As soon as I reached Krissy's stoop, my stomach twisted. I'd spent all day at work anticipating this moment. Now, something about that dark green door, the brass knocker, it all seemed to warn of what was inside.
It was hard to square that trepidation with my excitement for what was certain to come. I'd gotten to actual orgasm with
Krissy Thompson
and it seemed likely that I might again. Not to mention the near-certain reappearance of Krissy's tremendous two-some. Maybe this time we could even take our pants off completely.
But that was also the problem. Everything was so hurried; ridden with anxiety and fear. Excitement twinned with risk could be fun, but at that moment it felt more desperate than desirous. Just the thought of Mrs. Thompson's scrutinizing gaze made me feel ill instead of aroused.
So, when Krissy opened the door, I didn't jump through the threshold with the enthusiasm of man granted access to something excellent and exclusive. It felt more like the crossing of the condemned.
"Let's go back to my place," I said, suddenly. Again, I don't know where these words came from. Only that they seemed to show up at the most opportune moments.
Krissy froze. She eyed me like I'd asked her to take her tits out in front of the entire neighborhood. I could practically see the 'no' forming on her lips.
"We can shut the doors there," I said, "Not that it matters, because no one's home."
Krissy's face shifted as sure as a sunbeam breaking through a storm. A little smirk formed on her pink lips.
"Mom, I'm going over to Jacob's!" she yelled out. We left before anyone could respond.
We raced across the lawns, holding hands like we were in some pre-teen, PG romance movie. I unlocked the front door, and we tumbled inside. At that hour, with the house completely quiet, it had a strange, almost austere quality.
Krissy stopped in the living room, taking it in. I saw my home through her eyes. The modern art on the walls, the collection of little glass frogs on the mantel. The tan couches, elegant coffee table, and green, Persian rug.
All the time we'd spent together as kids, I realized, Krissy had never come over to our house. We'd only ever gone to hers. She eyed my Jesus-free walls nervously, like they might collapse on her at any second.
I decided to take her mind off things with a kiss. It was the right call. Krissy let herself melt into me. We slowly made out as we made our way up the stairs. Back to my bedroom. I made a show of closing the door behind me, clicking it shut.
Krissy sat down on my bed, expectantly. Hands folded in her lap. Blue eyes flitting around the room. Again, absorbing this strange place.
I had a very 'boy' room, an almost exact antithesis to Krissy's. My furniture was black, my carpet grey. My sheets were white with silver stripes. My walls adorned with posters of Don Mattingly and Phil Simms. I had a big sound system in the corner (a high school graduation gift) and I put in the tape for Chicago's Greatest Hits -- my go to make-out album from college.
Krissy was clearly, still, uncomfortable. I used the one tool I had to distract her. I kissed her lips and reached for her sweater. Krissy limply raised her arms and let me extricate her from the green top. Her bra was black, and I snapped it off. She seemed surprised I could accomplish such a dexterous feat.
Her cute, pink peaches popped free. The girl might have been nervous, but her body was clearly eager. Her little nipples were almost scarlet with arousal.
I returned to kissing her and, this time, Krissy responded. She unbuttoned my light blue work shirt and pulled it off. Then she reached down and, to my surprise, unbuckled my khaki slacks. I found myself standing in front of her in only my navy-blue boxers. They tented out lewdly. The blonde girl stared at my protuberance for a moment, her face featureless.
We fell back onto my bed. It was a platform and so not all that forgiving. But we bumped and bounced against each other as well as we could. I suckled at Krissy's sweet titties. She ran her hands over my back and legs.
Again, though, I focused on what was covered instead of enjoying what I'd already exposed. I reached for Krissy's jeans and pushed them down her legs. She whimpered but didn't stop me as I dumped her denim onto my bedroom floor.
I'd fantasized so much about getting her out of those tight pants. Of watching the fabric stretch around her thighs, over her knees, past her pink, painted toes. It didn't disappoint. Krissy's butt, even in her forest green panties, looked amazing. Far rounder and fuller than she should have been able to achieve. Her pink thighs and skinny calves were equally entrancing.
And even better, the thought of what was hiding underneath her underwear. Krissy's panties were too dark to show a wet spot, but I swore I could smell the tang of her arousal. Could feel the heat of her sex radiating from under that thin cloth.
We fell into each other. I ground down on Krissy's crotch. She spread her legs, welcoming. Settling into the rhythm of the day before like we'd been rehearsing for decades.
