Meeting Him

Starbucks. Same seats. Sames tables. Yet filled with strangers. I am wearing my striped wrap-around dress with the low neckline. I am at my computer, hiding behind my words, behind my rapid typing, looking at the screen, yet peeping out and looking around, trying to see if I can notice someone noticing me. He and I have been chatting online for weeks and now I am here. In person. No more hiding behind my racy flirt emails. My nerves are churning, burning, behaving with horsey childishness of someone who is behaving on the edges on normalcy. That is what was happening. Normalcy is surrounding me and it is as if I am in an invisible bubble of craziness. I wait there for him.

A man, about my age, walks in the door. His eyes shift to and fro. Is that him? I drill my eyes into this screen, hope to sink into it, to reclaim my sanity by simply keeping my fingers typing, moving over the keys. Words make sense. Sense is sanity.

I look up and see him. Short brown hair. Clean shaven. Nice fitting jeans. A button up, untucked by neat looking. Piercing blue eyes and soft creases in his cheeks. He's obviously spent a lot of time smiling. My heart starts thumping like crazy, I am having a heart attack. I both loathe and embrace this erratic feeling. Our eyes meet and I smile at him. He smiles and nods. It's him.

He walks over to my table and looks down at me. He can probably see down the front of my dress. That thought warms me between my legs. He smiles again, "Hi."

"Hi." He stands in front of me and for some reason that alone is turning me on. A wave of red shoots from my jaw upward.

He grins and takes a sip of his coffee, winces and then smiles again, "Wow, that's hot. Mind if I join you?"

I shake my head.

"Beautiful morning out there."

"Yes," my fingers pause on the keyboard, as if they are waiting to be alone again and start writing.

"And you are too."

A heat wave of blush rolls over my cheeks again. I know the words that have already come between us. Pussy. Lick. Suck. Tease. How can I act like they haven't? What the fuck was I doing here?

"So." He drums his fingers just beyond my cup. He too knows what I've said, what he's said. Our past words weigh us down. "Should we head outside?"

I shake my head. Smile.

"Okay. So, you're a writer?"

"Yes."

"What are you writing about?"

"This," My fingers finally unlock themselves and I press save. I want to crawl into my screen. It's so much easier when it I am a character who is looking out at a scene on the pages.

"Oh, let me read it." He grabs the top of my laptop but I close it first. He chuckles, "So that's how it is?"

"Yes."

"I like your dress."

"Thanks."

"I like how I can see down the front of it." He takes a sip of coffee and smirks.

I look around and my heart that beats as wildly as I've ever known it, and then increases a little more to the point where it seems like it can't speed up any more. I don't say anything, because how do I respond to that?

He says, "Let's go for a walk."

"Okay," I pack my computer into its bag.

He opens the door for me. I smell his cologne. Deep woody scents with a clean undertone. Just showered. He walks me to my car. We say nothing, but the sexual pull is there and I know it will take all of my energy to pull away from it.

I unlock the door, he leans over to me and whispers, "You're really sexy. You know, I'd love to get a look at that extra special trim job you told me about."

I draw in my breath silently, a quiet gasp. Because what else could I do? My body not aligned with my mind feels the intensity of his words. Wetness spreads across my panties. My clit is completely engorged, begging to be touched. I want the feeling to stay. I want to rip open my dress and let his teeth draw in my nipple and bite down. I want it all.

"I can't," I pull back, yet I don't climb into my car.

"You can do anything you want." He rubs his hand over his chin, like he has a beard there, but his skin is bare. Makes me want to know what it'd feel like against my thighs.

"Yes. But here's the thing - I don't want to. Well, of course I do want to. Really. Want. But I just don't want to want to. Shit."

"That's fine. I understand." He smiles only slightly and rubs his chin again. That movement alone draws me in, seeing his hand, his fingers. I imagine what it would be like to get undressed in front of him and to see him undressed.

I sit down on my front seat. I can feel his eyes on me, watching my body. He says, "I'm happy to enjoy the view."

Words escape my mouth without a thought, "How about I give you one more view that you'll enjoy." He moves in closer against the open door and softly touches my shoulder. Somehow he knows by saying nothing, he encourages me.

I open the bottom of my wrap around dress and expose myself to him. I've enjoyed the panty-free feeling all day and now there was a reason for it.

His other hand goes to himself and I believe I hear him gasp. The sound of his breathe makes me snap my legs shut and drop my head onto my steering wheel. I talk into the black plastic steering wheel, "I have to go." But I don't. I close my eyes and send myself somewhere else, maybe I am younger, for sure I feel sexier, the fun, wild feeling of being sexy, having someone want to touch you, really want to. I slowly put my legs together, but my dress remains open. He squats down and whispers, "Can I?" He moves his hand over my lap, hovering over my exposed self.

