I saw you sitting in the corner. Up until this point, I was fine. No butterflies, no uneasy feeling . . . but now, well now I was debating running back to my car. What kind of girl does something like this? Meet a complete stranger. There were no strings attached, but the thought of something potentially happening frightened me a bit. Decent girls don’t do this.
I approached you, trying to appear as brazen as possible. I wanted to appear as though nothing frightened me and I can handle myself. To others, I assume I looked like a clumsy little girl, walking in high heels, playing grown up. I had on my full-length kaki skirt, with slits up both sides. The slits came to right above my knees. A simple red shirt, which had a slimming effect. And of course, the black high heels. The high heels that no one could forget. These shoes always caught people’s attention. I don’t have a foot fetish, but God help those who do when I walk into a room with these shoes. Originally signifying marriage in my culture, but now considered an accessory, I wore a silver toe ring on each of my second toes. Normally I would wear my anklets, but today I wanted to remain distant and quiet, just in case. A watch garnished one arm, but the other was bare. I enjoy wearing rings, but wear them with modesty. Gold is the preference today, and so I wore three, each with their own assortment of colored stones. On my ears, I put in pair of simple diamonds, set in gold. My hair is neatly combed, and left hanging, for others to admire. I took special care of it today and made sure it was soft and silky, just for you, in case you run your hands through it. My eyes . . . oh, my eyes are my best feature. It’s the only part of me you have seen to date. Maybe you’ll be able to recognize me by my eyes alone, and the nose pin that sparkled from my nose.
You’re sitting there calmly, drinking red wine and looking around. You are dressed nicely. Black slacks and a white collared shirt. Casual and comfortable. You look calm and collected, but are you nervous? I’m walking, closer and closer. You haven’t looked up yet. I take another couple of steps. You look up and catch my eye. You know it’s me. There’s no need for introduction. We already know who we are. You stand kindly and pull out my chair. You surprise me also by kissing my cheek. Nothing was meant of it, and it was gentle enough to not arouse suspicion. We are seated.
Neither of knows how to begin. All this time we had talked about sex and other raunchy sex acts. That too, on the computer. We haven’t even spoken much on the phone. We begin with small talk . . . the weather, the area, your trip, etc. To ease the tension a bit, I put my hand on yours, softly. We continue talking, but you seem a bit stumbled. Now I feel like I have the upper hand. I can make the moves now if I want . . . or don’t want. The talk remains neutral. Interesting, but not sexually driven, as always. It’s good, because I know can just talk to you if I want. However, that’s not what I want. I want to feel your lips.
I get up to excuse myself, but as I do so, I lean into you and let you look deep into my eyes, and rise slowly. When I get back, you’re drinking the red wine, not sipping it. A sign of nervousness. I come up behind you and whisper in your left ear, “Let’s go to your room. We’ll be more comfortable.” Not that you would have know, but I still wasn’t sure about having sex with you, and that’s not what I meant by my comment.
We walk towards the elevators, and I can feel your eyes on my ass, swaying back and forth. You walk next to me, and I link my hand through your arm. We’re not holding hands, but the contact of my hand on your arm has me excited. In the elevator, you stand in front of me gazing deep into my eyes, as if waiting for approval to kiss my lips. I look at you with that glint, as to say, “Not so fast, silly.”
We get off on your floor and walk towards your room. Now your hand is on my lower back, so close to my ass. We’re still engaged in idle chitchat, both of us knowing damn well what we want, but fearing we may not get it. You unlock the door and we step in. The butterflies are back with a vengeance.
Once inside you turn to me and say, “Do I at least get a kiss?” This was unusual for me. No one has ever asked me for a kiss, but has just taken it.
I play along and whisper, “You can have a kiss anywhere on my body.”
You stand back from me. Gazing, up and down, trying to make your decision. With an impish smile on your face, I know you’ve made your decision. You are looking at my pussy. Without fuss, I undress completely to allow you access to my pussy. I undress completely, partly to tease you. I want you to see everything else you may not get to kiss. I lay on the bed, legs spread and you go to my pussy and French kiss it. We haven’t even kissed passionately on the lips, but I’ve allowed you, someone whom I hardly know, to kiss my pussy. I felt so good. It’s been awhile since anyone has kissed me down there.
You stand away. I look mortified. I want more, but you’re only complying with what I said earlier. So I tell you, “I want you. I want you on top of me. In me. Behind me. On that chair. Against that wall. In this bed.” All the while, I was pointing to various places in the room.
You began undressing. As you did, I reminded you of what a selfish person I can be. You just smiled. You already knew. But you didn’t care.
“Where shall I start with you, my beautiful angel?” you asked.
“Just make love to me. I want you to fuck me, but make love to me as well. Like you would if you were in love with me,” I replied.
You came and lay next to me in bed, while I lie on my back. You played with my nipples, making them erect. You traced your fingers up and down, from my breasts to right below my navel. It tickled. You then kissed me on my stomach. Slowly kissing it, you worked your way on top of me to gain better access to my breasts. You continue planting soft kisses on stomach and breasts. Without realizing it, I was crying. Not profusely, but single tears pouring from me. It hurt that this wouldn’t be permanent. I didn’t want a relationship with you, but I wanted one with someone. It hurt that someone I didn’t want in that manner, took the time to make me beautiful. You kissed my tears away, and looked at me whispering, “Are you ok?”
“Yes,” I reply. “I couldn’t be better.”
