Piña Coladas

"So, I paired up with him and we went off to find some place to do our lines, right?" You sip at the tail end of your second old fashioned, me still nursing my Scotch on the rocks. "And where better than the catwalks!"

"Wait, you dragged the cute boy who'd dated half your friend group to some secluded corner?" I sniff a laugh, "I can't imagine how that turned out, eh?"

"We almost got caught!" Your eyes light up, infecting my own. "He came, like, in my mouth, and I swear I hear someone, like, say something down below and it made my whole spine tingle and I sucked hard and pulled his shirt down and stood up and stepped back and the door fucking. Swung. Open. Right then."

"Who was it? What did you say?" I sip. I used to knock this stuff back, but half a glass and I'm already feeling it. But maybe it's nice to feel it again.

"Well, first, I swallowed." You take a dramatic beat to re-enact it with your drink as I nearly choke on mine. "Then I said my line: ah, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer!"

"Oh then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair?" I barely manage to drag from some dusty corner.

"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake." You cock your head, and I'm happy to see a stunned smile on your face.

"Then move not while my prayer's effect I take?" That one I remember, that's the big cue.

You lick your lips and lean gently towards me expectantly, and I shuffle, missing my mark.

"So, did you kiss him?" I look down as you hide the sinking of your smile.

"Oh, no, that idiot didn't know the fucking line, you kidding me?" You snort and I snuff another laugh. "How about you, ever do anything so daring when you were young?" You raise your eyebrows, "Got any blow jobs in the catwalks?"

"Umm, not that specifically, although it sounds excellent -"

"It was." You whisper softly to the ceiling.

"- but, um, there was this girl Julia that, uh, so, we were at her friend's house on time, and she was trying on dresses or whatever and she was still in one when we left and, oops whoopsie daisy, totally forgot her bra and panties, how'd that happen? Well, I guess we'll just have to go for a walk in the park without them!"

"Oh, yes, common accident, almost forgot to wear anything under this dress earlier!"

"Yes, I'm sure it's really an epidemic of forgetfulness."

"So, did she get railed in this sundress?"

"Umm, I'm not sure it was a sundress? More like a tight brown thing? But, actually, first she got eaten out in her tight brown dress, then she got railed." I nod at you. "Oh, in the park of course."

"Ah, one of the good ones, are you?"

"I do love me some pussy, I cannot lie." I sip. "And that story alone makes Julia easily the hottest girl I've ever dated. Like, without question, regardless of any other measure." I set down my glass and you eye me just shy of angrily, and I'm not sure if you need more explanation or less. Perhaps that was the wrong comment to make...

"So, what do cute guys who love eating pussy do for a living these days?" You roll your empty glass and its melting ice around on its edge.

"Oh, my job is completely fucking pointless. Basically, they pay me an embarrassing amount of money because everyone else on the planet is terrified to break this software I work on, so I'm like the only person they can find, and I can't imagine hating anything more than I hate going to work." I drink rather more of my Scotch than I have been, and continue. "I just don't care about any of it at all and it's so easy and I do nothing for sixty hours a week and it makes my entire fucking life feel wasted, like, I wasted my life doing pointless tasks for more and more money year after year and now I have all the money and I've done nothing, like, can't-sleep-at-night nothing, and, like, you know, the little things that you fill your life with around pointless drudgery, like, my wife, she was, she... like, okay, blowjob on the catwalks, eating pussy in the park, no need to be shy, she wouldn't fuck me anymore. For, like, years. So long I lost count of how many years it'd been. I cried, like, cried myself to sleep. I wanted to die, I asked her, I begged her, she said she didn't want... I thought..."

I catch your wide-eyed look of abject terror.

"Fuck. I didn't..." I blink. Fuck indeed. I sip my watery Scotch. "Look, she just, she just stopped being a safe person to share my innermost thoughts and needs with." I grab your hand and you exhale. "I'm... fuck. I'm really, genuinely sorry for dumping. You didn't even ask about that."

You breath and look at me, then at my hand on yours. Another breath and you shift, moving your other arm. You're about to leave. I can feel it getting dark.

"No, man, I get it." You set your other hand on mine and squeeze. You smile and my heart floats. "Like, really."

I don't know what to say. I can't remember the last time I said anything like that to anyone. And you didn't... I just look at you.