I want myself to say no. So much of me wants to stop myself that I don't know why it doesn't happen. Slowly his fingers move down my crease, his mouth is by my ear. He is only breathing in it. "More?" he whispers and again I say nothing, but my legs separate, which of course is an answer.

His fingers probe deeper and gently grazes the edge of my clit. It can't be. This can't be... is all I can think.

"I've got to go," I finally push him back.

"Ok," He pulls back.

It is all a blur.

But my body takes over again and I pull at his hand. He leans down to me again. I put his hand between my legs. His lips land on mine. His tongues plunges and laps at me, telling me exactly what he wants to be doing on another part of me. Since I am still in the blur, beyond any recognition of reality, I push my wet pussy into his hand. His fingers sink into me and I kiss him back, pushing my lips into him, releasing my intensity into his mouth, into his hand. I look down and watch his fingers fiddle and fondle me and I take picture after picture of it in my head, promising myself that this is the only time, that the reason I am doing this is to hold onto the fantasy, bring it out as needed and use it as a way to stay sane, to accept what is, to allow myself to stay where I am at. He keeps at it, steadily and rhythmically, I see him watching his hand too. A shiver runs through me; it was one of those shivers that make you want to rip off your clothes and keep going.

He pulls back and is so hard. I want him to take care of it. I want to watch. I move over to the passenger seat and let him in. He has pulled his pants low enough to let himself out. I reach over and touch him. He pulls back my dress at looks at me. I spread my legs so he can look. And he does. His hand moving steady and strong.

I cross my legs and pull down my dress.

I need to leave.

I don't know how we do it, but we climb into the back seat and he pulls my dress above my knees. I pull it back down a bit and he slides his hand part-way up my thigh and stops. The spot where his thumb seems to burns and I almost want him to pull it away. He looks up at me and grins his squared-toothed grin. We kiss again. His hand remains on my thigh. I want more. I take his hand and move it further up my thigh. His fingers graze the outer edge of my pussy. I lean back.

He nuzzles his head between my legs and kisses my thighs gently and then from out of nowhere quickly bites down hard and releases. I gasp aloud. I lift my leg and put it over the front seat. He readjusts and then pauses and admires my work. "So nice and short. All for me?"

I nod and won't tell him that I tried it out on my husband already and he hardly even noticed. It did not entice him to lick me, to fuck me. But now I have someone who notices. My legs spread as if instinctual, as if I can't do anything but succumb to his touches. In that moment I know that I won't regret it, I won't regret being touched like this. His tongue is on me in short surprising bursts. My clit is alarmed and beating with such happiness, such pleasure, such delight. He jams his fingers up inside me and continues to lick, to tease, to bite, to suck. All of it so welcomed. A familiar warmth of pleasure washes over me. I forgot how nice it is to have a man who likes to lick you and licks you with purpose, taking you into such uncontrollable pleasure. It is delightful.

I unwrap the top of my dress and unhook my bra. I fondle my tits and then unbuckle his pants, I want to touch him too. I reach around and stroke him while he sucks me. Is this really happening? Am I really here? I arch my back and move uncontrollably, as if my clit is in charge of all my muscular movements. He shoves another finger of his into me and now he is fucking me with his hand and licking me at the same time. I lean my head back and wish that I could make this feeling last, beg the gods of lust and irrational behavior to let this last. I arch my back and let the shudder of my orgasm roll through me, and he doesn't stop. He slowly laps at my tender clit. As I recover, he pulls back and now I get to watch him. He strokes and rubs himself up and down, over and over, with increasing speed and cadence. I reach over and put his balls in my hands and feel him rock himself into his own ecstasy -- so in control of it all -- first me then himself. He lets out a moan, a moan that rocks him back beside me on the seat and he shoots his cum out, some of it spraying the back of the front seat. He reaches over and bites down on one of my nipples.

I am surprised how good it feels. He reaches around my neck and pulls it toward him and then kisses me deeply again, forcing me to taste myself. I glance at the clock. It is after 3:00.

We clean up. Straighten hair. Quietly. Because what do you say after something like this? Neither one of us want to break the spell of the moment. Part of me wants to thank him, another part of me can't even look in his eyes.

"We should get ourselves home now." He draws his finger along my neckline. It makes me shiver. I wish it didn't. Makes me want to go at it again.

But we do what we should.

We part.