Appropriate. You sure as hell feel like one—like a paratrooper about to take the big step without benefit of a ’chute.
Rick made his bed. He checked the bedroom windows to be sure they were shut and locked.
He finished his Bloody Mary on the way into the kitchen. There, he rinsed out the glass and put it into the dishwasher.
Then he went into the living room.
His backpack was propped upright against the front of the sofa. On the nearby table were his sunglasses, handkerchief, wallet and keys, Swiss Army knife, matches and a pack of thin cigars. He loaded them into his pockets. Then he mashed a battered old cowboy hat onto his head. He stepped over to his pack.
Forgetting anything? he wondered.
He had double-checked Bert’s instructions while packing last night. He knew he was missing nothing on her list.
What else?
Curtains all shut. Lights off. The timer set for the living room lamp so that it would come on at eight each night and go off at eleven. Doors and windows locked. Newspaper delivery stopped. Mail put on vacation hold.
That seemed to be everything.
Rick hoisted the backpack and slipped his arms through its straps. It felt heavy, but had a comfortable fit.
He turned around once.
What are you forgetting?
Rick entered the courtyard of Bert’s apartment building. On his way up the outside stairs, he paused and stepped aside while a man in a sport coat and necktie came down.
Lucky guy, Rick thought.
But that feeling changed when Bert opened her door. Rick stepped inside and into her arms, felt the moist warmth of her mouth, her tight hug, her breasts and pelvis pressing against him. He slipped his hands beneath her loose shirt-tails and caressed her back. It was smooth and bare. He moved his hands all the way up to the sides of her neck and slid them out along her shoulders. He was always amazed by her shoulders; they were slender but wide, giving her body a tapered look and feel. As he stroked them, Bert squirmed against him and moaned.
“How about one for the road?” she whispered.
“You’re kidding,” Rick said.
“Well, if you’re in a big hurry to get going ...”
“I think we can spare a few minutes. Or a few hours. Or a few days.”
“However long it takes.”
Straddling Rick on her hands and knees, Bert stared down into his eyes. Her mouth was open. She was still breathing heavily. “Well,” she said.
“Well.”
“Guess we’d better get a move on.”
“Yeah.”
She lowered herself and kissed his mouth. He felt her nipples brush against his chest. Then she pushed herself up. “I guess that’ll hold us till tonight,” she said.
“Isn’t it customary to sleep after all this exertion?”
“If you want me to drive, you can sleep in the car.”
“How about a shower first?”
“Already had one this morning.”
“So did I. But this was a messy job, and—”
“I’ll keep my mess, thank you. Something to remember you by,” she added, smiling down at him. “You may feel free to take a shower, however, if you make it quick.”
“Without you?”
Nodding, Bert climbed off him.
“I’ll pass,” Rick said.
He got out of bed and followed her. The air stirred against his damp body, cooling him. He watched Bert. Her short blond hair looked brown in the dim light, her skin dusky. She walked with easy strides. Rick’s gaze slid down her wide shoulders, her back, her slim waist, and lingered on the smooth moving mounds of her buttocks.
When we’re on the trails, he thought, I’ll let her take the lead.
He tightened inside. He wished he hadn’t thought about being on trails.
We’re not there yet, he told himself.
He stopped in the entryway to the living room and leaned against the cool wood.
Bert continued into the room. Her head lowered as she looked at the discarded clothing. She was in profile when she bent at the waist, and Rick stared at the side of her breast. She picked up her panties. Her breast swayed slightly as she shifted from one foot to the other and stepped into them. The panties were little more than a white elastic waistband. When they were on, she turned toward Rick.
“Am I the only one getting dressed around here?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Anything to stall.”
“Magnificent view. Mount Bertha.”
“That’s twice.” She raised an eyebrow. “Once more and you’ve had it.”
“Bert’s a boy’s name. You quite obviously are no—”
“Bertha’s a cow’s name. My parents were mad.” After a glance at the floor, she ducked down and picked up a white sock. She bent over, raised a foot, and started to put the sock on.
“What name would you have liked?” Rick asked.
“Maybe Kim, Tracy, Ann. But they didn’t ask. How about you?” She stretched the sock almost to her knee and picked up its mate.
“Ernie,” Rick said.
“Ernie’s a trucker’s name.”
“We’d be Bert and Ernie. We could move to Sesame Street.”
Bert shook her head. She lost her balance and hopped on one foot to steady herself. Rick watched her breasts shake. She finished with the second sock and straightened up. She looked at Rick’s penis, then at his face.
“You missed your calling,” she said. “You should’ve been a peeping Tom.”
“Doesn’t pay as well as ophthalmology.”
“Taking care of other people’s peepers.”
“So they won’t miss out on the glories of observing the human form.”
“You’re a humanitarian.” She picked up her tan shorts and stepped into them. They were loose-fitting, with deep pockets and button-down flaps like the trousers she had picked for Rick. After belting them, she sat on the floor and began to put on her boots.
She was deliberately leaving her shirt for last.
“What I like about you,” Rick said, “you’re so considerate.”
“Maybe I enjoy being looked at as much as you enjoy the looking.”
“Impossible.”
“Then just consider it a perk. I know you’re not thrilled about spending your vacation in the boonies. Anything I can do to make it more bearable ...”
“So far, it’s just great.”
When Bert finished tying her boots, she reached around, picked up Rick’s socks, and tossed them to him.
“I usually start with my shorts,” he said.
