Damned if her appearance, even innocent as it was, or was meant to be ... didn't get to me still. Though Chris usually slept in a thin pullover satiny, or even silk shift to bed at night, she sometimes wore nothing more than one of my old tee-shirts to bed. Sometimes with, but sometimes without panties, depending on the mood she was in. I liked the without mornings the best, as that usually meant she was in the mood for a quickie before either one of us dressed for work. A rather nice way to start out the day. Thus ... it was a silent, though obvious sign to me of what I could expect.Robyn was wearing a thin white tee shirt, obviously no bra as the cool morning air had already teased and caressed her nipples into hardness, poking and pressing against the material. Once again kneeling down, spotting a weed I had missed in the small patch I was working, a quick glance her way as she stood there next to me revealed even more. At least she was wearing panties, the hem of the shirt not. The edges turned up slightly, bulging down and arcing up, water collected in the distended material, water balloons sighing with envy. She glances back at me, catching my gaze for a second. Something glistens in her eye slightly, from the rain probably; but maybe not. My breath catches slightly in my throat. Not the rain.The bench she leads me to is covered by the tent, but only barely. Wind shifts and rain blows in sideways and up and down and we sit there. Staring at each other. Saying little. She makes this expression. As hard to describe as she is. For what adjectives run together to make a person like her. It's sad, hangdog, heartbreaking. I have no idea why. Or what it means. Or what I should do. All I want to do is kiss her. Instead I smile at her, laugh, coward that I am.Her normal face is back. I mention that expression she had on. No explanation but it comes back, and I lurch inside. It's easier to not kiss her then admit everything that would come with leaning over and.
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