I have known Janneke for a long time. She is Dutch. She is short and a bit round and a bit reserved. But cuddly and friendly and a bit cheeky. Sexy in a quiet sort of way. I have lusted after her for so many years.
The Dutch convention is to greet friends with three kisses -- little pecks on the cheek, a brush of cheeks or just air kisses. Left, right, left. That's how Janneke and I greet each other. But over the years Janneke and I have taken tiny steps forward. Microscopic steps. Imperceptible steps. I said at the start she is cuddly. Not that I had cuddled her of course. Only in my dreams.
The last couple of times we had greeted, or parted, the imperceptible steps moved a centimetre further. The first little peck was just at the right end of her lips, the second at the left end. But instead of moving her head back properly she stopped half way through. The third little peck was right in the centre. I think she was as surprised as I was. I don't think it was intentional. Yet the next time we met the same thing happened. I don't believe in coincidences like that. I think she meant to let it happen. This time, even if not the first time. Me, and my boy, both got the idea that she wanted to be kissed on the lips. And if she wanted that, what else might she want?
We got into a pattern. That's how we greeted each other. That and a little shy smile. When we could. But, with my girlfriend with us, nothing more was going to happen. There was only one way to find out if there could be more. I found the opportunity to call round alone on the pretext of something she had forgotten.
"Hi, Phil, come in." Our greeting ritual, in the hallway, went just as normal. She made no move to suggest anything different.
But I held on her elbow, rather than let it go as I normally would. "I'm not sure we got that quite right, Jan." She didn't pull away so I continued. "Shall we try again?" Not bothering to wait for an answer I adjusted my hold, to her upper arm rather than her elbow and kissed left -- just half way to the edge of her lips -- and kissed right in the same way. And looked directly at her, and paused for a second or two. She held my gaze and held on to my arm. Our lips met right in the centre and held for a moment longer than would be normal, or 'proper'.
I didn't let go of her arm as I normally would. Nor did she. "Better? Third time lucky?".
She didn't move away but leaned straight in for a third go. The first little peck was right in the centre of her lips, the second the same. We were looking directly at one another. The third kiss changed our lives forever. Her lips parted. Mine too. This was no formal kiss. Our tongues gently traced the line of the other's parted lips. It wasn't wild and passionate. It was strangely innocent for two people in their forties. But a line had been crossed. My hand was no longer on her arm but gently on her waist. There was a slight pressure in her grip, not letting me go but holding me where I was even after that first real kiss had finished.
"Did you enjoy that?" A little shy nod. "I know I did." I reached a little further around her waist and held her just a little bit closer. "Would you like some more?" I didn't bother to wait for an answer. If she wasn't saying no I figured she was saying yes. This time we simply kissed. A hungry open mouthed kiss that seemed to last for ever with our tongues dancing with one another.
As we kissed my hands held her close, first around her waist and then, as her hands clung to my shoulders, inching down over that soft curvy derriere that I had peeked at so many many times. The curves of my after dark fantasies. As I held her close there can have been no doubt of my excitement. My boy pressed against her and my fingers traced the edges of whatever panties it was she was wearing that day. The black that I had seen above the waist of her jeans that day we were decorating, the pale blue I had seen on her airer or the scarlet thong of my fantasy.
Our kiss drew to a reluctant close but we stayed pressed together. "We should stop" came from those delicious lips but her body was saying something different. The wiggle of her hips just increased the tension in my pants and my hands continued to wander, freely now, across that fabulous bum. I love curves, hate bony, crave softness, yielding luscious flesh.
"Can I ask you a question, sweet Janny?" A sort of mmm sound came back. "A personal, intimate question? Or two?" She nuzzled into my shoulder and made another purring noise. "What I would like to know is, on a scale of 1 to 9, how pretty these little knickers are?"
"The ones your naughty little fingers have been playing with?"
"Exactly, these." I slipped my fingers into the waistband of her trousers to emphasise exactly where my interests lay. " Are they as pretty and pretty can be? A nine? Or a dull and boring three? I can tell they are not a 1."
"That's a very naughty question, Phil. You like the idea of assessing my panties? How long have you been thinking about my underwear?"
