He was leaned over his craft beer yucking it up with some of his buddies at a table just across the aisle from where us girls were kibitzing. They were probably trading stories about how much of a dolt their boss was. He had a good sense of humor, was a good listener, and laughed sincerely at other people's jokes, even when they weren't' that good. This guy was good at working a crowd even though he had a dignified reserve about him. Confident but not flashy, perceptive and smart. That means he'd probably be a good fuck. And tonight, I was going to fuck him.
He was just slightly behind my curve sexually. A little shy, but willing. I like that. It means I can drive. I'm in control.
As the office social banter continued on the patio and dusk settled over Detroit down Woodward Avenue I sensed the timing to start was right. Good sex starts a long time before you get to the bedroom. It starts in your head hours before. In the teasing. The innuendo. The flirtation. The game.
I broke from the girls' conversation and pulled up my phone to text.
"I'm wet."
Send.
I didn't look over there right away. That would be way too obvious. Instead I shoved my phone back under my purse and leaned forward on the table with one elbow, feigning renewed interest in whatever the girls were talking about.
I actually was wet, and I thought about my little, lacy, black G-string under my business suit skirt. Freshly waxed, beautifully smooth, my little panty just covering me but permitting a filtered view of my moistening sex. Wait 'til he saw this. Tasted it. Fucked it. Came in it. Tasted his creampie from it afterward. Yeah, I was going to try to get him worked up enough to eat me again after he came in me. That took a lot of work, but it was worth it to straddle a new guy's face when he just emptied his load deep in you. That's hot. Especially if he's never eaten his own cum out of a girl's cunt before, especially during their first fuck.
Yeah, now I was really wet.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw him reach for his phone when the text went through. Since we had only been dating since Saturday, I doubt he had created a contact for me in his phone, so I figured only my number would come up, and no one actually knows a person's phone number anymore. At first, it might seem like a random text or misdial. I peeked to see him pulling his reading glasses up to read the text.
He studied the screen for a second. Way longer than it takes to read two words. He was taking it in. Rereading it. Analyzing it. What if was from me, he was certainly thinking. Hoping. But what if it wasn't. He took the bait. I saw him swipe away from the text to look at his contacts. He verified the number was mine. This is a smart guy. He thinks before he acts. Trust, but verify.
He set his phone down on the table in front of him, leaned back. I barely caught sight of his head turning toward me, away from his conversation with the boys across the aisle.
Showtime.
