Will She or Won't She?

(This is my first submission. No actual sex. A bit understated, but that's how I like it. It's all in the mind.)

It was in the mid 2000's. I had been attending yet another software trade show, this time in the city of New Orleans, which neither she or I had never visited. I had asked her to fly out to meet me here for the weekend, before heading back together to our home in Montreal.

Warm, humid, but pleasant evening weather. We had strolled down the streets, seen the sights, eaten a good dinner with a bottle of wine. I could tell she was happily buzzed as she held my hand, walking through the French Quarter back towards the Hilton. Even though it wasn't the time of Mardi Gras, Bourbon street was rowdy and fun, some tit-flashing and bead throwing going on around us. Watching this, she giggled and squeezed my arm. She seemed amused by it, and I remembered some sexy stories she had told me of her college days, before our life together.

"Want to go into one of these places for a last drink?" I said as we were walking past a noisy bar, under a second floor balcony where more bead throwing was going on. "We can't leave this town without drinking at least one of these Hurricanes."

She didn't answer but smiled and tightened her grip on my hand again, walking through the entrance.

We felt a bit out of place in this noisy bar, both of us in our mid-thirties amongst the crowd of overexcited college kids. Standing at the back of the room, in a darker area with some stools and small bar tables, sipping our way-too-sweet drinks from large plastic cups. I stood behind her, one arm around her waist, her ass rubbing against the front of my jeans as she swayed gently to the music, watching the young crowd. Her eyes had her usual sweet sparkle, but there was something else. A mix of the happiness of being in the moment, plus a hint of mischievousness. I loved it. I loved her.

A fat guy wearing an orange t-shirt with the bar's logo and holding a mike came out on the elevated stage area at the front of the room. He announced that their famous wet t-shirt contest was about to start, and contestants should make their way up to join him. The room erupted in wild cheers. Another guy was stacking pitchers of iced water on a table on the stage, as giggling and screaming young girls started walking up the steps to the stage, maybe a dozen of them.

She looked ever more amused and excited by this and was shaking a little bit as I held her. I kissed the small downy hairs at the back of her neck and said in her ear: "You should join in. These young guys would love seeing a beautiful MILF like you outshine all of their silly screaming girlfriends."

She didn't answer but blushed furiously, her smile turning into a grin as my hand went up to cup one her beautiful grapefruit sized breasts over her t-shirt. I could tell she was intrigued. This was like some of the stories she had told me of her wilder years. Possibly some of these stories she had made up, knowing the effect they had on our mutual excitement. Whatever. True or not, they worked.

"Go on", I said, "I know you want to." She was hesitating still, turning her head around to look into my eyes. Setting my plastic cup on the table I was leaning on, I removed my other arm from around her waist and caressed the small of her back under the t-shirt. I felt her shiver.

Sliding both of my hands up to her shoulder blades. Fumbling for the clasp of her bra, I just unhooked it then brought my hands slowly back to her waist. She turned around, a look of excitement, fear, and love in her beautiful brown eyes. Setting her own drink next to mine on the table, she did that magical thing women can do of pulling the shoulder straps off through her sleeves, and pulled her black bra up through the neck of her t-shirt. She put it in her purse which was next to us on the table, grabbed me by the belt and kissed me deeply, her tongue probing mine. She turned around, took a few steps away from me towards the stage then stopped. I was watching. She was still facing away, hesitating yet not turning back. Was this too much for her?

After about ten seconds, she turned around and walked back to our table. She picked up her drink, gulped it all down in a few swallows. Set the empty cup back on the table. Stepped a few feet away from me again, stopped. Turned to face me. Every pair of eyes was focused on the antics on the bright stage at the other end the room. Even in this crowded bar we were in our own little world in our darker corner.

With a look of lust, and excitement mixed with shame in her eyes, she reached for the hem of that cute short black skirt she was wearing and which I loved so. I hadn't seen her wear it in a long time but it was certainly appropriate to the weather, and the circumstances.

Lifting the edges of her skirt, her eyes locked into mine, she slowly slid her panties down her legs, and stepped out of them. Smoothed her skirt. With a shy smile, she tossed her panties to me and turned around to walk through the crowd that was whistling and cheering at the girls on the stage.

Her panties were the cute cotton ones, with the blue and white horizontal stripes. I kept them in my hand as she walked up the small but steep flight of steps to the stage. The MC held his hand out to help her up as the cheering increased. My hard-on was painful in my jeans as I watched her butt cheeks peek out ever so slightly from under her skirt with each step she took up the stairs. Sparkling in the reflection of the bright spotlights, I could see a drop of liquid slowly starting to trickle down her thigh.