She's not wearing a bra today. Which is a first. When she was married she always wore one. She definitely seems more liberated now, freer, eager to show off her nipples.

Which is good, because I have always been eager to see them.

I stand making small talk with the person behind her, mostly as an excuse to stand behind her, to be close to the back of her neck, to imagine kissing it, my hands around her, pinching those nipples.

Her ass is achingly close. I should not do this, but I must. Reaching up to clean my glasses I run my fingers lightly across her ass. She does not turn. She does not speak. Above all, she does not slap me. I clean the glasses, return them to my face, and drop my hand, touching her again. This time she reacts, but it is a positive reaction, a low gutteral noise and a slight twitching of her rump.

Her lack of husband has obviously left her, or made her, incredibly horny.

I excuse myself turn and walk past her, whispering "come" loud enough for her to hear, and she follows, back toward the sanctuary.

I wait inside the door for her, grab her by the wrist, pull her toward me, her slender body achingly close, and then touching.

Years I have waited for this kiss. Perhaps decades.

It has been worth the wait. Her lips are perfect against mine, molding together, just lips at first and then a hint of tongue as my hands begin on the buttons of the blouse, knowing how close and how hard and how eager her nipples are.

I need them. I need them between my fingers and most especially in my mouth.

But for the moment, as I move toward exposure, one button at a time, my mouth is occupied with hers and my hands are now inside her blouse and on her nipples, pinching, flicking, reveling in their hardness, their pointiness, their excitement, her excitement, I am dropping to my knees, freeing the last button, admiring her blouse draped across her breasts, pulling it aside, admiring again, taking the breast, her breast, in my mouth, in the sanctuary, in the House of the Lord.