N.B. the following was written, in an exchange of emails, by myself and a woman I met in the Literotica chat rooms. Her part starts after the **** break.
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We meet at a bookstore in the morning on a rainy day. I am working, sitting in the cafe part of the store, going over notes and feeding thoughts into a laptop, slowly working my way through a third cup of coffee, the remains of the newspaper and a bagel spread across the small table. You come in for a coffee and sit down at a table opposite from me, fumbling with your coffee and the magazine you’ve picked up before you get settled into your chair and look around. You catch my eye and instantly I look away.
I had noticed you when you were standing in line, watched you order, hoped you would find the table nearest to me, but when you finally looked directly at me, I was surprised, startled you would have noticed me, even for a second.
We exchange small glances over the next fifteen minutes, both trying to get in a look without getting caught. I need a refill and as I stand up and pass by your table, I can’t help but smile. You catch my eye, catch my smile and I sense out of the corner of my quickly passing eye, that you smiled back.
When I settled back down with my new cup, your eyes locked right onto mine. We both smile, start to look away, then smile some more. I push some papers aside, close the laptop, and give a small nod with my head, asking, wordlessly, if you will come share my table. I see you laugh a little, smile broadly, then collect your stuff and slide out of your seat. You look back at me quickly as you disappear among the book racks and my anticipation sinks, shatters, crumbles. I start to feel foolish.
Before leaving, I decide to make one last pass through the fiction area, see if anything leaps off the shelf at me. And as I turn a novel over a few times in my hand, considering it, a voice startles me, asking if I have read much by that author. Within seconds, we are deep in conversation, my surprise quickly surpassed by your presence, the sound of your voice, the nearness of you.
We keep talking until we decide we really should get going, that mutual sense of needing to be somewhere before we do something we can’t imagine. We walk to the door, both leaving books and magazines behind, intent on just staying in our private conversation. As we step outside, you realize it has gone from a light shower to a torrential downpour. You have no umbrella, which makes me smile and offer to walk you to your car.
Instinctively, you link your arm through mine as we dash through the rain, huddled under my umbrella, trying to avoid the large puddles but splashing like mad. At your car, you fumble with the keys, finally sliding one into the door, the plunging quickly into your car. With the door still open, I stand peering down at you -- a little drenched, face flush from the run and the rain, smiling, beautiful. I am speechless. You lean back, reach over, and unlock the passenger side, saying, “why don’t you sit in here for a minute until it lets up a little.” I am around the car and inside it in flash moment. Side by side, we look at each other then start laughing. We look away, brush some of the rain down our legs, you start the car, the radio coming to life. We look at each other again -- without a word, our lips meet, my fingers find your face, slide along your cheek, then up, pushing back your wet hair, then pulling your face closer, harder against mine, our kiss growing deeper, our mouths opening, our tongues dancing, twisting, tasting.
