My eyes followed her every movement as she let her fingers slip beneath the waistband of her lacy teal panties, the lone article of clothing still clinging to her body. I took things one step further as I let my boxer briefs fall to the floor. Gripping my aroused cock loosely, I watched her glide her fingers behind the soaked fabric. I could only imagine how drenched her pussy must have been as she parted her legs and let her fingers dance along her body. I let out a low, deep moan. The sensation of pleasuring myself in front of her as she did the same on the bed across from me was potent. Reaching a self-induced conclusion while seated across from her was not appealing, so I reduced my pace and allowed the events that brought us here to replay in my mind.
She was not someone I had thought of ahead of our 15th high school reunion. The weekend's activities had included a campus tour and an afternoon bar crawl. We were wrapping up with Saturday night's marquee event, a hotel ballroom gala. Since my parents had sold our childhood home and moved to Florida, the hotel was also my base for the weekend. Dark suits and cocktail dresses were the order of the night. The event went as expected, with enthusiastic connections and snarky talk of whose stock had risen and fallen since we graduated. As the formal festivities concluded, the hotel bar became a logical destination. Once there, I saw her for the first time. Her scarlet red dress was pure class and though she stood alone, her self confidence was apparent.
Standing next to her at the bar as I ordered a Manhattan, her reaction to my voice signaled that her memories of me were fond, though likely limited. Our paths rarely crossed in high school; she was a swim team captain and I edited the campus newspaper. We ran into each other quite literally our senior year, but I assumed she had long forgotten the incident. We exchanged a few pleasant words before my cocktail arrived.
As the bar crowd thinned, the remaining alumni gathered around a circular table. Sitting across from her, I asked if she was still a swimmer. She said yes, although not competitively. "And I always remember my goggles," she added with a wry smile.
The comment triggered a flashback to our senior year. I was cutting through the gymnasium when she came sprinting around a blind corner. Her toned, wet body in a snug Speedo swimsuit collided with mine and I instinctively wrapped my arm around her to stop us from falling. Our eye contact was brief. She steadied herself and apologized, shouting, "I have to get my goggles," as she dashed away. The thrill of her breasts briefly pressed against my body and my hand clutching her bare, damp thigh dashed through my mind as I stroked myself silly that night. But I rarely saw her during the remainder of high school and subsequently knew of her only through alumni updates.
Back at the hotel, we became the last two at the table shortly after midnight. Despite little in common from years ago, our conversation was lively. We shared talk of professional accomplishments and personal travels. Eye contact increased and her movements towards me were slight yet apparent. Her body wasn't as tight as that of a teenage swimmer, but with soft, tan skin shining behind an elegant dress there was plenty to like. Her shoulder-length brown hair and eyes of a matching color hadn't lost their shine. She ran the lime from her second gin and tonic along the rim of the glass with a casualness that was just as appealing as her physical features. She didn't have a ring on her finger, and the longer she went without mentioning a boyfriend back home, the more I hoped I'd secure an invitation to explore her body.
