Prelude to the Evening
So it was late in the afternoon. Perhaps it was already truly early evening. Like so many things in life; when one thing begins and another ends is a matter of subtle shifts and perception. I was standing in front of the building, by the street, walking, pacing, or strutting back and forth. Again a matter of perception and interpretation. Strutting or sauntering is always a safe bet. More or less on the corner like the completely cliché whore that I am (professionally speaking) waiting for her to arrive. The imagination ran wild while wondering what she’d be wearing and no matter her choice of attire the seconds passed painfully and eternally slow. I was very covetous of having her to myself for a few hours or more. Not that she is mine to lay claim to in anyway. There are a lot of things that can be said about me, most them not very nice, some of those true but coveting time with a specific woman is rarely one of them.
Even eternity which if you think about it is an unimaginable concept for the human mind really eventually will come to an end. That eternity ended the second she pulled up, popped out of her car and threw her arms around me. Hugs are often soft, and fleeting her are always close and linger. Not for seconds or minutes, not even for hours or days. Her have the ability to be recalled in very solid detail for weeks and months with very little effort. Her dress was alluring and just short enough to provide glimpses beyond her mid-thighs. Legs that men like me probably have spent far too much time day dreaming of. The plunging neck line gave more than just a peek of the beautiful, soft and round inside edges of her breasts. A distraction that would taunt me for the remainder of the evening but more about that later.
One Demands Subsides but other urges begin to rise
It is never seamless when the time comes to change gears from Business Geek to a Sexual Being. The demands of the phone continue to call out to me, a few final things have to be dealt with until I can truly give her my undivided attention. The phone goes to silent, then airplane mode so there is nothing else but her and our time together. She looks younger than ever. I don’t tell her that, she fusses about her age but by my account seems ageless if not going backwards in years. I notice the subtle changes in her body, as if she wasn’t already sexy enough. A breeze begins and hope that the wind will take her skirt and raise it just a bit more fills the mind. I want to see more of her, I’d like to see all of her but busy parking lots near crowded streets aren’t really the best place for such things.
Into the restaurant…so I watch her walk, something I like to do. After all she has a cute little ass that I enjoy spanking so much…particularly when she bares it. Often her bottom taunts me from beneath her jeans, or various states of exposure in pictures that feed my lust. Tonight though her hips and legs are what I drink in, step after step, sway after sway. She knows my weaknesses and plays to them well with heels just high enough to be daring and sexy enough to know that they couldn’t help but be noticed. Our hands don’t meet, I don’t place mine on her back or make other physical contact. Not even the gentlemanly and seemingly innocuous offer of an arm. Holding the door open as she passes. There is fire smoldering. It is far too early for me to allow that spark any fuel, air, or friction. Even seemingly harmless friction; I know my limits. When a situation could easily become too hot for clear calm judgement.
Leaning in…often there has been criticism that I exude a sense of confidence and casualness in places that it is not appropriate. I sit back in my chair, legs out straight, hands resting atop my head confidently daring any takers. If I sit up it is usually out of intense interest, or an act of aggression. Simply put I don’t lean in…that night was an exception. With the table between us I leaned in. drawn to her, wanting to be closer, watching her every move, shift, glance, and breath.
Only looking away to make eye contact with the server as she came and went. At first she wasn’t sure how to take me but by the end she held my gaze. Eventually she’d smile nervously; chat a little. I like to think something about me interested her on some level. Odds are though simply the young woman was afraid for a reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on. A very good instinct indeed.
Do I make you nervous? Where was I? Ahhhh yes. Her sweater and my roaming eyes…for god’s sake essentially I’m only a man. So how could I not look, have you seen her breasts? Have you seen them in a plunging V neck line? The soft curves, the exposed skin, the alluring call of them begging to be exposed. Her nipples chiding you, calling out to be touched, caressed, maybe even pinched as you take those wonderful and round shape in their entirety in your cupped hands?
At one point in the evening during a story a small exploration occurred reaching across the table to touch her upper arm. It was an example that fit with in the story being told, barely qualifying as tactile sensation, non-threatening…a few minutes later I looked across again, she pulled her sweater across her chest. I had noticed it a few times before during the course of the meal. Her arms would swing wide, she would draw the black cloth across her tightly holding it there, eventually letting go, in mere seconds from when it was released it would again fall away, baring the exposed parts of her chest to me. Was I looking too much, was it a habit on her part, was she cold?
Your guess is as good as mine. What I really wanted to do is trace the neck line of that top ever so lightly with the tips of my fingers, slowly, deliberately, sliding the tip underneath the edge of the cloth, just enough to not be innocent but not so much as to be demanding. As if tracing a woman’s cleavage could ever be truly innocent. In private tracing that same neck line, or any other part of her body with my tongue would have also been fun…however I resisted. Probably smiled and did my best to keep looking her in the eye and not be drawn into yet another alluring temptation any more than I had already been. Failing miserably of course as her chest mocked me from 3 feet away.
