Playing Out Ch 01

I had just left the restaurant. An... eclectic sort of outside place. Good for a bite of something. An interesting people watching place. I was crossing the street when a car slowed to a stop in front of me.

"Did you just come out of there?" the driver wanted to know. "What sort of place is it?"

"Well, it's sort of Caribbean food..." What was with this guy?

"Is it, like, eclectic? You know...'

"Well, that's a big word... Around here we only get funky and occasionally cool..." He was not the typical guy I would be interested in.

"Well, me and my buddies..." At that he motioned to the three preppy golfers in the car poking each other and laughing. "We were looking for somewhere interesting to eat."

"This would be the place then." I laughed and started to walk around the car. "I could show you around if you want..."

Where did that come from? I was going home. He is not my type. Sandy brown hair. Tall. Big guy. Polo shirt, open at the neck. Probably perfectly pressed khaki pants and $300 leather loafers.

"Hey, that would be great." Hooting now from the back seat. What was I thinking?

He parks the car and they pile out. A herd of polo shirts and khaki pants. He has these startling blue eyes. A sweet smile.

We find a table on the patio and order drinks. Inside a band is playing. The "boys" are checking out the menu and the bartender. He hands me my drink and says. "When does the tour begin?"

We get up from the table and walk through the courtyard. The party lights hanging from the trees are on and they are even prettier than I remembered. He touches my arm and points at the mannequin lounging by the fish pond. I lose my breath...for a second...what is going on.

We wander through the inner rooms. They are small and crowded. The band is tuning up and the electricity you feel when live music is beginning could be felt around everyone we passed. We stop at the stairs. They lead up to a loft with a wide open space to watch the band from above.

He looks up the stairs then at me. There is a question there but he won't ask it. I smile and start up the stairs.

We stop at the rail and lean over. We have a perfect view of the singer and his red guitar. The bass player starts a line and I feel it shake through the room. We listen. Not talking, not touching.

The room is getting more and more crowded. It is loud and a little hazy from smoke. He is behind me now. Close. The atmosphere in the room has changed. It is heavy, warm. We are so close but still apart. Then he leans closer still. He exhales and I feel his warmth on the nape of my neck ... I can't breathe. The air has caught in my throat. Then slowly I inhale.

That imperceptible shift is all he needs. I can feel his hands on my waist and his mouth against my neck where seconds ago his breath had been. The bass is louder now. But not loud...heavy. I can feel the vibration through my bones. I can hear nothing but his breath.

I feel the strength in those arms wrapped around me. They are strong, restraining. The drummer starts a solo and the muscle fibers in his strong arms become tauter. I could not get away if I tried.

At that moment...he heard that thought....he relaxes. Just a small amount but it is enough. I turn in his arms and face him. I look directly into his eyes. The question is still there. Louder now than on the stairs. But he won't say it.

I lean into him and feel the fullness of him press into me. His arms are once again strong around me. I lean in and very softly exhale...near his neck ...but it sounds like "yes".

He shifts a tiny bit and looks down at me. The very hint of a smile. His mouth is on me. Warm, wet. Unhurried. The music is building, the song is almost over.

He takes my hand and leads me to a corner. It is dark...there is a curtain hanging halfway over a couch. The band has ended its song and the crowd is showing their appreciation. We can feel the applause and of course a hoot or two. He takes the curtain from its pull and the crowd is gone.

He moves me to the couch and with his strong, soft hands pushes me to a sit. I feel more than hear the red guitar quietly beginning. It is playing only for us.

I let my arms slide down his torso. Soft, but still strong under the polo. I am a little surprised but the thought is gone because my hands have reached the waist band of the perfectly pressed khakis. They easily open the button and slide down the zipper. One finger brushes inside and feels the warmth of a pair of soft cotton boxers and then him. Again strong and now hard.

He exhales...slowly....a soft sigh ... it sounds like "yes".

I take him out of the boxers and let my fingers slowly wander over the length of him. I lean into him and take him in my mouth. I let my tongue wander around him as my fingers slide around his balls and touch the soft skin behind them. I feel him inhale. He can't get his breath.

I slide him out of my mouth and look up. His head is tilted back at a funky angle. Eyes are closed. His lips are open slightly, enough to let the warmth of his breath out. I want to feel those lips on me. I want to feel that mouth devour me.

I take his cock back into my mouth and let myself move in rhythm to the drum downstairs. My hands are on his ass, pushing him into me. I taste the saltiness of him as my tongue allows itself to be moved over and around him. I can feel the reverb through the floor into the couch through me and into him. He sighs again, soft still, in time to our movement, but like the bass he is building to crescendo.

