I walked past with a frown on my face, already hating the holiday season and the fact that I was spending another Christmas alone. He turned the corner, and I walked right into him, his armload of ornaments crashing to the ground. I apologized a thousand times and tried to help clean up the mess, but he kept pushing me away until he finally realized I wasn’t going anywhere.
He stopped sweeping and leaned on the broom, giving me a delightful view of his youthful muscles. His chest raised with each breath and eventually, I realized my apologies changed to heated stares.
I bit my lower lip and traced his body with my eyes. When I got to his face, he had a crooked smile and temporary confidence gained by sudden and unexpected admiration.
I glanced around us quickly and then grabbed the front of his red shirt, pulling him with me between a display of pre-decorated Christmas trees. I slid my hands under his shirt and pushed him against the wall hard enough for his breath to be pushed from his lungs.
I dropped to my knees, thankful I was wearing my fleece-lined leggings. My eyes met his, and I realized just how young he really was. Hesitating, I asked for his age. He said twenty. I replied with my mouth on his skin and he sang my praises with a chorus of soft tenor moans. It didn’t take me long to learn his hot spots, and I drove him to pleasure time and again as if I’d been doing it for years.
When I was done, I wiped my mouth, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered a soft thank you in his ear. He called out to me as I walked away, practically begging for my name. I winked over my shoulder, told him he could call me Mrs. Robinson, and laughed when he didn’t get the joke.