"See you tomorrow," he says, his blue eyes sparkling under his blonde bangs. His shirt is damp with sweat and sprinkled with sawdust, his muscles press against it. He smells like work and wood. He looks at me and smiles, and my panties immediately melt. Unfortunately, he's not speaking directly to me, he's speaking to all of the cast members who are leaving through the workshop.
"He" is Mr. Jordan, Bradford Jordan, Brad to those who know him, 'The DILF' to all of the theater girls. He's the dad who is leading the technical team for our high school theater production, building sets, and painting; anything that requires physical labor or engineering expertise is his domain. About a dozen students help him, learning about the backstage work of theater. There is a Mrs. Jordan, Julia, who acts as his second. All the kids call her JJ. She is drop-dead gorgeous, a petite brunette with blue eyes that gleam under the shop lights. Together, they are a beautiful couple, the envy of many. Their daughter, Annie, is a member of the cast.
Count me among the envious. I'm envious of Julia because she is the one who feels his touch at night, curls next to him, and sleeps in his bed, and she is the one he pleasures when they are alone. It's not unusual to see them flirting with each other backstage. What they have makes me jealous. Does he know how I feel? His toned body, his mop of blonde hair, his piercing blue eyes, and his sure hands that look like they know what to do to drive a woman wild--oh yes, I want him, I want him bad. Ever since I turned eighteen my hormones have been in overdrive and he is constantly on my mind.
I suppose I've been fortunate to have known him for over half of my life. He works at the same company as my parents, and they've been in his orbit. His name sometimes comes up at home, and he's been there a few times to drop off work-related things. I see him most often at the local hamburger joint where I work, and I always make an effort to speak to him and Julia; same with the choir concerts at school. If I can't have him, then I can at least flirt innocently.
I'm confident that I could rock his world if he gave me the opportunity. I've caught him watching me when he thinks no one is looking. I've seen the way his eyes rove over my body. Not to be vain, but I'm quite attractive. Large breasts, a narrow waist, curvy hips, full lips, wavy brown hair, and sparkling blue eyes. My blouse and pants are always just tight enough, and if I wear a dress, it's always a touch too short; don't ask if I'm wearing panties.
If I had my way, I'd let him have me, center stage under a spotlight with a full house. We'd bring the audience to their feet when we erupt in simultaneous orgasm. But I'll never have him. He's too intelligent to let that happen. That fact can't deter my fantasies. After graduation, I'll be going away to college, and I'll miss seeing him so often. This year I'm the female lead in our production, and I'm taking lots of photographs, capturing memories. Since it's set on a tropical island, I get to wear shorts and thin tops. In some scenes, I'm in a bikini. I've been hanging out in the workshop more than usual, taking photos of the technical team working, and of him. There are lots of photos of him. I even talked him into taking selfies together. It's obvious that he's attracted to me, and when he pulls me close for one of those selfies when I'm in my bikini, I feel his fingertips on the side of my breast. You can see my hard nipples if you look closely at the photo.
Pomp and Circumstance, and then he's gone. All I have of him are the photographs and the occasional chance meeting on the street when I'm home. Well, and my fantasies, of course.
And then, two years later, here he is in my college hang-out bar, across campus from my apartment. Damn, he is a sight for sore eyes, and he looks F-I-N-E. I stand there behind him for a moment, just taking him in, drinking him up with my eyes. He's changed his hairstyle, let it grow a little longer. I like it a lot, and I momentarily imagine running my fingers through his blonde locks, pulling him close for a kiss. He is sitting at the bar talking with a college-age guy, a senior by my guesstimate. It's early and the bar isn't too busy, so I can hear his baritone voice, it seems they're talking about the company he works for. I remember that there is a job fair on campus today and tomorrow. He must be one of the recruiters.
I smooth my dress, and I'm suddenly happier that I chose it to wear. Short-sleeved and short, it's Navy blue with white stripes running vertically. I like it because the pattern makes me look taller than my five-foot-four height, and the color draws out my eyes. It buttons all the way down, and though I'd left the top three buttons undone, I reach up and unbutton another. Now the top button holding it closed is between my nipples. There is plenty of opportunity to show off some cleavage. I finally step up to the bar, leaving a couple of empty stools between us, and order a beer just a bit louder than necessary. I have to make sure that he hears my voice, and I wonder if he'll recognize it.
I needn't have wondered.
"Sabrina?" He turns to look at me, his mouth agape. Oh, yes. He recognizes me, and his eyes immediately scan my body, drinking me in. Now I'm even happier that I wore this dress.
"Brad!" I exclaim, pretending at first to be shocked, then letting out a squeal of joy at seeing him. I move past the empty stools and wrap my arms around him in a tight hug. I take the liberty of kissing his cheek while we're this close. I've never done that before. I take a deep breath. He smells amazing, and the feel of him against my lips sends a zing between my legs.
"What are you doing here? Wait, wait, that's not right. I should say, 'Of all the crappy college beer joints in all the towns in all the world, you walk into mine'. How's that?" I chuckle, still holding him in my arms. Yeah, I'm not letting go soon.
"Casablanca, that was always one of your favorite movies," and there's that million-dollar smile. Heaven help me if my knees give out. Then I realize his hands are on my hips. I'm taken aback that he recalls my favorite movie, and I briefly wonder what other minor details about me he has filed away. I quickly push the thought aside; he's here, and I want to be fully in this moment.
"Oh, I'm just looking for a college girl to bed," he chuckles, "but seriously, I'm here as a recruiter at the job fair. I'm putting the moves on James here to get him interested in working for us." He nods toward the guy sitting next to him.
"Don't let me interrupt business, but come find me before you leave. Okay?"
"Actually, James and I were just wrapping up. Why don't we get a table?"
"Great!" I croak. Damn, what happened to my voice? I'll tell you what happened: my heart choked me; it clawed its way up my throat and strangled the air from my words. My fantasy man just invited me to have a drink with him. I get to sit across the table, look into his eyes, and lose myself. He quickly finishes with James, and then we take a nearby table.
"So," he asks, "what has the fantabulous Miss Sabrina been up to? Tell me about school."
We sit and talk for nearly an hour and have another round of drinks. We fall into an easy conversation about school, the job fair, his work, things going on back home, and his family. Somewhere mid-conversation, I realize that I've never talked with him this much, and I like it. No, I love it; I'm smitten. He has a genuine interest in me, and...is he flirting? No, it can't be.
My two roommates wander into the bar. I ask if he would mind if they join us, and when he takes one look, he says he wouldn't mind. Of course not; they're beautiful. Hopefully, he doesn't have a preference for blondes. I wave them over, and they take the other two seats at the table. He motions for the waitress, who has been more attentive than I've ever noted. He tells her to put their drinks on his tab. I scowl at her as she flirts with him before leaving the table to get our drinks.
I get up to go to the ladies' room, and when I return, there's another friend in my seat. This is not good, there are three women at the table, none of whom are me, and they're in full flirt mode. Arrgggghhhh! I stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and look at the new arrival across the table.