The movement stops suddenly, urgently. He pulls his cock out of my mouth. It is thick and wet. If he had to wait another second it would be over. He reaches down with his hands and lets them slide over my body as he kneels down in front of me. I take his head in my hands and pull that mouth closer to mine.

His lips are soft and strong and what I want. His tongue is in my mouth and I know he tastes the moisture that was his seconds ago. His hands are moving down my shoulders over my arms and near my breasts now. He pulls away from the kiss and unbuttons my blouse.

I have on one of those bras that is more art than function. It is just fine. I feel the release of breath as his fingers brush over my nipples. He reaches into the bra and slides my breast out in his hand. He leans into them and I feel his tongue move where it wants. His teeth dangerously near the tender skin. I do not care.

His hands are moving farther down over my body and are at my jeans now. He stops sucking me and looks down. They are not complicated jeans. One button and a zipper. This is a sharp guy.

He slides the jeans down but leaves my panties. They are my favorite pair. The palest pink. Against my skin they look almost like I have nothing on. The lace is soft and rough at the same time. I feel that breath again and know that these are indeed my favorite panties.

His fingers are sliding over the lace of the panties then between my legs. I feel him lean down and his breath is against me before his mouth is. He has slid the panties aside and his tongue is between me and in me. I fall back into the couch.

I know that if he looked up at me he would see my eyes shut and my mouth open slightly. It can no longer contain my breath.

He lets his tongue move over me. His mouth does devour and I can no longer wait. As the band wraps up this loud rough song. I hear the crowd begin to roar. I am with them, moaning but it is not the end of the song that I am feeling. I feel the drum beat out the final rhythm as my entire body begins to shudder. I have no control. I do not want any. He continues to lick and suck me until he feels the shaking move to his part of my body. At this sensation he reaches up and grabs my hands. He holds me down and I am powerless.

He feels me melt into his restraint and lifts me up and throws me back on the couch. We hear the singer announce one more song in this set. "Don't forget to tip your waiters and waitresses" he says. We only hear that this must end soon.

He pulls my jeans and panties down. They are wrapped around an ankle. He moves the cotton of his briefs away to release his cock. It is harder than before. I want him in me and on me.

He leans over me and grabs my wrists. Pushes them over my head. His hands are no longer strong but once again restraining and I want them to hold me down as long as he can... I hear the beginning strains of a song that somewhere in my mind I know. I want it to go on forever.

He moves above me and puts his cock into me. I bring my hips up to meet him and I am rewarded with a strength that takes my breath away again. He is consumed with this movement. The singer hits a painful note and he joins in with a moan so deep and low that the harmonies seem natural to the tune.

The movement is faster now but no less strong. Restraining. I begin to once again feel the pulse of the drum through the floor. I see movement out of the corner of my eye and my heart stops.

We are reflected in the broken shards of glass that make up the mosaic on the wall beside me. The sharp edges show hints of skin, breast, stomach, shoulder, ass. All moving in rhythm with the band, the pulsation of the crowd, the thrusting of his hips.

I feel him lean over me, his mouth near my neck. I feel his breath, hot against my skin and it sounds like "yes". Then his mouth is on mine again. It is smothering me, devouring me. I want to scream out with the crowd.

There is a slight release in the hold he has on my arms. I take the chance to bring them around him and hold him closer to me. I bring my legs up and wrap them around him. The release is no longer slight. It is strong and powerful and we are in rhythm with the crowd below us as they cheer the band for the wonderful set.

We cheer for them too.

We dress each other pulling clothes up and down and doing up buttons. The khakis are no longer perfectly pressed. I like them better that way.

We walk down the stairs and head for the door and the crowded patio. The herd of polos is still at the bar. They have gotten no farther with the bartender. At the door I stop.

"I need to make a quick visit..." I say nodding my head to the other room.

"You were right..."He says. "This is really more of a ....funky place." He knows I will not be coming back out to the patio.

I slip out the side door. I can't help but look back once more. I see him standing by the mannequin lounging by the pond. He gives the slightest little wave.

********************

It has been a while since I have been to this part of town. It sounded like a nice idea when my girlfriend called. We walk down the sidewalk and I watch the cars on the street. They slowly move through the intersection. They do not stop.

"I heard this band is pretty good" my girlfriend says as we peek through the window. The singer is tuning up his red guitar. He looks up and grins. He has heard that they are pretty good too.

We walk into the patio. It is crowded. There is a large group at the bar. We wander for a little while then find a table near the pond. We share it with the mannequin that lounges there.

The bass begins a line to a song. I do know the title of this one. It is one of my favorites. I look around. The crowd is moving here and there. One person stops and looks my way. He has on perfectly pressed khaki pants.