"Are you staring at my ass?"
I was sitting in my friend Charlotte's tiny kitchen while she made us a meal. Charlotte has possibly the nicest behind I have ever seen. Someone who is as tall and skinny as Charlotte has no right to have such rounded and firm posterior. But she does, and I was staring at it. Clearly this had not been the first time that I had stared at her ass, I had been surreptitiously staring quite happily for the five years we had been friends without any problem; only this time I was well and truly busted.
To fill you in on some back-story, I had met Charlotte when we both pitched up at the same company in London, new to the city. We both worked in finance and shared similar views on our co-workers, senior management and the importance of post-work drinking. Unusually our friendship had continued even after we had both left the company. Friendship at work often tends to fade away when what you have in common is no longer there. Charlotte and I stayed in touch and our relationship continued.
I had always found Charlotte attractive, but she had been married ever since I had known her which meant there was never anything sexual in our relationship. If she had been single, I would have probably tried to pursue her and where that would have ended up who knows, but I doubt we would still be friends. That had not stopped me enjoying her body over the years. Charlotte was tall, almost 6 feet, skinny without much in the chest department. She had often wistfully mentioned how you always wish for what you don't have, which I had taken to meaning, crudely, bigger tits. Whereas some skinny girls are straight up and straight down, Charlotte had a world-class feature. Her ass was perfectly proportioned, plump and round. On a bigger girl it might have run to chubbiness but on her model frame it was perfect.
Back to the present. I suppose it had to happen, the law of averages suggests that if you stare at something often enough and for long enough, the person who owns the thing you are staring at is probably going to notice. I was normally so careful, Charlotte was in the middle of a lengthy work anecdote. While the story was amusing enough, it was no match for the sight of Charlotte's ass stretching against her tight jeans as she alternatively reached up to shelves then bent down to cupboards while preparing the meal. At one point as she bent to retrieve a colander from a low cupboard I was presented with a detailed outline of her pussy. A better man than me might have been able to ogle and simultaneously maintain a conversation but I failed. I zoned out of the conversation and focused on Charlotte.
"Greg," She asked as she turned to face me, "Are you even listening to me? And are you staring at my ass?"
The first question was posed in a slightly exasperated tone of voice, the second with amused surprise in her voice. Charlotte was hot, of that there was no doubt, but also warm and kind, loved cooking and had a wicked sense of humour. And as I mentioned she was also married. I was happy to be her friend but there had never been any form of flirting between us; Charlotte was not really the flirty type. She was not so naïve as to be unaware of her overall attractiveness but while she dressed fashionably in a way that complimented her slender figure, (with the amazing ass let's not forget) she did not dress in an overtly sexy way.
So, she wasn't making a meal with the intention of giving me a show. I think this was why she was so surprised when she turned around and caught me thinking about how I was almost close enough to reach out and squeeze one of her rounded cheeks. I had always thought she overestimated how nice I was and felt she didn't have to worry about that sort of thing around me. Well, she clearly overestimated me and probably 99% of other men as well. Other men weren't sitting busted in her kitchen though, just me.
Ah well, I had a good run. That's the friendship over, I just hope she doesn't tell all our mutual friends, so I look like a disgusting pervert who's not to be trusted.
While it felt these thoughts had been whizzing through my head at 90 miles an hour, in the real world an awkward silence had developed. Charlotte was looking at me awaiting a response, her cheeks had become flushed, with surprise or righteous indignation.
What could I say, what can you say in such a situation? I suppose I could have lied and claimed not to know what she meant. I could have tried a reverse-indignation and claimed to be mortally offended that she could even dare to think I would be such a bastard and do such a thing. Instead I went bright red and looked at the floor.
"What can I say?" I said eventually. "You caught me. You've got a world-class ass and you are moving around in a tight space in my favourite jeans that you wear, and it was right in front of me."
Charlotte looked me in the face as she processed this information.
"You have favourite jeans that I wear?" she asked me with a raised eyebrow.
I had somehow managed to compound the initial error of being caught and made the situation worse by looking like a dirty stalker.
"That is new information."
A bad situation was getting worse, caught ogling a married friend who then responded as though it hadn't even occurred to her that I even had a dick.
"Look, I should go." I said, and I stood up.
I was sweating and my face remained a fierce red. Leaving was awkward as I had been supposed to stay in Charlotte's spare room that night and I was still bloody hungry. Charlotte's food was as tasty as her ass. Some people are just good at everything.
Charlotte watched me get out the chair and make for the door. The tiny kitchen meant that in dismounting the chair I had to brush past her as there was barely room for two. My arm touched her, and it felt like her flesh was burning hot.