"I, uh, haven't actually been with anyone in a while either." Even your chest betrays your nervousness at this admission, grasping at your words to keep them from escaping. "I used to have my fair share of lovers, but never anything like love, not even, like, puppy love." You shrug, and I sense the same shiver in your shoulders I've felt for years. "Hardly even broken hearts."

"At some point it feels like there's nothing left there to break." And it's my turn to smile and watch your heart float.

You sniffle and blink away wetness, "But, those assholes can get their pussy elsewhere, I'm sure." You shake your head, "No, I mean, I'm sure I made plenty of mistakes along the way, I don't mean..."

"Haven't we all." I sigh, sipping. More Scotch left in there than I care to admit to myself.

"Any real big mistakes?" I, for one, appreciate you trying to pull this conversation away from the dark.

"Not fucking Julia more!" I snort and you laugh, adjusting in your seat, tugging down the hem of your dress as you pull back upright.

"What could pull you away from that?"

"I dunno, I mean, there were lots of girls I slept with in high school, and lots of friends I hung out with, and, like, I spent the last twenty years on my career and my marriage and now those are both emptied out and, like..."

"You want meaning?" You shuffle in your seat again, dipping down with a quiet oops to pick your purse back up off the floor.

"Connection, maybe?" I watch you pop back upright. "Having normal relationships is hard, I guess I wish I could figure out how to do that again? Does that make sense?"

"Like Julia?" You nod and I shrug.

"Ya, I mean, sure, she is maybe the idea in my head of the culmination perhaps of something?" I look askance off to the side. "Like, at the time, I was measuring the wrong things, focusing on the wrong outcomes."

"So you're asking if I'll fuck you in the park?" You knock me un-askance, my eyes locked front and center.

"Um, no, I hadn't intended to..." I start apologizing.

"Ah, damn, and here I went and already took my panties off..." You set a crumpled pair of plain black cotton panties on the table. I choke, coughing, and you snort a giggle, stealing them away into your purse. You drop some twenties on the table and pull me up. "Let's go for a walk?"

---

"I can help you with that if you like?" I offer as you attempt to casually reach your arms up your dress behind your back as we walk along the thin strip of greenery running through the neighborhood.

"Can you though? When was the last time you undid a bra?" You smile.

"Touche." I let you at it, and you're slipping your straps down your arms in a moment.

"Here we go..." You reach down into your cleavage and pull your bra around and out, shaking your breasts roughly back properly into your dress. Between the dark and your stance, I fail entirely to catch an eyeful, much to my chagrin.

"Am I missing out on the sexy date night bra?" I watch you tuck the bra in with your panties, quite filling the small purse.

"Hardly, I have, like, three bras, and they're all super boring." You wrap your arm around mine and pull up beside me as we walk, "Besides, would you prefer sexy undies or none at all?"

"I am a fan of how you look right now, most definitely." I pointedly enjoy my bird's eye view as you lean into me.

"I mean, they aren't exactly as perky as they used to be..." You purse your lips, "There's a reason I took off the panties at the bar and the bra in the dark."

I consider this for a moment.

"You're measuring the wrong thing." I say matter-of-factly, following up with conspicuously little detail.

"Oh?" You prompt.

"May I?" I gesture toward you, and you shrug assent.

I calmly wrap my arm behind your back and under yours, before landing my hand firmly on your bra-free breast.

"Ummm..." You feign indignance, but I can hear your grin in the dark.

"Let me see here..." Your hands are pressing calmly against my side as we walk, and I brusquely force my other hand between your arms, conspicuously groping at both breasts now.

"Um." You say a little more sternly. I'm hardly being discreet, and this park is not large enough to get away with these things.

I run my finger tips along the curve of the underside of your breasts, teasing along their shape and around until I circle my way to your nipples, sensing your breath catch as I do. I press into them gently, more for my own enjoyment than yours, and you shiver softly in reply.

"Definitely perky by my measure." I nod, pulling my hands away, letting the one across your back slide gently down to rest on your ass.

"Oh?" You snuff as I squeeze gently, "What's perky? My nipples?"

"No, no, you see, the measure of breasts is in their attractiveness, their sexual stimulus, and, while a great source of stimulus for you," I jiggle your backside for emphasis, "Your stimulus isn't the measure. The end user." I drag your hand off my chest and downward. You smirk as I rest it on my hard cock though my jeans.

