One Little Drin

It is early evening. I have been at meetings all day, in charge of some, just a participant in others. It has been an exhausting day, full of information and ideas and graphs and documents. I am tired and not feeling at all social. After the last meeting, I go to my room and strip off my business clothes. I run a bath, hot and steamy, and pour in handfuls of my favorite crystals, soft vanilla. I need to be soothed and calmed. My mind is swirling with the business of the day and I don't want that. I want to relax and forget that I am a business woman, all starched and correct.

I am not all starched now, lying here with my hair piled on top of my head, as I soak away the day. I lie in the tub, closing my eyes and letting the warmth seep into my skin. The radio is playing oldies, great tunes I recognize and sing along with happily. I have vanilla candles all around me, scenting the air with my favorite fragrance, giving a soft glow to the room. My soapy hands run over my breasts, touching them softly and gently. I run my fingers over the hardening nipples, feeling the bumply hardness of my flesh as I caress it.

My hands move over my flat stomach and rest against my soft brown curlies. I let my fingers comb through the curls, feeling them wrap around my fingertips. I search for the slit, the entryway to my secret place. One finger slides inside, slowly moving up and down the slit, feeling it swell and open to me. My finger caresses the lips as it moves down to my deep, pink warmth and then slides back up to my hardening clit. Amazingly, my clit becomes rigid and longer, like massaging a baby cock. My finger moves lazily against it, up and down, and then around. I feel myself tensing as another finger joins the play. I am pinching my nipple with my left hand as my right hand continues its path, up and down. I delve into my wet pussy and then bring those fingers up to tease my clit.

My legs spread more as I move my fingers faster on my clit, trying to reach that place where I can come, the heat filling my body with warmth and happiness. I feel my body tensing, my legs stiffen and move closer together. I start to spasm around my fingers, tightening on them, pulling them inside my pinkness. I pinch my left nipple and then relax my grip. I am aware that I am moaning and breathing so fast. As my throbbing slows, I am again aware of my surroundings. Now I feel the day leaving me. I am reclaiming myself, becoming "me" again instead of a top executive for THE COMPANY.

Finally, I am whole again. I step out of the tub and dry on the luxurious towels I love, wishing once again I had someone here to dry me and love me and appreciate me for just me.

I wrap in the thick robe and go to my armoire. I stand there thinking, contemplating what I want to happen tonight, what I hope will happen. And I know the answer...NOTHING! I have been traveling long enough to know that romances on the road are so limited, so superficial. I just don't want that tonight. I make the decision that it will just be me, going downstairs for a drink and maybe some dinner and then just me returning to my lovely suite. So, I decide to dress for me. After spending the day as the consummate business woman, I want to feel lovely and womanly now. I look through my lingerie, choosing the new ice blue satin and lace bra with matching panties.

I slip them on my body, the satin so incredibly smooth and cool against my skin, the lace slightly irritating to my sensitive nipples, making them pucker and harden. I am feeling so sexy, so beautiful. I decide to try the garter belt that I bought. I put it on with the sheer black hose and look at myself in the mirror. I think I look pretty damn good and secretly mourn no one seeing this lovely woman. I have a elegant black dress I brought along, just in case, and I think I should wear it tonight. I will not save my lovely things for someone else, I will enjoy them too. As I reach for the hair clip, I decide to leave my hair as it is, all curls on top of my head, tiny tendrils around my face, framing it.

At the bar, I sit on a tall stool, and order a sherry. I am not much of a drinker, but I love the after-taste of sherry in my mouth. I smile to myself as I watch the men in the bar start taking notice of me. The saying "like moths to a flame" enters my head, as I watch them looking at me and whispering to each other. One of them finally comes toward me, sitting on the empty stool beside me. He offers me a drink, and I politely refuse. He starts to chat and I politely indicate that I am not interested. Finally, he understands, picks up his drink and moves away.

One by one, they come. Each is so sure he will be the one picked, each moving away after finally catching on to the fact that I am not interested. Eventually, the parade ends. I am alone on my stool, sipping my sherry and feeling the last bit of tension leaving my body. Then I look into the mirror and see HIM in the doorway.

