When we first meet, it is at your door. Myself dressed in a Gucci suit of dark grey and white shirt, my hands filled only with a bottle of wine. A Southern Italian Sangiovese, dry and spicy. I smile, as do you when I bend forward, my lips moving to kiss your forehead. My hand, enclosing on that curve that smoothes from the back of your head to the nape of your neck.
I watch as you turn. Your small breasts just showing beneath the white blouse. The buttons undone two too many to give a hint of the flesh beneath. The cloth tucked neatly into your dress. A black length of fabric, long by most standards, refined but far from reserved with the understanding of what is to come.
I almost see a tremble in your fingers as you hand me the corkscrew. I smile. My eyes peruse the apartment that surrounds us while my hands work the spiral to withdraw the cork. I breathe. It's a wonderful place. Small and neat. Nicely decorated without going overboard. I pass the bottle of wine over a glass and pour just a spot. Swirling it to increase the aroma, holding it to your lips.
"Taste."
You move your lips forward. Just touching the glass. Waiting for me to gently tip it toward your tongue. The ruby red liquid slides into your mouth, past your lips. I tip it back and swirl it again.
I watch as you taste it, watching your tentative smile. Tasting it myself.
"More?"
You nod.
It's good. Strong, but fit for a hot climate. Your fingers wrap themselves around the stems, leading me to your living room. The lights are low. Candles sit on the tables, providing that amber glow that accentuates everything. I watch as you sit. Your blouse falling open ever so, giving a further view of your body. Your legs splitting your dress just a touch further. The length now falling apart, falling away to reveal yet another hint of the skin beneath.
I sit back and we talk. We talk of life and work and dreams and desires. We talk of sensual repasts we've had in the past, of sexual explorations we've enjoyed. It's almost polite conversation were it not for the context.
In time I tell you to come to me. To stand before me. I watch as you do. I stop you from putting your wine down, instead I ask you to bring it with you. To hold it, before you, in both hands, as you stand, your legs on either side of mine. I reach up inside your skirt and can see your anticipation, your desire and the energy in a physical wave pulsate from you. I reach up and lightly touch your leg. Only the tips of my fingers reaching your senses. My fingers wandering till they touch the fabric of your panties. I don't go there, rather I follow the seam upward, to your hips, locking beneath them and sliding them down your legs. They fit in the palm of one hand as I crush them and hold them to my face.
"Patricia, I want you to place your right foot on the couch... outside of my knee."
You hesitate.
"I want to see your sweet sex."
I can see you blanch just a little. I can see you hesitate, before your head straightens a bit and your knee rises. You lift your right leg and do as requested. Our eyes are locked as you display yourself to me.
I take another sip of wine. Then bend over to kiss the inside of your knee. I look into your eyes, watching you watch me. I can see your breath quicken and your heart flutter. I kiss you again; higher, softer and watch as you take another sip of wine, smiling as my your lips move up again, to kiss your inner thigh. When I stop it is to lean back, and look at you.
Had I looked down, I would have seen all the way up to your sex. I would have seen the firm muscles of your thighs open to my gaze. I would have seen the neatly trimmed hair of your pubis. Instead I look at you. Into your eyes and raise my glass in a toast. A toast to our first exchange.
"Trisha...pet... look at me."
Your head falls forward, your hair falling over your chest, your chest rising and falling rapidly with quick breathless respirations.
You hold your breath, and meet my expression. You watch me as I lift my left hand and begin to trace the outline of your dress. Following it again upward, now touching your thighs. Now touching that crease where they meet your waist. Now touching your mons. Never touching your lips, instead outlining them. Tracing the outside labia, ever so softly, with feather like touches that hesitate only when they reach your sex.
I can feel your hip thrust forward ever so slightly, trying to increase the pressure. But my thumb pulls back. Not allowing you to have that pleasure. Teasing you further.
"Trisha... do not move" I tell you. And you sigh lightly as you use all of your control to nudge ever so slightly. My finger's circular movements begin to grow smaller. Barely touching the line between your lips... feeling the heat from the tip of your sex. That ever hardening point of nerves.
You push forward again, and again I pull back. My hand instead sliding lower, following the line of your sex, feeling the soft curves and rolls and wetness. My finger slides just inside you, briefly lingering ever so lightly before I withdraw it from you. I put it to my lips. Tasting just a whisper of you.
"Trisha, open your blouse... show me..."
Your hands pull your blouse apart. Pulling it open around your breasts. The small nipples are firm and pushing against themselves. My fingers work themselves inside your blouse. They start at the hem of your dress and move slowly upward. My wrist spreads your blouse further, as my fingers linger on the edges, my own touch feather-light against your skin. I explore the curves your body presents to them. Just barely touching the bottoms of your breasts. Just barely lingering on the swell they produce. Skimming across your aerole and nipple.
You sip from your wine. I let my fingers fall again to your waist, to your dress and to your sex. And again, I begin the teasing. This time, dipping in further, and pulling out just as quickly, moistening each digit from your sex. Fanning the fingers through your opening. I raise one finger to your lips, offering you a taste of yourself. Your tongue tests the salty sweetness it provides as do I.