Parking Lots, Hallways, and Lifts … through streets, the crazed interchanges, and alleyway. Then past the gate and behind the building where my head would rest later than night. After I dared to ask for more of her time, to come in, to steal a few more minutes with me. It was selfish but she didn’t seem to mind. After some trial, error, and a bit of jostling we found a place to park that wasn’t too terribly far from the door. We cross the chasm of black top and out of the darkness and into the light. Through the vestibule around the corner and avoiding the masses in the center of the room and the main entrance darting purposefully around the furniture taking the shortest path possible to the elevators.
The ride is short but we are more or less truly alone. Something tells me I was leading the route, obsessed with something other than her. Something that needed dealt with so my mind and concerns would once again be free to enjoy the time together. Glances are exchanges. A few more long hallways, twists and turns and we are at my room. The view is one I knew she would enjoy. It is her that comes to mind every time I get a view like that one anywhere in the world. Often taking a few minutes to watch others anonymously pass by coming and going all with visions of her dancing in my head.
Tonight is was not a vision, it was her in the flesh. I would move quickly through my obsession, trusting the judgement of others. At first she paces, bounces, smiles. You can see the dreams in her eyes, in her smile. This view means things to her that I suspect lie beyond what she has told me. That there is a mystery or magic, perhaps even a secret. She is pressed against the glass, looking out, watching and thinking. I steal glances at her as I finally finish the task at hand.
A proposition of a bygone era is shared. I’m standing now, not more than a few feet from her, no obstruction, no barrier or obstacle between us. The ending to her tale was to me unimaginable, in fact I was imagining in very vivid detail what my answer would have been under those circumstances. It is one directly the opposite of the actual outcome. She turns back to the glass and presses against the cool of the night seeping through it. I step back and watch. Admiring the view of her there dressed in black head to toe.
I want to stand next to her. Or behind her pressing against her body, I imagine lifting her skirt and tracing the tops of her stockings, the curves of her bottom as she arches back towards me and my hand wonders between her thighs. I want to fuck her, roughly and wordlessly from behind as she braces her self against that window wondering if anyone can see her. Her breasts escape the dress and move with each thrust. Instead I keep my distance, and suggest we step out for a coffee.
In the lift on the way down I want to step closer to her. I want her to feel my strength and power with out making contact. I want her to remember later the difference in our sizes, to understand an unspoken intent. But instead I smile, catch her eye, and imagine her on her knees. My edge is drawing closer. Restraint and reverence is beginning to lose its grip on me. Carnal desires rise…DING!
Thank fucking god! Maybe, just maybe I can stop imagining my cock in her mouth, or what she’d look like facing the brick wall panting and sweating from being fucked in a secluded off shoot in the garage below ground.
Why is there never a booth available when you really want one…
Lounges are supposed to be dark and quiet. Coffee bars should be the same way but the first stop was too bright, too crowded, too much frenetic energy. She said it was fine, it was not. She insisted it would be more than acceptable. Options weren’t weighed, I simply told her we’re leaving. There was no deference in my answer. The only thing right with the space in that moment was she was there. Everything else was wrong.
Our next stop was loud but dimly lit, loud but it has wonderful blue booths along the one side. High and circular and private except for directly in front of you. It would have been perfect, I could have slid close, the conversation could have become conspiratorial whispers and tawdry exchanges….it would have been against the edge or acceptable. It could have been testing limits, it could have been too much. I may have caved and touched her just a little as I watch her face. There is never a booth available when you really want one.
So a table it was. I took my chair and slid it around to more or less be next to her. Our conversation was polite; not heated and filled with sexual tension. It was proper not inappropriate. It was restrained and inoffensive all the while as I imaged putting her in the table in front of me. peeling off any undergarments she may have been wearing, exposing her to anyone near by. Then licking her to the edge of release denying her that pleasure forcing her to finish off her own orgasm right there in front of me while i watched.
A laugh not tied to the conversation escaped as the idea of the edges of her skirt tickling my face as I ate her pussy occurred to me.I sipped my coffee. She checked her phone. Resolve was gone fortunately the evening reached its logical conclusion as she would make her way back home and I would return to admire the same view out the window she had hours earlier.
During an escape one rarely gets out unscathed…
I had found my edge but not crossed the line. Temptation called to me like a drug i was so desperate for but I had not succumb. Later after the madness of normal life had returned and then diminished I sat alone in the dark and she haunted me.
I tried to relax but in my mind I could only see her standing at the window. Smiling and then turning her back to me. I could all but feel her presence. My lips parted, the pill entered my mouth. A gulp washed it down. She was still there 30 minutes later as I slipped into the chemical bliss of the void. If it were not for modern science I would have sat their all night imagining the things that could have been done with…and to her.