Clare is a focused young woman. University, studies, career, and business come first--always. Fun and pleasure might come later, if there's time. At twenty-five, she possesses a quiet, magnetic allure that everyone notices--except her. Beneath her plain grey sweaters, curious eyes can't help but catch the shape of her full, soft-yet-firm D-cup breasts. She's modest by nature and dislikes the attention her figure draws, so she hides it beneath loose, colorless clothing. Still, paired with her striking blue eyes, delicate features, and naturally plump lips, she resembles a doll--a very sexy one.
It's Tuesday evening, a time she would normally devote to rest, under ordinary circumstances. But Clare has taken a demanding exam that morning, after studying non-stop and even skipping her usual--though slightly boring--weekend outings. Yet tonight, she feels a strange sensation in her stomach, almost like euphoria, the anticipation of something intriguing about to happen. More than that, the sense of having shed such a heavy weight makes her reconnect with her body, with her desire to enjoy herself. She hasn't had sex in over six months, and her last experience had felt mechanical, distant, lacking real passion--it had left her unsatisfied. It's been a while, and now, with the calm and lightness of someone who doesn't have any worries left, she notices a vibration between her legs.
After a nice hot shower--during which she gives her body all the care it needs: waxing, exfoliating, scented body wash, and an oil massage--Clare lets herself fall, tired, onto the bed. Her body now feels completely relaxed and drained of energy. She unties the dressing gown cord and skims her pussy with her soft hands. She brings her other hand to her breast and begins to massage herself, imagining the touch of a man. Meanwhile, with two fingers she makes gentle circular pressure on her clitoris, until she feels herself all swollen with anticipation. She massages herself in this way for a few moments, but the pleasure she feels is mechanical, given by the movement rather than the excitement of a man holding her and blowing hot breath over her body. Suddenly, someone knocks on the door of her room.
"Clare! Clare, how did the exam go?" Clare jumps up from the bed at the sound of her roommate's voice. "Come have a drink in the kitchen!"
"Sure, Sofy, I just got out of the shower. I'll get dressed in a minute and be right there."
"I'll be waiting!"
A few minutes later, Clare is dressed and heading to the kitchen, where Sofy has already poured her a glass of strong red wine. But the excitement between her legs is still there, and that full glass does not help.
"Listen, we're going out tonight. No discussion. You and I both need a little fun," Sofy urged decisively.
"You know what, I'm dead tired, but yes. Tonight sounds like a good idea."
After a couple of glasses of red wine, the roommates were getting ready to go out, and Sofy teases her friend into dressing a little provocatively.
"'Come on Clare! Every other day I let you be a nun. But at least for tonight, show the world some of those sexy tits you've been hiding".
Clare feels daring that evening and follows her friend's advice, choosing a simple black tight crop top, which shows off her perfect breasts thanks to the plunging neckline. The black combat boots give her a decisive appearance, and the black eyeliner adds boldness to her doll-like features.
They arrive at their trusted bar. Clare feels clear-headed but uninhibited, and she appreciates the familiar atmosphere of the dark venue, with its orange lights and live blues music. The two friends move closer to the stage, pushing their way through the crowd. Clare doesn't linger in eye contact with anyone, but she feels several eyes on her and enjoys all the attention, which she chooses not to reciprocate. Among the men who are eyeing her, she spots one or two who seem mildly interesting, and she gives them a slight smile before starting to move to the rhythm of the blues. She feels the blues notes vibrating in her stomach, and she completely surrenderes to the sound, so melancholic and sexy.
"Let's move a bit closer to the stage!" Sofy suggests, taking her hand and leading the way. They get to the front of the stage, which is only slightly elevated, standing just a meter away from the musicians. The guitarist starts with a solo, and Clare's gaze is drawn to him. In that instant, she feels overly full of oxygen, and a heat she has never experienced before radiates between her legs. A heat she certainly has not felt when she has touched herself in the privacy of her room.
The orange and purple lights outline the guitarist's face perfectly, sliding along the tense bicep that holds the weight of the red Telecaster. His large hands move with lightning speed and expert precision over the fretboard, plucking the strings with confidence. His focused expression, thick brows slightly furrowed, those dark, gleaming eyes, the unruly dark curls, and an aura of confidence wash over Clare in waves. She is completely entranced, unable to look away. The blues keeps playing, and Clare, doing nothing but radiating her intense, feral energy, wants to draw the handsome man to her. It's working--the guitarist lifts his gaze, and for a moment, their eyes lock. Like two planets colliding, their eye contact generates an uncontainable energy.
The song ends, and Clare steps out into the inner courtyard to get a breath of fresh air. Sofy is lighting a cigarette beside her when the tall, lean figure of the guitarist materializes next to them, but he doesn't stop--he heads over to exchange a few words with the drummer. They're on break; someone else has taken over on stage. Clare's whole body begs her to walk up to him and kiss him without even introducing herself, but reason--still intact despite several glasses of wine--plants a seed of doubt: maybe her desire is misleading her, and maybe it's not mutual.
But just then, the guitarist turns around, notices her staring from behind, and throws her a slight smirk. She can't respond--except by taking another sip of wine, which burns down her throat.
Sofy keeps talking, the blues keeps playing, but now the two musicians are heading their way closer to them, and Clare's mind is buzzing. She's overtaken by a sudden, powerful confidence.
"What are you playing next?" she asks as he walks by.
"What do you want us to play?"
"I Wish You Would."
Clare doesn't know much about blues--this is just the first song that comes to mind.
"All right. Come in with us."
As the guitarist says this, Clare feels herself melt into water between her legs. She walks back in with a faint smile--a smile he returns, just for a moment.
Clare and Sofy listen to blues for a long while, occasionally drifting away for a cigarette, a drink, or a breath of air. At some point, Clare finds herself alone in the courtyard. She senses his presence--tall, dark, unmistakable--before she even turns. Then she does and finds herself standing very close to the guitarist.
"Well?" he says.
