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Releasing the Tension

Stuck in a traffic jam, I propose a game of sexy I-Spy…

My husband drums his fingers on the hot steering wheel and fiddles with the air vents so a cool breeze blows across his face, attempting to calm the vein throbbing at his temple. I crane my neck, it’s depressing how far ahead of us the line of cars extends. We’re stuck in traffic, a queue to the tunnel, a statistic of the summer holiday. Later tonight a crisply attired news anchor will report how many cars took this route to Britain’s beach destinations. Hopefully by then Malcolm and I will have reached our destination and unpacked, we’ll be sipping gin and tonic.

What’s needed right now is a distraction.

“I spy with my little eye …”

“What am I, five?” he grinds out, through gritted teeth.

“Trust me darling, you’ll like the way I play this.”

Giving him my best saucy look, I start again.

“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with B — you only get three guesses.”

Mal glares at me, but still asks, “are we playing inside the car, or anything we can see outside?”

“Inside the car only.” I try for a mysterious expression.

“Back seat?” He says.

“No.”

“Belt?”

“No, last guess now.”

He’s competitive about everything, so I sense his utter concentration. I feel very smug, I don’t think he’ll get this, but I like that he’s trying.

“Buttons!”

He sounds triumphant, casting a look at my summer dress. It’s loose and flowy and cool, and it buttons through from hem to neckline.

“You’re very close, but I’m afraid that’s a point to me. It was bra.”

“Bra! But I can’t see that …” he starts to grumble, then stops.

I’m unbuttoning the top buttons of my dress. It’s open to my navel. My fingers play seductively between the open placket, stroking the two mounds of warm, white flesh which curve temptingly out of the confines of my lacy bra. Mal licks his lips and swallows.

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