The VIP Room(93)

"Would you like a cookie or scone, Mother?"

"No. Don't change the subject, Lauren. You can afford any home you want, anywhere you want. Why did you choose to live here? Are you trying to break our hearts?"

"Oh, Mother. Don't waste your dramatics on me. Daddy seems quite pleased with my decisions. I'm well aware of what I can afford. But, I'm also old enough to know what I want, and right now that's to focus on building my career.

"This little cottage," she mimicked her mother's sarcastic reference, "suits me just fine, and I won't be distracted with all the upkeep of a big house. And, as it's turning out, even this little home is a huge time suck that I'm beginning to regret."

She winced. Another tongue-biter that she knew her mother wouldn't let slide by.

"So you do regret your decision to move out on your own."

"Not at all. I probably should have taken more time off from work, though. But, I didn't, and I have important appointments set up that can't be changed, so I have to go back tomorrow."

She looked pointedly at her mother. "I'll make it all work. This--" she waved her arm around the room, "doesn't bother me at all, and it shouldn't bother you."

An awkward silence hung in the air for several moments.

Her mother tapped the spoon lightly against the glass. "Did you say you had scones?"

Lauren nodded. "Yes. Blueberry. Your favorite--and mine," she admitted.

Her mother smiled. "At last. Something in common."

Lauren turned in her chair and grabbed a paper bag from the counter behind her. "See the benefits of a small kitchen? I rarely have to take more than a step or two to reach anything I want."

"Well, that may be so, but in my big kitchen, you get to walk off the calories you consume," her mother shot back.

They both laughed. Nothing more than light conversation was shared while they finished the iced tea and scones--although it was a one-sided conversation.

Lauren listened while her mother gossiped, but she didn't mind. Her mother's chatter gave her time to think about things that mattered to her. All she had to do was nod periodically. As her mother consumed the last of her iced tea, Lauren stood up.

"Can I get you more tea?"

"No, darling. I must go. I have a late tee time at the club and have to go home and change into my golf clothes first."

Lauren was relieved, and she walked her mother to the door. Before stepping out, the elder woman turned. "Are there any eligible bachelors at your office?"

"What? Really, Mother!" Lauren shook her head. So, that was what all the girly chitchat was about. Disarm her with small talk, and then go in for the kill.

"Certainly you won't meet anyone around here, Lauren. At least you're around professional men when you go to work."

"I don't have time for this, and neither do you. Enjoy your round of golf. See you."

Lauren rushed her mother through the entry and closed the door. Turning to return to the kitchen, she caught sight of her reflection once more and sighed audibly.

"Sure, tons of eligible bachelors, Mother. And, they're all banging down my door, so you'd better get out of the way," she said softly.



* * *



The wet suit was starting to chafe between her legs and around her breasts. She reached under her shirt to tug the offending fabric away from the irritated areas, but to avail. She ran her hands over the dirt on her forehead and tried to coax the frizzy ends of her hair back into her ponytail, but that wasn't happening either.

Lauren threw her hands up in the air. She needed to regroup and pull herself together if she was going to get anything accomplished on this, her last day off from work. A nice, hot shower would relax her, and she could start over as though it were a new day.

The shower was the reason she chose the house. The previous owner had bought the place with the intentions of renovating and flipping, but a work opportunity came along that required he move across the country, so he never completed the project. The one improvement he made was modernizing the ancient bathroom fixtures in the master bath.

Once she saw the walk-in shower with jets that lined three walls of the Italian-tiled stall, she was sold. The real estate agent who was showing the house apologized that there wasn't a tub and suggested that she update the second bath with Jacuzzi tub if she wished. But Lauren wasn't a lover of soaking in a tub. It seemed inefficient to her. A shower, on the other hand, was a pleasurable and effective way to get clean.

She turned the water on and closed the sleek glass shower door to let the stall steam up, then pulled the shirt over her head and peeled off the damp bathing suit. She leaned into the mirror over the vanity to inspect the reddened areas around her breasts left by the wet fabric. Rubbing them gently to soothe the skin felt good, and Lauren started to relax.

It felt wonderful to release her breasts. She hated restraining them in bras or the tight tops of bathing suits, but as much as she preferred the freedom, convention wouldn't permit her to indulge herself by letting the big girls loose. Inside the privacy of her home, Lauren never wore a bra and preferred to go without clothes at all. The most she ever wore around the house was an oversized tee shirt.

Watching her reflection, she saw her pink nipples darken and become pert as she massaged the muscles that held her breasts upright. Despite their size, those babies stood up, almost defying gravity. A tingling sensation spread from her breasts to her belly, and she let her hands follow the flow of heat down over the bump of her rounded stomach to her abdomen.