"Ah, I see, you're perky." Your voice drips amused comprehension as your fingers kneed gently at my pants front, as much for my enjoyment as my final tease of your nipples was for yours.

"Yes, it's all about user experience!" I say firmly, our hands both groping. "The right measure of a woman's breasts, to me, is whether they make my dick hard. And, by that measure, I mean, damn, I wouldn't be any harder if they were Sarah Michelle Gellar's."

Your hand stops as conspicuously as it had continued up to that moment. My hand takes note, pausing with my finger tips just barely curling across bare skin, teasing up the bottom of your dress.

"You're saying my tits are as hot as Buffy the Vampire Slayer's?"

"We have an objective measure." I shrug, "There can be no doubt." I skim my fingertips across the back of your thigh.

"That's dumb." You scoff.

"Your tits..." I slip my hand back up and around, cupping your breast, letting my thumb tease as lightly as I can at your nipple. "Definitely make me perky. Therefore, we can measure the perkiness, they are perky." I continue to try and see how lightly I can graze your nipple, enjoying your soft shivers as I do.

"They sag. A lot." You say, your bluntness dulled by the break in your voice as I tease at your very hard nipple.

"Seriously, though, if my cock is just as hard, I obviously don't notice whatever sag you see." I pinch your nipple and you melt into me for a heartbeat. "Measure what matters."

"Mmm, I mean, I am a big fan of hard dicks..." You let your hand wander back down my front.

"Does making my cock hard make you wet?" I offer as your finger tips find their way to tease the head of my cock with the same tenderness I tease at your breast.

"... very..." You breath as we step under a streetlight. Your hand casually slides back up my chest and mine slides back off yours.

---

"Hey Kara..." You slink up to the young girl tending to a rack of costumes. I hear music swelling in the distance.

She seems more than a little surprised by your breasts. This dress was far less revealing in the dark. In fact, I can distinctly recall wondering at the restaurant if the tint of the dress differed at your chest, or if it was because of the color of your bra hinting through. Now, with those stunningly rosy nipples, there was no question.

"Hey?" She eyes me. Young girl? She must be 25, at least. I feel so old. It's barely a decade.

"This is my friend... he's a big opera fan." You offer unconvincingly.

"Oh man, wait, is this the big second act aria from Madame Butterfly!?" I offer in turn, far more convincingly.

"Um, ya, it's actually just a dress rehearsal night, not a big crowd. You could probably just -"

"Oh, no, we don't want to be a bother!" You give her a stern look. "Anywhere out of the way tonight? Some place we won't. Bother. Anyone."

Kara flashes a hint of a smile, then nods seriously. "Oh, um, all the lights are on remote for the rehearsal, so the catwalks are empty." Kara nods at me. "Do you mind a bit of a ladder?"

"I'll lead the way, thanks sweetheart!" You grab my hand and we duck down a hallway.

An otherwise typical door near the end of the hall opens into a small room with a ladder bizarrely going up several stories. After only mild disappointment at how little one can actually see up a dress while climbing a ladder, I am rewarded with a delightful flash of your well-manicured gash. And yet, I find myself cursing the increasingly dim light as we clamber onto a small landing near the ceiling of this unlikely-seeming room.

You put a finger to your lips as I find myself happily forced to pull in close on the narrow space. You give me barely a moment to savor the closeness before you press softly through the door and we slip into the sound.

The singer is a delight. I can feel the innocent hope twinged with sorrow in my chest as we pad silently along the catwalks to a stunning center view.

"What do you think?" You whisper softly in my ear, half as an excuse to pull in close at my side.

I follow your cue and wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you ever closer as I whisper in return, "A painfully relatable story of heartbreak..." I swallow, "but let's not go there. For me, this opera always catches me as a chance for the art direction to really flex, I mean, look -" I point at the cherry tree, actually losing blossoms as the aria crescendos, "- those cherry blossoms are fucking falling, what a subtle yet delightful technique that must be stunningly difficult to pull off, just, I mean, really a testament to opera as 'the works' and not just some dude singing loudly to orchestral music, right?"

