."..But don't let me be lonely tonight," Paul Simon sang, just before I turned the engine off, pulled the key from the ignition, and got out of my car. I walked across the parking lot and up the steps to my apartment. Standing on the landing, trying to make the key fit into the lock, I heard the phone start to ring. The lock finally turned, and I opened the door and ran to the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hi sexy. What are you wearing?"
I laughed. Tim always asked me that. "Hi, Tim, how are you? I'm in work clothes. I just got home."
"Take them off."
"Now that sounds like an interesting proposition. Want to come over and watch?"
"Much as I love watching you take your clothes off, tonight I have a different idea. Let's go out. I was thinking of that pub in St. Johns. Could you use a beer?"
"That would hit the spot. What time?"
"How much time do you need to change your clothes and shift out of manager mode?
"How about twenty minutes?" I asked, after quickly calculating how long it would take to get there through office-escapee traffic.
"Sounds good. Oh, and Mary? Do me a favor. Don't wear a bra."
"I'll see what I can do." I teased back. "See ya there." I hung up the phone and smiled. I like going out with Tim after work. He laughs at the right places in my stories of the antics of my subordinates.
Tim and I are best described as very good friends who sleep together. In the alphabetical list of relationship vocabulary, we have only made it through the "C"s. "I care for you." We have a long way to go before we make it to the "L" word. We have toyed with the idea of escalating our relationship to greater heights in the commitment arena, but our timing is always off. In the five years since we met, whenever one of has been thinking there might be possibilities of a future together, the other was stuck on the things about our relationship that drove us nuts. Consequently, our friendship has never diminished, but the physical part has sometimes been derailed during the occasional periods when potential "for lifers" came in and out of each of our lives. Between our "for lifers," Tim and I always drifted back into the bedroom. We are very compatible in some ways, but rather incompatible in others. One place where timing and compatibility has never been an issue is in bed. He is a pretty satisfying lay.
Tim has the perfect body for me. He is tall and slender, with muscular shoulders, a sleek waist, and a tight ass that begs to be fondled and squeezed. His cock is thick and long, and hard as steel whenever it's been called into service. His face is handsome in a boyish way. He reminds me of Richie Cunningham from Happy Days. Despite his unquestionably above-average looks, Tim lacks confidence. He doesn't think much of how he looks, calling himself too skinny. He wears baggy sweaters and pants that he thinks make him look more bulky, but that I think look too big. Tim's lack of self-confidence is one of the factors in the relationship that has kept me from pursuing a future with him. There are some other things as well.
Although Tim is good in bed, mainly due to the way he touches me and to the size of his cock, he is a little too wholesome for me. I secretly cling to a stereotype that possibly because he was raised as a Catholic, Tim is a little stuck in some conventional, Victorian thinking that I assume came from his days as an alter boy. Tim is great in bed as long as he initiates, and as long as we are in missionary position. When I suggest things I would like to do, or positions I would like to try, Tim seems squeamish and reluctant, shutting me down with statements like, "I wouldn't be comfortable with that." I only suggested that he watch me masturbate—it isn't like I was asking him to let me dress him up in a French maid's uniform and whip him.
My stereotypical perception is that Catholicism perpetuates the myth that women are for procreation, and it that is "wrong" for men to experience and enjoy sexual feelings and thoughts about them. Whatever the truth about Catholicism, Tim fits my image of a kid who has grown up influenced by strong teaching about morals, rights, wrongs, sin, and penitence. I have always thought that Tim and I could have a very bright future if only he were a little more willing to experiment sexually, and able to move into a moral code that allowed a little more frolic and freedom. I'll probably never be able to play the slut with Tim, but for now, as long as he is willing to fuck me now and then, I accept him as he is, and I enjoy his company, no matter how limited our relationship might be.
