A Gift Exchange (short story)

When Mr. Allan and Cissy began their arrangement, it could have been a lot of things.

It could have been a generous family friend who was unprepared for the situation he found himself in. But it wasn’t. It could have been sudden lust propelling him into a pushy assumption. But it wasn’t. It could have been a lecherous opportunist who took advantage of a young woman’s need. But it wasn’t. It could have been that her innocence froze her feet to the ground so that she could offer no resistance. But it wasn’t. It could have been a young woman who was surprised at his generosity and so in need of help that it didn’t matter who he was. It could have been that she saw an opportunity to take this old fool for all she could get. It could even have been the heat of their chemistry. But it wasn’t.

It would have been hard not to notice your bright young neighbor blossoming over the last few years, but to him, she was still a girl, not a woman. And as a friend with favored-uncle status, he had always been a gentleman.

Then at 22 and starting back to school, she found herself struggling for money. And he found himself with an ailing wife, and lonely. And she was back in town for the summer, and he saw her with new eyes. “For Pete’s sake, Roger, she could be your daughter!” he said to himself. “But she’s not!” he said right back.

Neither of them planned it, and neither of them shied away from it. Neither of them was terribly surprised, and neither of them ever told anyone else. They were generous with each other. It’s as simple as that.

So it was that he arrived at her door with $500 in his pocket.

“Mr. Allan, come in, what brings you here?”

He stood for a moment, not sure how to proceed, and watched her move back across the room, with that gap between shirt and jeans that the young people all wear nowadays.

“I heard you talk about school, and I brought you a little something for your college fund,” he said. “Lillian had wanted to go, but we couldn’t afford it then. She’s not doing well, and . . . I’d like you to have this.”

“Oh. . . that’s so kind of you, Mr Allan. I really appreciate it. And I hope Lillian gets better soon.”

When she took his hand in hers, he didn’t move it away, even when she stroked it. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she didn’t shrug it off. When she looked him in the eyes, he didn’t look away. And when he moved his hand, slowly, tentatively, along the line of her shoulder up to her neck, she neither tensed nor resisted. When he continued up to her cheek, she looked him right in the eyes and stayed there, neither seducing nor admonishing.

She wondered how far he would want to take this. Maybe a little squeeze and a kiss?

He wondered how far she would invite him. He had nowhere in mind, particularly. The truth is neither of them knew how far they would go until they got there. He simply kept going, one little step at a time, and she simply did not resist, not one bit. Each step was enough, and then there was another step.

Oh, if she had, he would have stopped in a heartbeat! He didn’t want to take anything not given, much less take advantage. But every now and then she would give a little acknowledgment, like taking off her shoes, or his watch, or her belt.

So he stroked her cheek and felt very lucky and was ready to turn and go. But he didn’t. And neither did she. And when his hand wandered back down to her neck and collarbone, he was grateful and it was enough. And then the soft skin above her tank top was enough. And she did not resist. And when he slipped her straps over her shoulders and ever so carefully lowered her top to her waist, gazing at her sweet breasts was enough.

Then he brought his gaze back up to her eyes and neither of them pushed and neither of them pulled away. And when that was enough, stroking the roundness of her breasts with the back of his fingers was enough. Even if she had stopped now, it would have been enough, this sweet taste. And when he moved to her nipples, that was enough. And when he turned his hands over to feel her with his full open palms, running over her torso, breasts, shoulders, belly, that was enough. Oh, that was quite enough!

And then she offered him some tea. He accepted and watched her topless young form putter with the teacups and sit in front of him as if nothing were out of the ordinary. In fact, she seemed to welcome his looking. She was not showing off, neither hiding, simply giving him the pleasure of looking. And he giving her the pleasure of being seen.

It was now, at the table, that she bent down and took his shoes and socks off. And then reached around and removed his watch and put it into his shoe so he wouldn’t forget it.

And so they enjoyed their tea, chatting about the news of their lives, their silence now broken, a gentle awkwardness peeking through.

Then they fell silent again, and this was enough, he thought. This was gift enough. They smiled at each other, she stood and moved closer to him to reach for his cup, and then simply stood, right in front of him, and waited. He reached over to her hips, guided her closer, reached up to her breasts, worshipping with caresses and kisses. Oh enough! This is enough! To kiss soft breasts again! He would have cried if he could have.

And after he had had enough, his hands wandered to the waist of her jeans and toyed at her buttons. She did not resist. He unbuttoned them slowly, deliberately, keenly watching for any pulling away, but there was none. There was simply her availability. She was still here.

She stood completely naked now, young round form, tender, soft, and he simply looked and looked, turned her around and looked again, his heart overflowing with gratitude. Enough! This was enough. If she had picked up her clothes again, he would not have been surprised, would have thanked her and left satisfied.

But she didn’t. After that was enough, he could not resist putting his hands on her hips, feeling the shape and curve, caressing and exploring. That would have been enough. And then his hands brushed lightly across her furry patch, and again, and again, and then came to linger there, exploring her lips. She moved her thighs, just a little.

Now, for the first time, he wanted a little more. He moved her around to sit on his thigh and let his hand continue exploring, savoring every fold and crevice, soft and moist and very much a woman. And now, for the first time, he closed his eyes. Closed his eyes and lost himself in the exquisite touch of her lovely petals. His fingers drank her in like a man wandering thirsty in the desert.

Daring one more look into her eyes, he wrapped his arms around her, taking in the curves, and slowly moved to kiss her, gently, ever watchful for her response. Still soft and open. He noticed they were not eager, her lips, but it wasn’t heat and passion he sought. It was welcome he sought, simply a welcome. And this he had here and it was enough. It was plenty.

And so she sat, straddling his thigh, hugging, holding, kissing. Soft kisses they were, but not shy. Very sensual. After a little more, she raised her hand to his neck, gently stroked around inside his collar, and he noticed he was still clothed. He watched her eyes as he moved down his shirt, button by button. He took her hands and raised them to his chest. She stroked, caressed, petted all around. Her touch was a little shaky, unconfident. These were not the hands of a pro. These were the hands of someone willing to give it a try. Someone willing to give.

When he, too, was naked, he suddenly realized that this was not enough! I want more - I want it all! His gentle, even arousal suddenly flared, betrayed by a moan and more urgency in his hands.

He could hardly believe it. Of course, it had crossed his mind when he though about bringing her the cash, but he had not dared to follow it to its conclusion. He had not been so presumptuous. Now his body took over where only his hands had reached out. Belly and hips pressed against her, began to flex, bend and weave, respond. He entered the stream of flow in which you simply give in to the current. The questions of whether and how evaporate, and the mind, if present at all, follows the flesh.

Still, if she had resisted, he would have stopped. She knew this without question. Her own breath was warmer now, her own toes dipping into that stream. And still she welcomed him.

“I’m not your first man, am I? . . No?. . Good. I wouldn’t want to be your first.”

“It’s fine”, she said, “It’s fine. It’s lovely.”

Taking his hand, and a few steps to the bed, she welcomed him again. As his thighs opened hers, she welcomed him again. This simple gift. This welcoming comfort.

Later, as he left her apartment, she took his hand again, and looked into his eyes – thank you, she said. And he – you’re welcome. You’re very welcome. Please let me know anytime you need more. No expectations, ever.

She knew he meant it. Thank you, she said, I will. And you do the same.

Thank you, he said, I will.

And that was how their gift exchange began.