Huge Nipple

That's the word I just thought of. I like that. That's what I saw this morning in the mirror. At first, I was dismayed at the sight of my 45 year old naked body, at which I was looking with objective scrutiny.

Now, I'm pretty attractive, don't get me wrong. But two marriages, two children, and two divorces have taken their toll. But still.... there was something I liked about it, something I couldn't identify at the time.

And now, as I lie face down in the apartment courtyard, soaking up the sun on the first truly hot day of the year, it comes to me. My body has ripened. The body I felt more than a little self-conscious about as I slipped into a two-piece suit, preparing to lay out, to engage in an activity more associated with lithesome college girls.

But there is something better about me now. Yes, my breasts, always small and tight, have enlarged somewhat through childbirth and nursing, and decades of gravity have caused them to sag just a bit. And yes, of course, the hips..... But this body has been places the college girls don't know of yet, and it has taken on the physical equivalent of wisdom. Ripening.

I had forgotten the aphrodisiac effect of the sun on exposed skin, especially skin that has been inside through a long Northern winter. I feel the warmth, the caress, feeling the sun touch directly all of my skin except for that covered by two small pieces of cloth. I am feeling warm in many ways.

I decide in an instant to reach back and unhook my top, letting the straps fall to my side, exposing my whole back to the messaging rays. It's a thing I did routinely in my younger days, and it always gave me a thrill. It's a daring thing for a woman, even face down on a blanket, to be in public bare from the waist up. And at the same time, it is confining, as our social norms warn us not to make any false moves. Daring, yet vulnerable. Am I flaunting my ripened body? How long has it been since I have felt this way?

All these things add to the intoxicating feel of the moment. And I watch as a young man, a quiet man I don't know, leaves his apartment and slowly - too slowly? - walks by where I am laying. He wears sunglasses, but I know he is looking closely. And he comes back shortly, ambling by again. A made up errand, I am sure.

I think of this young man, and I enjoy these thoughts. He is probably watching out his window, though I can't see in with the bright sun reflecting off the glass. But he is, isn't he? I know he is.

I move a little. I adjust my pillow. I lay my arms out up above my head, freeing them from their guard position along my sides. My breasts are showing just a bit, and I want them to. I want the young man to be captivated by the sight of this ripe woman. I want him to watch me. I know he is.

I imagine he is masturbating. The thought excites me, but my arousal is in a high state already. I squirm a little on my blanket, feeling the warmth between my legs, this warmth not generated by sunlight. I try to imagine the young man's sensation. I want to feel the same thing. And my daring is increasing with the sun, the exposed skin, the warm pussy, the reawakening of my sexual self. And now I want to be with him, this quiet young man who is now absorbed in appreciation of my middle-aged body.

I look up toward his apartment. The second floor blinds are open - were they before? I don't know, but I guess not. He's up there, in his bedroom, and he is spying on me. My glance in his direction may have scared him, although he must know I cannot see in. Yet when I moved up I exposed my breast momentarily. As I lay back down, I know I have him hooked. He will not leave his perch, knowing that such a view awaits.

But this is not right. He sees my body, nearly all of it, but I see nothing. He feels the sensation of his cock in his hand, while my pussy, warm and moist, calls for physical contact. His is free to moan, to call out as his ecstasy demands, while I must restrain my sensuous emotions.

Oh, for a world without such restraint. Could he join me on my blanket? Could he gently slip off the meager remains of my suit? Could we oil each other's bodies, and move them together, making passionate love in the apartment courtyard, under the beating sun? Could everyone watch from their windows as they wished, joining us in our celebration of carnal delights?

It's all making me crazy. I am a serious woman, with a professional career and a family, and I have been reduced to such thoughts by the intensity of this sensual feast.

I decide that I will have this young man, and I will have him on my terms.

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I look up toward his apartment. The second floor blinds are open - were they before? I don't know, but I guess not. He's up there, in his bedroom, and he is spying on me. My glance in his direction may have scared him, although he must know I cannot see in. Yet when I moved up I exposed my breast momentarily. As I lay back down, I know I have him hooked. He will not leave his perch, knowing that such a view awaits.

But this is not right. He sees my body, nearly all of it, but I see nothing. He feels the sensation of his cock in his hand, while my pussy, warm and moist, calls for physical contact. His is free to moan, to call out as his ecstasy demands, while I must restrain my sensuous emotions.

Oh, for a world without such restraint. Could he join me on my blanket? Could he gently slip off the meager remains of my suit? Could we oil each other's bodies, and move them together, making passionate love in the apartment courtyard, under the beating sun? Could everyone watch from their windows as they wished, joining us in our celebration of carnal delights?

It's all making me crazy. I am a serious woman, with a professional career and a family, and I have been reduced to such thoughts by the intensity of this sensual feast.

I decide that I will have this young man, and I will have him on my terms.

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