You give me a quizzical look, but your eyebrows ask me to go on. I choose to press my luck and let my hand wander down your side, seeking out warm skin, and you clearly choose to let it.

"You see, I've always felt that the mise en scène, as it were, in opera is as important as the music or acting, maybe more so because this set design, this is truly unique art, whereas the story, the singing, that's all a rehash of a hundred year old vaguely racist cookbook." My hand glides up the underside of the back of your dress, and you let it do that too, "This beautiful scene, well, it's a work of true modern talent, a testament to this opera house, really..." I go for the corny line as my fingers knead gently at your bare cheek under your dress and my eyes turn to you, "Although, the view is just as lovely this way as well..."

You stifle a chuckle at the stupid line, but pull me into you for a sudden, deep kiss, your lips parting mine as your tongue presses in, both my hands now gripping tightly at the tender curves of your ass as your hands return the sentiment and start to wander over me.

As you deftly sustain the heat of our passionate kiss, I start to wonder if I should be doing more than just squeezing your ass cheeks. That's when I realize your hands have wandered their way to my pants, unhooking and unzipping them as your lips trace their way down my neck, down my chest, lifting my shirt to tease softly biting kisses along my ribs and stomach until you run out of skin at the edge of my boxers and decide to expose a little more.

You press down my pants and underwear as you fall to your knees, my cock as eager for your attention as you are attentive.

"Oh fuck..." I murmur, turning away from the stage, steadying myself back against the railing. You unhesitatingly slide my shaft as deep into your mouth as you can, pulling wetly back before pressing in again, deeper than before.

I can feel the tightness of your throat at the apogee of one thrust before you pull back and pause your assault to, instead, massage the head my of cock with your tongue with such delicate mastery I almost feel like I might fall from this catwalk.

You snicker around my cock as you notice my response, and shove in again, my head now entombed deeply, snugly, warmly into your tight throat as you bob gently, massaging it now with your throat as you slide me only an inch or so, back forth, deep inside you. I shudder again and you know you've got me on the cusp.

You glance up to catch my eye, pausing there with my stiff flesh stuffed into your smile, before you pull back quickly and drive down deep. I shudder as you entirely fail to pause again. Your head crams my cock into your mouth over and over, the tightness of your throat and the teasing of your tongue overtake me and I burst, at once down your throat and in your mouth.

You press in tight, sucking gently as I pulse inside you, until I finish and you pull away, lapping at my shaft and then my head as you go, my still-stiff cock dangling wetly before you as you smile up.

"Fuck..." My voice is earnestly unsteady. "What was that for?" I smile down at you, stunned.

You run a finger across the corner of your mouth before licking it off, holding out a hand as I pull you up. You lean in close, my cock pressing into your stomach through your dress, rapidly regaining rigidity at your closeness.

"I'm the art director." You smile, kissing me deeply. I can taste my cock in your mouth, my cum coats your tongue as it slides over mine. Your body presses into me, and I can feel your braless breasts against me as well as you can certainly feel how hard my cock already is again for you.

"You taste like dick." I grin as our faces pull apart, our body grinding gently together.

You giggle. "Sorry..."

"It's hot." I shrug.

"Oh, you like the taste of dicks?" You smirk.

"Maybe, but maybe it just reminds me of how fucking hot you look sucking mine..." I pull you back in for a kiss, my hands running up from your ass along your back, bringing your dress along for the ride. You pull your arms off me and up, letting me slip your dress over your head as I toss it aside, taking the beat to likewise kick my feet out of my pants and boxers.

You reciprocate, starting in on the buttons of my shirt, but I don't have the patience and simply pull it over my head, eliciting another delightful giggle.

I pull your naked body to mine, my hard cock pressing into your skin, your soft breasts pressing into mine. I reach my hand up, cupping one, massaging it gently.

"You must take all your dates up here..." I say as I start kissing my way down your neck, toward those delicious looking tits.

"First time..." You sound distracted, perhaps by my lips now working their way along the curve of your breast...

"What about your story?" I ask, my tongue teasing ever-so-gently at the very tip of your nipple as you shiver in reply.

"I guess it's almost true now..." You wince as my mouth presses roughly around your areola.

"We'll hafta get Kara to catch us next time..." I joke and you nod, my tongue massaging gently at your nipple as my fingers knead your soft flesh.