This is the female perspective of https://www.literotica.com/s/the-reunion-119 by PrestigeSuites. This story is a collaboration.
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He has no idea how happy I am to see him.
Sitting across from me on his hotel bed—naked and fully erect—he strokes himself. And I do the same. My naked back rests on the plush pillows while I slip my fingers under my panties. I chose teal and lace for the evening. My legs are spread wide so he can watch my hand move under the damp fabric.
He can't see what I'm doing. He can only imagine it, and he seems to love whatever he's imagining. His sculpted chest and abdomen dramatically rise and fall in the soft lighting. They're incredible to watch, but I still love his eyes more than anything else. Even though I haven't seen him in 15 years, his eyes look just like I remember them—green, like jade.
They were difficult to attract in high school. I'd try to get his attention, but he was either too oblivious or too shy to look back at me. At the time, I assumed the latter. I was a star swimmer and well-liked. He spent most of his time with the other school newspaper students.
My popularity was usually enough to make someone notice me—to want me. But not him. Even when I intentionally bumped into him after school, he gave me nothing. I was wet from swimming, and I collided with him when he rounded a corner. Our bodies smacked together. He pulled me to him to keep us from falling, grabbing my waist and thigh. My crotch pressed against his—exciting every part of me—and our eyes finally met. I giggled and lied that I had forgotten my goggles, hoping that he would offer to walk me to the locker room. I would never jump into the pool without my goggles. That's idiotic. But playing dumb wasn't enough. He just let me go and walked away.
My friend told me that her friend's friend heard that he would be at our 15th high school reunion—and he was single. I don't get along well with my parents, so I usually only go home for the holidays. But for him, I made an exception. For him, I've spent the weekend sleeping in my twin-sized bed.
With a flirty smirk, I slide off my teal panties and toss them onto the floor. He deeply inhales at the sight of my drenched lips, but instead of increasing his pace, he slows. He strokes his dick loosely in his hand while he watches me play with my pussy. Wet sounds of my self-pleasure quietly fill the room.
I've masturbated with him in mind before. Many times. High school boyfriends came and went. I rarely came with them, but I wasn't disappointed. At night in my little bed, I would hump one of the teddy bears they'd given me, imagining his green eyes until I came by myself.
Tonight, I don't have to imagine anything. He's right there looking hotter than ever. Back in gym class, I kept an eye on him. On hot days, he wiped the sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt. I caught glimpses of his biceps when we lifted weights. My friends would tease me and call him wimpy, but I only saw potential. He has undoubtedly fulfilled it.
While I admire the light cascading over his body, I swirl the tip of my finger around the sensitive hood of my clit. Shadows accentuate his round, smooth muscles and his thick veins—both in his arms and his cock. Soft hair covers his chest. There's already a mist of sweat along his brow. He sits up straight and sure, and he stares at me with a fierce, piercing expression. It challenges me to excite him but assures me he won't finish too soon.
