My Last Morning With Melissa - Sex Stories

My Last Morning With Melissa

Ah, Melissa. That’s a name that brings back fond memories of a time of passion and illicit romance. Even now, I can taste the hint of cinnamon on her lips and sense the subtle fragrance of an obscure flower that was the essence of the perfume she wore. Melissa and her husband, a stoic and foolish man whose unpronounceable name I have chosen to forget, lived in the same apartment complex as I. Even so, she might never have come to my attention if not for the fact that we did our laundry at the same time of the morning. For many weeks we would pass by one another, nodding and wearing that friendly smile that one puts on around a stranger. I had, of course, noticed that she was an attractive woman. Being the man that I am, I never failed to let my eye be turned by a pretty face. Her petite figure and the delightfully graceful bounce in her step were a joy to behold. Having made note of her wedding ring though, I more or less considered her out of bounds as a possible playmate. Truthfully, that was more because of the actual proximity of her husband rather than any real personal ethic against adultery. To be completely honest, had I met her at a place farther from home, I might not have been quite so reluctant to become something more than just ‘that guy she met down at the laundry.’ Melissa, as I said, was a very attractive woman. She was about thirty as I recall, a bit younger than I was at the time. She was small, standing no more than five feet two inches tall and if she ...

... weighed one hundred and ten pounds I would have been surprised. Her beautifully thick, raven hair cascaded down over her shoulders and her rich and smooth skin was a full shade darker than a deep tan would have been on an Anglo. Her body was athletic and toned, and her breasts appeared firm under the tight fitting tops she preferred. Melissa was gifted with strong facial features that might have put some men off, but I am not most men. To me, her exotic looks were as stunningly beautiful as they were difficult to place. It was only later that I learned she was of Lebanese descent. As with any new friendship, there came the day when those impersonal smiles became something more. On that day, I was sitting in the laundry, reading ‘Conspiracy in Death’ by J.D. Robb, and yes I am aware that it’s a pseudonym of Nora Roberts. Hell, everyone knows that, don’t they? I was about twenty minutes into my first load when Melissa came in with her daily basket. We gave each other that friendly, plastic smile, and then she saw my book. "Oh my gosh, I love that series! I just finished 'Holiday In Death' last week! You've got to let me borrow it when you're finished!" She was actually bubbling with glee over it and I couldn't help but laugh at her excitement. I mean, the stories are pretty good, but I never imagined I'd meet anyone who would actually become giddy over the prospect of yet another hastily written drama featuring the hard but sexy Eve Dallas and her idolizing sidekick Delia Peabody. ...