I cannot say what makes him different. I know that when I see him, my heart skips a little and then starts beating faster. He is tall and carries himself well. I like his dark hair with silvery threads. I like his blue eyes with the rimless glasses. I like his large hands with his long, neatly groomed fingers. I like his smile as he surveys the room and then crosses it to the bar. He walks over and sits down beside me, ordering his scotch and water, and smiling at me as our eyes meet in the mirror. I can see the other men, almost betting on how long it will take me to freeze him out.

The strange thing is, I don't want to. There is something about him, his presence, that makes me want him to sit there, that is willing him to speak to me. I am so aware of his warmth, his scent. Suddenly I notice the soft music playing in the background. He seems content to sit there quietly. I like that. We look at each other in the mirror, and each look away. Finally, he turns to me and says, with a slight Scottish accent, "My name is Sean. Would you care to dance, m'lady?"

Ah, yes, I have never wanted to dance with anyone so much in my life. He steps down from the stool and reaches out to me. I place my much smaller hand in his and feel safe and secure and, oh, so happy. He helps me down from the stool, treating me as a fragile female instead of a competent business woman. I love that! We move to the dance floor. I see the astonishment on the faces of the other men, the ones who were frozen out.

He is still holding my hand. He turns toward me and gently pulls me against him, his warm hand on my bare back as we fit together so perfectly. Even as we dance together for the first time, I am aware of the absolute correctness of being with him.

I fit against him as if made for him. I nestle my head on his chest, feeling the softness of his shirt, catching the scent of him, inhaling him. His hand on my back is engraving itself into my skin. I know that I will always feel his hand there. He gently guides me as we dance. The song changes and so do his moves. He swings me away from him and back against him and I feel as if I have come home. Now we just dance together, no fancy moves, just two people who seem as one. His heart is beating directly beneath my cheek, his scent filling my body.

He doesn't talk, I like that. Most men start interrogating me right away OR trying to impress me right away, never allowing quiet time to just be together. We dance on, oblivious to the fact that the songs change, the tempos change. We are still just moving together in each other's arms. I can't honestly say how long I am dancing with him, how long I am lost in his embrace. Funny, you hear that phrase in romance novels, and now it has happened to me. I look up at him and see in his eyes....something. I don't know quite how to describe it. It is a look I am familiar with, I have seen before, but i am not sure where. As i gaze at him, I feel myself blushing.

I DO know that look. I see it daily in my own brown eyes. It is a look of yearning, wishing, hopefulness. We are barely moving now, just swaying to the music [ I think] and looking at each other. Again, a romance novel moment, I am looking at his mouth and wondering what he tastes like, how his lips would feel against mine. His breath is so sweet, so delicious as he leans over to say something.

"A kiss is a secret told to the mouth instead of the ear," he whispers as his mouth brushes against mine. Oh, yes, this is a mouth I want to know, to learn, to make love to. I suddenly feel myself leaning into him even more and I realize he has been trying to hold me at a polite distance. Now I realize why. I feel his desire pressing against me. He starts to apologize even as I am reassuring him. What a nice man! What a gentle man!

Ah, he wants me! I felt it briefly when I leaned into him. Now he appears all flustered and embarrassed. Perhaps he isn't used to this happening so quickly. I certainly am not. But I am willing to admit how I feel and I want to tell him. He takes my hand and starts to lead me back to the bar. Oh, no! I don't want to stay here, in this fishbowl! I want to be alone with him, listen to his voice and feel him against me. I look up at him again, just a glance, just a look. Suddenly, he pulls me to him and kisses my forehead. He sighs and murmurs, "Yes, me too."

We continue to hold hands as we walk across the bar and out into the lobby. We look at each other as we walk, our eyes locked, walking slowly toward the elevators. His hand is so warm around mine, his eyes so loving. We stop at the piano, playing on all by itself, and I recognize one of my favorite tunes, "Someone to Watch Over Me". He takes me into his arms again, no distance between us this time. I can feel his desire, his need. We dance slowly in the lobby, while his hands are caressing my bare back and his sweet voice is in my ear, just whispering endearments. He is gentling me.