I walked down the hall to my bedroom to change my clothes. 'The first thing to go are the shoes and nylons' I thought, as I kicked off the pumps, and peeled out of the pantyhose and left them where they lay. Next, I shrugged off my jacket and pulled a wooden hanger from the closet. I unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor. Picking it up and hooking it in the clips on the hanger under the shoulders of the jacket, I returned my office attire to the closet, and stood there in my blouse and underwear. Reaching both arms up behind my neck, I unbuttoned my silk blouse as far down as I could reach. Pulling it up over my head, I bunched it into a wad and tossed it at my dry cleaning basket in the corner, but missed.
I opened the clasp of my front-closure lace bra, and wiggled out of that as well, knowing that the resulting jiggle of my tits would be a major turn-on for Tim. In spite of his very Catholic reluctance to admit to it, Tim has a boob fetish, and loves to ogle braless women. Tim doesn't care if they are big or small, pert or sagging, firm or bouncy, round or cone-shaped, he just loves to look at unrestrained tits. I know he likes it when I don't wear a bra, and I am usually happy to comply, especially when we are alone at home. It makes me feel sexy when he stares at me, unable to keep his eyes on mine in conversation.
Naked except for the lace bikini that matched the bra, I decided, 'What the hell. Let's go commando.' I pulled them off as well, and shivered as the breeze from the open window teased at my body. Standing in front of my closet I reached up to cup one breast in my hand, using my thumb to circle my nipple to erection. The other hand went between my legs, and my index finger flicked casually back and forth across my clit. Very aroused, I backed away from the closet and sat down on the foot of the bed, opening my legs wider, watching myself in the mirror on the outside of the closet doors. I played with myself until I had to give up watching, and collapsed back onto the bed. I brought my feet up against my ass, and spread my knees from east to west. Reaching into the stand next to my bed, I pulled out my trusty vibrator, Mr. Rabbit. Mr. Rabbit is purple, with long ears that spin over my clit. Appropriately spaced from his cartoon head, he offers a thick, silicone shaft with beads inside it. They buzz against the walls of my vagina as I thrust it into myself, ramming it rhythmically against my cervix. One hand guiding Mr. Rabbit, the other covering my breast, I closed my eyes and catapulted over the cliff of orgasm. Catching my breath as I drifted back into reality, I checked my watch and discovered that I had indulged myself to the point where I would be more than fashionably late if I didn't get a move on.
I got up and went back to the closet. I reached for the denim shirt that Tim liked, which I paired with a flowing wrap-around skirt for possible easy access later. I slipped my bare feet into a pair of sandals, and shivered when my skirt brushed against my bare ass as I moved. I could feel my wet pussy begin to gush as I thought about the opening in my skirt, and how Tim's hands might end up somewhere inside it.
Heading back down the hall, I stopped off in the bathroom to repair my make-up, slide a comb through my hair, and spritz on some spicy perfume. I left the apartment and walked across the parking lot, noticing that my nearly naked body was responding to the chill in the evening air. I got back into the car, and drove over to the pub lingering in my turn on, and thinking about how Tim would be turned on at the sight of my nipples poking at the front of my shirt.
I got to the pub and found a parking place near Tim's car. I walked into the darkness and paused for a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the change in the light. Soon, I spotted Tim sitting in a corner booth against the back wall. He had positioned himself facing into the room, leaving the bench across from him for me. 'Perfect', I thought. 'I can flash him and no one else will see me.' I glanced down at my chest to see how much flesh was already showing from the buttons that I had left open at the top of my shirt. As I looked back up, I caught Tim's eye and waved. Since he was watching, I kept my eyes on his and suggestively unfastened one more button. He grinned as I walked towards him, avoiding the obstacle of tables and the moderately busy servers.
When I reached his table, I kissed Tim lightly on the lips and slid into the booth across the table from him, leaning further to the right than I needed to as I moved, just to give him a view of the inside of my shirt. "You never let me down." Tim offered as a greeting.
"Sorry I'm late—I got distracted when I was changing my clothes." The waiter came over to the table and made the most of his proximity and vantage point above me. He had a pretty clear shot of my cleavage and what lies below.
"What can I get for you?" he asked, once his eyes returned to mine.
I'll have a Widmer pale ale." I answered with a smile and a blush. He leaned over the table to place a coaster near me, and possibly for another look, and then turned away to get my beer.
