Meeting Across the Table

I'm meeting her for the first time. We exchange pleasantries but I rely on casual observation to be drawn to her confidence and poise. From what I can gather, she's read a book or two, which is a good thing. I am drawn to strong, bright women and she's all of those things at the very least.

She's got an electric sensuality. I try not to be obvious, but I'm not sure I've been successful.

She's more than equal to the intellectual banter of the evening. Her wit and humour are keen. She's an active participant this evening, but calm and extraordinarily self assured. She's had enough life experience to handle herself in any company, apparently. She's chosen to wear nothing revealing. Her vitality is striking.

She won't meet my eye. She has seated herself on the opposite side and not directly across from me, but as the evening wears on it becomes evident she can use that to her advantage.

Hours go by and wine is seeping into us all, and some of the company is getting too loud. Both of us have been drinking sparingly. Everyone but the two of us, seems a little sloppy as the evening wears on, but she seems to sharpen.

She arrives back from the women's room and I don't notice at first that she's opened her blazer completely and her blouse by a button. I like button down shirts on women, and her skin is luminescent underneath hers. It's not obvious at first, but soon, I begin to think she is deliberately tempting me. She deftly pushes her shoulder slightly forward every now and again to reveal a perfect picture of a beautiful bra. This one has all the appearance of that classic simplicity that good quality often speaks with. It's tasteful with it's judicious application of lace. It's white. Her skin is magnificent.

Her face is as beautiful as any other aspect of her appealing presence, and I see nothing that might deter my interest, regardless of where I look. She's petite without looking like a girl. Women that have had children, are changed. Regardless of age, I need that womanly shape to draw my full attention. She has all of that in spades. Her eyes sparkle with the evenings laughter and playful commentary.

She is young though, and I am sure there is nothing about me that has registered on her radar. Was it "Lost in Translation" where Bill Murray ends up connecting with a young woman in Japan? I'm a little spooked by the thought. This whole evening was turning out to be stimulating, if nothing else.

Irrespective of my averted vision, I can think of nothing but her, as she continues her tempting posture. I looked the first time, but have since stuck to my peripheral vision. I am keenly aware of her movements, but can hardly carry on with the rest of the group dynamic around me due to the distraction. She must know that she has become a complete distraction to me.

Everyone else seems oblivious to her activities, and no doubt the wine has blurred their skills in observation, but not mine. I'm on fire with desire, but struggle to carry on like nothing was happening. All the while chatting amicably with another somebodies mum, sitting next to me. Regardless of my interest in the topic with the women next to me, the redhead down the table is dominating every nerve ending and I ache in those places that Leonard Cohen used to play.

I was thinking that this was like a living dream. As soon as that thought cropped up, I quickly began to think of Santa Claus and little kids. That always kills my desire. I feel like a teen trying to quench the thirst.

It's been years since I felt chemistry ignite like this. It is simultaneously rousing me to rutting levels of aching desire, as well as depression about how far fetched the concept of it being mutual has to be.

I have to deliberately ignore her for long enough to let my groin rest to presentable proportions as I can feel my bladder about to risk injury. As I walk away from the table, I notice her rising too, but I didn't even want to look at her, lest something jump out of my impulsive brain and take over my mouth.

Later, as I came out of the men's, she predictably came out of the women's room. There is no mistaking her intent. Her smile is relaxed, and suggests a knowledge beyond her years. She knows that I'd not have made a move in her direction, had she not taken the lead. I have never had anyone take the lead like she did.

There was a short hall way, coming away from the washrooms where one is hidden from the main dining area. She took that place to stop me with a hand to my chest. Without looking away from my eyes, she took my hand and placed her still warm panties there, then folded my fingers around them. She kissed me on the cheek and told me that she couldn't find anything better to write her phone number on and walked away.

I'm in trouble with an erection, and I'm a long way from the table. She smells like a goddess.