Somehow, we both find ourselves on our way to visit our respective relatives in our hometown, good ol' L.A. Great coincidence! Although, it doesn't mean we will see each other - after all, you are coming from San Antonio, and I from Chicago - we are not even in the same airport terminal, probably. Still, I did tell you that I have free accommodations at a friend's house while they are away, and you don't want to spend money on a hotel, either, so who knows? Maybe I'll at least see you for a meal.
I pull into the driveway, and unlock the house. What a considerate friend! He left a huge bouquet of fresh flowers in a vase for me on the coffee table. The fresh aroma fills the air. There is a card attached.
"I love you, Bonnie."
Bonnie? Oh, I get it, he gave them to his girlfriend and they couldn't take them on their trip to Mexico. I chuckle.
Oh well, I may not be Bonnie, but she was nice enough to let me smell her beautiful flowers for free.
I take my bags to the bedroom, and open one on their fluffy four-poster bed to hang my clothes in the closet. They have a cute little backyard, perfectly manicured lawn and tall irises that brush against the one car-garage that keeps the yard a private view. So peaceful, so pleasant. I breathe out a sigh of contentment. This is going to be a great three-day weekend of quiet reflection. I've brought books to read, my computer to do work on, and I am ready to just chill out. It's a hot, hot day, must be 80 degrees. I put on a pair of short shorts and wife beater t shirt with no bra, already a little sweaty. My breast falls out the side of the t shirt, and I pop it back in.
I unpack my drum set. Yes, my drum set. It is a smallish, modern set of several plastic heads on which I can tap, with headphones, and only I can hear the sound, which mimics that of a real drum set. Still, I love the drums, something I have taken up recently, and I look forward to getting some practicing in. I set up the set, a little screwing here and there, and it fits perfectly in a corner of the bedroom. Et voila, ready for a private party. I smile. Just about to put the headphones and a music-minus-one tape...the doorbell rings. Hm. Okay.
I open it. There you are.
"Hi!"
I am surprised. What is going on? I thought you were coming to town tomorrow night. Plus, I didn't actually expect to see you. It is great to get together with an old friend, however. I hop forward to give you a big, loving hug. It has been too long! Your hands linger on my waist for a moment, and your dark eyes look into mine and smile widely.
I guess things will go a different way, at least for a little while. It's fine by me, I am always happy to see you. I have always thought you were kind of cute, but the timing was off, with me and that boyfriend. What was my deal, being loyal to him? It has been a few years, so I guess I missed my chance, but I love flirting with you anyway.
You suggest we go out for Mexican food at a restaurant down the street. Nothing better than Mexican food in L.A. Great idea! It is early, but the two of us, from Chicago and San Antonio time differences, are ready for dinner.
I pick a sundress out the closet and sandals and we head out. You comment on my toe-ring; I remember that you had a thing about my feet, and liked to see them tan and newly pedicured, and even though I only half-expected to see you, I thought I would at least be ready with pretty feet, just for fun. So I have a beautiful, freshly-tanned body, and pastel-pink polished toenails. Cute guy, fun flirting, I am in such a good mood. I can't stop smiling to be with you, my old friend.
Yes, definitely, I would love a shot of tequila! We are both officially on vacation in our hometown, so let's get this party started! Plus, we walked down the street two blocks to get to this place, so of course we don't worry about drinking and driving. Let's get it!
You ask what I want, and I laugh. The waiter isn't anywhere around. You're going to order for me? That's cute, and manly. I really should have dated you. Now I really am mad at that other guy for wasting my time. I do my shot, squeeze a lime in my mouth, and rest my chin on my hand and smile at you. You grin broadly at me, and we laugh a little. The waiter comes by and you don't order, however. Instead, you ask for two more shots for us. Apiece. Oh, man. This is fun. I am so into this. Suddenly, I do feel like getting a little nuts.
Si, senor, me gusta otra shot, por favor. I giggle and lick some salt off my own hand and squeeze a lime in my mouth before doing my next shot, instead of after. I am loving this place. Your face is very close to mine, I look into your eyes and I notice they are darker than I had remembered, and you are still smiling like the world is a super happy place. You throw a shot back and call the waiter over. I feel super stupid and giggly and fun. I am having a great time.
You give the waiter our order. I try to interrupt and give it, and you put your hand over my mouth and I laugh like a goofball. You put a finger in my mouth for just a second, and I do not feel embarrassed, even though we are in public. Oh man, soused I am I am, drunk is me. Woo. I laugh so hard because you give my order correctly! I think...how did you do that? You are taller than me, maybe there is more square footage for the alcohol.
The chips come, and salsa, and I stare at them. You are talking, and I am laughing, and you feed me a chip, which I open my mouth to accept. I suck on your finger for an instant. I look in your eyes. "Salt, hmmm." I am a little stupid, but still shy, and you are a gentleman. You put a little salsa on your finger and put it in my mouth, and I smile and lick it, and then you feed me another chip. Your finger then lazily drops to lightly touch my breast, which is blossoming out of my sundress. Was that an accident? Maybe. I'm so pleasantly cross-eyed, I can't tell.
"I'd like you to feed me, too," you say.
"Oh?"
I sway back and forth for a moment, and my chin falls off the fist on which it had been resting, and I almost capsize, but you grab me just in time to put me back in my seat.
"Have another drink, I am drunk,"
I say, and I laugh. I pick up a chip and carefully place it between your lips, and you open them slightly and accept it, and lick my finger as I carefully put it in your mouth, and I giggle and sigh.
Thank you for helping me walk home, by the way, I do not remember if I thanked you. Kind of a drag, though. I made a joke. I love to joke, and you are laughing and finally it gets ridiculously hard to keep me going, so you throw me over your shoulder like a fireman, and I try to keep my sundress from blowing up in the breeze and exposing my tanned hoo-haw to the neighbors.
