A Box For Lydia - Sex Stories

A Box For Lydia

... postmark which had arrived that morning. Opening her bedside drawer, she removed a brand new pair of sheer black hold-up stockings. Her fingers toyed for a moment with a pair of delicate black lace panties. She turned the soft corners of her mouth up slightly before dropping them off the end of her fingers and back into the drawer. Returning to her wardrobe, she then removed a black button-through blouse and black pencil skirt and laid those on the bed. She rolled the dress up into a ball and threw it into a space in the corner of the bedroom. Black will always fill a space. Lydia left her apartment at just after seven in the evening, as she always did on a Friday night. She pushed the button to call the elevator. When it arrived she stepped inside and pushed the button for the ground floor. The doors closed behind her. The walls closed around her. There was the faintest smell of oil, rubber and body odour. ‘The slightest smells will always fill a small place,’ she thought to herself as the tight silver box rumbled and juddered its mechanical way down. Stepping out of the lift, she made her way to the bus stop outside the apartment block, as she always did every Friday night. As she waited for the bus she thought of Michael. By now he would have cleaned his apartment and probably be making his way to the Chinese takeaway to collect their supper. She would arrive at his apartment, and they would kiss. They would then sit at his table and, by the yellow, waxy light of a ...

... solitary flickering candle, they would quietly eat the food he had bought. Then, they would watch a movie, perhaps, or just sit on his sofa and talk about their week. At just after half past ten he would walk her back to the bus stop in time for the last bus home. He would tell her he would see her on Sunday morning before waving her off. Lydia never stayed overnight. In fact, she and Michael had never had sex; he wanted to save that for after the marriage that both she and he knew would never take place. She used to wonder whether she ever aroused Michael at all. She had once kissed him and pressed herself close against him but had felt no urgent response. They would never marry and in her heart she knew why. The bus turned the corner just down from the apartment block and began to slow as it approached the bus stop. Lydia began to wonder if he would be on the bus again. Every Friday, for the past two or three months, the bus had been practically empty apart from one man who sat near the back. He was habitually dressed in a smart black suit, with a black leather briefcase balanced on his knees. He was always studiously reading what appeared to be essay papers through round-lensed, rimless spectacles. Lydia referred to him in her mind as ‘The Professor’. Every Friday she would board the bus, walk to the back, and sit in the double-seat directly across the aisle from him. Occasionally, he would look up and smile somewhat nervously at her before returning his attention to the papers ...