"Wait," she said eventually when my discomfort had reached its maximum level. I kept going, desperate to get out of the tiny, hot room.
"Come on Greg. Wait. Stop being so silly," she said laughing at me.
I suppose laughter was better than anger, but it didn't make me feel much better.
"Seriously, sit back down, you're being an idiot." Charlotte placed her hands on my shoulders and manoeuvred me back onto the chair.
At that moment the pasta that had been boiling merrily away through all the awkwardness started to boil over.
"I need to get that before it's overcooked," said Charlotte draining the contents into the colander.
Charlotte took immense pride in her cooking; pasta going soft would have irritated her, so I shut up and let her get on with it. Of course, in the process of finishing the meal she once again had to turn around, so I was presented once her again with her posterior encased in her tight jeans. It felt stupid to stare at the ground to I tried to stare at her back. She then reached up to get the pepper grinder and in the process her top rode up, exposing about 5cm of skin above the waistband of her jeans. My God, the temptation to lean forward and lick the soft exposed skin. I could feel a stirring in my jeans. Probably not really the time you asshole I thought.
Charlotte had cooked a pasta dish with home-made pesto and always it was delicious. As always, I complemented her on the food, and she looked proud at the compliment. I tried not to bolt it down and eat normally while waiting for the inevitable discussion about the elephant in the room. I just about managed but drank three glasses of wine, to Charlotte's one. We took the plates through to the kitchen and returned to the lounge while Charlotte rolled a joint. Despite working in finance and not drinking much, Charlotte did enjoy smoking weed, which would probably have surprised her colleagues. People underestimated her deviant side, including me as I was to discover.
I silently watched Charlotte busy herself with the joint-rolling. Finally, after an over-elaborate process, which created a visually perfect joint exhibiting the high level of craftmanship Charlotte put into everything she sparked up and took a long drag.
"So," she said exhaling a cloud of smoke in my direction.
"You like staring at my ass then? Interesting." She paused to take another deep pull.
"I never had you pegged as a naughty pervert. This has been going on for how long?"
Her manner was amused not aggressive. Charlotte continued puffing away on the joint while brushing her shoulder length blonde hair behind her ears with her free hand.
"Well to be clear." I began, not sure where I was going but pleased to still be in the room. "You've always had a nice ass, so I've been staring at it as long as I've known you. But it's not like I only like your ass, I think you're funny and I love your food and your pretty and, look," this wasn't going where I was hoping. "I like hanging out with you and I'm sorry. I meant no disrespect."
At the word "disrespect," Charlotte, snorted with laughter.
"Disrespect!" she repeated shaking with laughter. "Come on, don't be a pompous twat! I know you too well for that." After some delay she eventually calmed down wiping tears from her eyes. "Pass me the ashtray. I meant no disrespect! Oh, my days!"
"Have you finished having fun at my expense?" I said getting annoyed. Clearly, I was in the wrong but there were limits to my patience. "Can you stop fucking around with me? Please?"
"OK," said Charlotte finally still chuckling away to herself, the dope probably not helping. "You've been looking at my ass and I caught you staring. It's not the end of the world."
"I'm sorry," I began, but Charlotte cut me off. "You don't know everything about me you know," she said, "You don't know everything about what I might like." She took a long drag on the joint and turned to face me. "You want to stare at my ass you can if you like, It's fine."
I wasn't expecting that. "Isn't that going to be a bit awkward?" I said rather lamely. You've almost gotten away with this I thought, don't ruin it now.
"Why?" asked Charlotte, "Was it awkward when I didn't know? If you like staring at my ass and I have no objections, then I don't see a problem."
Charlotte then stood up to take the empty plates through to the kitchen. She made a deliberate move in front of me and slowly bent down to pick up the plates.
"Is this what you like?" She asked, as the fabric of her jeans stretched across the two rounded cheeks of her ass. At the junction of her legs I could see the outline of her lips. My mouth was dry. "A girl bending over in front of you here, least you could do is give some feedback," Charlotte said taking the plates through.
"Yes," I replied. I need to pick up my conversation game here, I thought. "That's exactly what I like."
"What else do you like? Don't go all shy on my now you've been rumbled"
In for a penny I thought.
"Well, I like it when you reach up to put the glasses away. Your top lifts up and you get a few centimetres of skin which frames your ass beautifully." The cat was out the bag.
"Like this?" Charlotte said as she stretched upwards just a pace or two away from me.
"Like that." I replied.
