend, my arms underneath the back of her shirt, my hands on either side of the clasp of her bra.

“Mr. Randall…” Eve whispered. “Um, boss… Sir…”

Clearly, she was at a crossroads, one I had not considered. Suddenly, as I began to fumble with the clasp, I realized that I was no longer “just” Carrie’s father, no longer “just” her new boss. With a kiss, I silenced her, hopefully calming her – to me, what she called me was not an issue, not a concern, and I wanted to set that aside for her, at least for the moment, so that she could better enjoy the now which she and I shared.

An alto sax spoke of burning coals keeping two hearts warmed as a fire was slowly heightened. That is exactly what we were doing: slowly heightening the fire. Our touches and our kisses, especially once I had successfully released the clasp of Eve’s bra, kept increasing the desire we shared.

I had a vision. I watched myself from across the living room as a naked Eve lay upon the sofa, one foot over the back and one foot firmly on the floor as I slowly pressed into her young body, amazed at how her eyes rolled back in her head and her hands gripped either the back of the sofa or my wrist.

“Make me yours,” Eve whispered. “Please.”

I kissed her, buying time. I could be damning myself, damning her. As much as she clearly wanted to give herself to me, as much as I definitely wanted to feel the pleasure of a woman’s body once again, so many things could change, and not necessarily for the better. Eve and I could never look at each other the same way ever again, even if we did not continue our current working relationship. If our current boss/assistant dynamic did continue, there would always be that sexual undertone permeating everything, which could quite easily get in the way of my job. Then, of course, there was Eve’s mother, who would quite likely hate me forever for becoming involved with her daughter.

And finally, there was Carrie, whose relationship both with her father and with her best friend would be forever transformed, likely negatively, possibly eternally tinged with hatred.