Write More Little Secrets, Just For Me
One day we were discussing my pending project and a potential deal. We knew each other from working in the publishing industry for a substantial period of time. We had a good working relationship and had gotten to know each other on a personal level. I had always found her personable, smart, witty and attractive. On a personal level, an attraction existed between us. It was not discussed but was tacitly acknowledged by private friendly flirtation. It was an attraction neither of us could act on because of commitments to others in our lives. The commitments barring our actions heightened our frustrations but we both found excitement in the longing we never discussed.
The day was a really hot summer day- high humidity and stagnant air with nary a trace of relief in sight. Thankfully, we worked inside. She sat across from me dressed appropriately for the season- a powder blue sleeveless mock turtle neck, which hugged her curves and accentuated her beautiful small breasts, and, a knee length lime summer skirt, which revealed the cute sun painted freckles randomly speckling her knees and legs.
She went to shift position and lifted a leg to cross one over the other. At the same time, my gaze was moving from her face to my desk top. As my eyes descended, her knees parted and I accidentally witnessed her skirt lift, revealing separating pale inner thighs, a momentary view of her soft lace panty, and, her firey orange hue.
The panty was not adorned with a standard tight lace pattern. No, it was of a semi-transparent fabric sparsely veiled by patterned lace, the type a woman wears to barely reveal, tease and seduce. My friend was an publicly prim person. I had the sense that despite her primness, at one time in her life she had a wild streak, which was now publicly suppressed. The revelation inflamed my imagination. It teased my desire to know what she was really like in private. As we continued our discussion, I looked at her face trying to keep focus on the conversation. All I could do was fixate on the beautiful sight now seared into my memory. I was not sure she knew what had transpired.
As she spoke, I thought of what would happen if she realized what I had seen- the momentary awkward pause which would ensue, that I would be compelled to lock my already closed office door and kneel before her. That would be 'the' moment we had to act on our undeniable desires, and we would both know it. She would sit, not objecting to my advance, nervously waiting, not knowing my ultimate intentions.
"Lift your skirt," I would whisper, "I want to kiss it." She would raise the skirt around her hips. I would part her knees, spread her thighs and observe the lace patterned fabric conforming to the curves of her body, tightly cupping her orange tufts, shadowing her furrow and tender folds. I would lean forward and gently shower her inner thighs and coveted covered sex with light kisses as she caressed the back of my head with her hands, running her manicured French tip fingernails through my hair as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back savoring the moment. I would slide my hands behind her soft round ass and lap at her furrow through the garment, pushing against it with my stiff tongue. The fabric growing moist, and a beautiful smell escaping from the lace, I would gently push my face forward and tease her with a firmer touch, occasionally nipping at her through the garment. She would push the spiked high heels of her strappy summer sandals into the carpet as her tension mounted.