We push open the front door after figuring out the lock, and in you go! You can sleep on the couch, if you want. By the way, picking up a bottle of tequila at the liquor store was an excellent move. Damn that restaurant for running out of tequila! That is what they said, right? I laugh and fall into the bedroom.
I want to show you my drum set. Like any guy, you are attracted to a new toy, so you sit down to tap on the little plastic heads, and I put the head phones on you, and you begin to drum happily. You seem to have a natural feel for rhythm. There are two sets of wireless headphones, so I take the other headphones and lie on the bed dreamily as you tap, tap, tap away in time with the music. Perfect beginning to the evening. Fuck being productive, this is much more fun.
Did I fall asleep? Not possible, you are still playing the same jazz number. And I am loving it! Look at you! I am not demoralized; I am a beginner, too, but maybe you just know what you are doing more than I do. I roll over on my side to watch you, and my ridiculous boob almost falls out of my dress. I push it back in and you do not notice because you are in reverie. I close my eyes to listen.
No more playing. I still hear the music tape but you are not tapping anymore. I open my eyes to see you standing over me, with a drumstick. I smile.
"What?"
Because that's what you would say to a friend who is standing over you -
"What?"
You push me over, onto my back, and I laugh and look up at you. You kneel on the bed and spread my legs slightly and then I am surprised. So, maybe more friendly than friends?
You push up my sundress, and put your right thumb on my clit. It is a magic thumb, it is a thumb that knows what to do, knows that it wants more than friendliness. I grab your hand because it feels so good. I would never dream of telling you what to do, but I feel uncomfortable; I am afraid you will stop because we are going outside of the friendship thing. I will let you lead, but oh god, I hope you don't stop.
You slowly, gently, push the drumstick into me. I like. Not too far, no need to go too far. Your face is close to mine, and you look into my eyes to measure what to do, and you stop, but you don't pull out. My hips involuntarily rise. You then carefully, slowly, push the drumstick in a circular motion that makes my breath stop. My hand falls away from your hand; I am not afraid that you will stop anymore. I am loving this.
The stick plays with me, touches all the walls of my wet pussy. Oh, yes. I groan, softly, with pleasure. I love this. I love this. A finger enters my mouth and I reach for it like a baby for a bottle. Let me suck on this, I need to have my mouth on something, I want to lick this finger.
The drumstick comes out. My pussy feels pain, itchy, actual pain of the loss of that drumstick. But you have already thought of a cure. Your finger goes in, as your thumb continues to massage my clit, and with your other hand you are gently stroking my buttocks, making me wiggle. I feel good, I feel you are committed, I do not feel afraid that you will suddenly want to be friends again. Not now! I need this now, even though I did not know it a couple hours ago. Fingers everywhere inside me, my brain is exploding with the pleasure of the moment. I love this, I just wish I had something to suck, so I suck one of my own fingers.
Your hands come off my pussy and my bottom, and I feel a rush of blood to that area. You gently stroke the outside of my vagina, and quickly rise off the bed. Where are you going? Senor? Not now! You reach down to a paper bag and pull out our new bottle of tequila. Hero! You open it and say, "Drink."
So bossy. I like a bossy man. I put the bottle to my lips, and do not drink a huge amount, just get the outside of my lips warm, until I feel brain-fuzzy again. I probably had no more than a teaspoon, but it feels so good to hold the bottle in my mouth and have it to suck on. You knew this. You gave me something to satisfy my need to suck, you angel.
I continue to suck on the bottle, and I see you are looking in my friend's dresser. Funny. Do you have an underwear fetish, too, besides the feet thing? That would crack me up - although it would just indicate that you are one creative guy. Instead, you reach into the drawer and pull out scarves. So, you like scarves? Okay.
You return to the bed and tie my right foot to a bedpost, then you tie the other one to the other post at the foot of the bed. You spread my legs farther apart. You take my face and push it gently to the right, gently, and you give me your finger to suck on. You take my arm, and squeeze a lime on it - that's funny! - and put a little salt on it, and suck all of it, and take a swig from the tequila bottle. I smile. You then gently, carefully, tie my wrist to the top bed post, and then tie my other wrist up to the other post. I giggle, I can't help it, I am liking this.
You look serious. You go to the scarf drawer of my friend's dresser and pull out something I don't recognize. I am so drunk I would not have recognized you, actually. You bring it to the bed. You kneel between my knees, between the two posters at the bottom of the bed, and I watch you, unable to touch you. You go underneath my dress and it flutters up a little. I feel something being pushed inside me, slowly, carefully. Then a little
and I feel a motor running inside me, a vibrator on low. You look at me, unsmiling. My mouth opens.
"Ohhh..."
You are satisfied by my reaction. You then push one hand underneath me and untie my dress, while the other hand reaches down my dress and grabs my breast firmly, and I am shocked that you are taking over, but I am accepting everything, ready for anything. I need to look at you differently, forget the friend thing. I suddenly want to please you, and if this is what you want, this is what I want. My pussy is so pleasured, and i don't want to ask you what you have planned; it seems like you are making it up as you go along, using found objects, and I am loving the creativity, loving the spontaneity. You pull on my breast, and I let you, I let you do whatever you want.
My dress is off, and you look at my body. My breasts are spilling everywhere, and you smack the one playfully that you were grabbing. Then you smack the other one. Then you are a little more forceful, smacking them this way and that. Then you are grabbing them, and twisting them, forcefully, but not hurting me.
"Say it with me, 'This is what I want.' Say it now."
You look at me sternly, and I gulp.
"I want this."
"No!"
