The way a woman smells is more of a turn on than almost anything else. Of course I do love the way women look and have a preference for those with a fuller figure and a great smile but if that womanly scent is masked with strong perfume and layers of product it just turns me off. I love the smell of an unwashed body, not festering and gross, just that end of the day smell, the scent of sweat, ozone and, if I'm lucky enough to find someone to indulge with, the smell of urine and pussy soaked into the delicate fabric of a pair of panties pulled tight against swollen, plump cunt lips.
My wife knows this, knows just what I like. She'll return from work and as we make dinner or deal with the evening chores she'll surreptitiously stroke her pussy through the fabric of her pants, her fingers picking up that perfect womanly scent and as she's passing or as I'm cooking she'll come up behind me and hold her fingers beneath my nose. I'll breath deeply and savour the smell and sometimes she'll push her fingers into my mouth and I'll lick them clean.
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We're no strangers to swinging and swapping and have had the occasional adventure alone so one night, as we lay in bed, I told my wife about Michelle. She listened to my brief description and asked me to tell her what I wanted to happen. I told her in great detail and she stroked her pussy through her knickers, teasing me by letting me smell her and then pushing her fingers inside as I became more explicit with my fantasy. She came as I finished my story, a gentle, mini orgasm. She looked at me and smiled.
"I don't mind," she said, "just come back and tell me all about it and if she's that hot, bring her back to play."
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I work from home and our house is in an area with a great many fantastic coffee shops within just a short walk. I have a favourite that is large and noisy but has a great vibe, is pretty quirky and serves great coffee. Sometimes I'm there for just that; a Long Macc, just to satisfy the caffeine fix. Other times, when less busy I stay for lunch. The waitresses are lovely, not stunning, just plain and lovely. One wears very short shorts and has little bows tattooed on the backs of her legs. Another is young, early 20's, quite dumpy and has the most fabulous smile and personality. I'd just so love to have my head beneath her dress at the end of a hard day, my face pressed into her cunt as she rubs herself against me. There's the tall lesbian with all manner of piercings and wild coloured hair; she's really funny and sarcastic, very dry and, unless you know her, she might seem a little prickly. She makes the best coffee. There's demure English girl whose only make up is a shocking pink lipstick. She has very blond, almost white hair and of course, I fantasise that when the place closes they all strip of and luxuriate in each other every evening.
I try to sit on the same table. It's a long communal bench and I like to sit closest to the wall. The wifi signal is strongest there and I often take my laptop and work but it's also the spot that gives you the best view over the whole area and I love people watching. I'd seen Michelle a few times over the past couple of weeks, sometimes she called in just for a take away, other times she'd sit with a salad. She must be mid to late forties. She looks elegant and well dressed and is always alone. She has long blond hair, streaked with flashes of dark copper and red tones but she always wears it up, tied in a large bunch at the back. She wears large sunnies which she swaps for glasses as soon as she enters, black rimmed but fading to transparent on top of the lenses. She has a full figure, not fat really, just curvy and womanly with large breasts that she seems to tape down to her chest because they squash out the sides of her top. Every now and then, when she's wearing a tight top I catch a glimpse of a beautiful roll of plump flesh around her waist. Her hips are wide and her arse shapely, as are her legs which narrow down to toned calf muscles and slender ankles.
Just over a week ago my day was quiet, I had some research to do and it was pretty warm so I thought I'd sit in the cafe and work there. It was reasonably busy when I got there but I was fortunate that my favourite spot was free. I'd been working for around 30 minutes, looking up occasionally as it filled to overflowing with the lunch crowd. I watched Michelle order and stop to look around the space for a comfortable seat. There was just one table free at the other side of the room; four seats, not good when you're alone in a busy cafe and some seating outside in the hot, bright sun. Just as she took a step toward the large table the two people on the bench opposite me stood to leave. Their movement caught her eye and she smiled at them as they passed. She wandered over and sat against the wall, directly opposite me. I smiled and said hi and she smiled back.
Although I love this cafe, when busy, the service is dire and today it was heaving. 30 minutes was a long time to wait for a salad and I was beginning to give up hope when Lesbian came over with my plate covered in thinly sliced fennel and wedges of blood orange, micro greens and all manner of seeds and nuts. She dropped it down in front of me, leant on the table and bent her head to my ear.
"You're fucking lucky you came when you did," she said, just loud enough for me to hear, "some of these cunts won't see their lunch for hours."
She stood without waiting for my reaction and turned towards the kitchen. I chuckled and turned back to my laptop and food. I caught Michelle's eye, obviously curious about what she'd said so secretively. I smiled but didn't think she'd appreciate the news. She smiled back, a questioning look on her face, hoping I'd tell her what was said,
"How long did you wait for that?" she asked
I screwed my face up a little to emphasise my dissatisfaction, "About half an hour."
Michelle turned her mouth down in mock sadness, "I bet I'll be here bloody ages then." she paused and looked at my plate, "It's a shame, I ordered the same and it looks lovely."
I stood and walked over to the cutlery table and picked up another set. Returning I offered her my plate and handed her the cutlery.
"We can share," I offered, "I'm not that hungry."
Of course she refused and I insisted and eventually she picked up the fork. I closed my laptop and we began talking. Michelle is married but like many women here, her husband is on a fly in fly out contract. He earns enough for her not to have to work but she enjoys her garden and does some voluntary work. She also writes, something I had always wanted to pursue and that is what we talked about, her stories, articles, books. She'd had little published, mostly local press and newsletter type things, it was a hobby and she enjoyed the process, had little interest in any reward or recognition.
We sat for more than an hour and by the time her salad arrived we had little interest for it and so it was transferred to a small cardboard box and went home with her. We swapped numbers and for the next week or so we'd text each other whenever we were heading to the cafe. We sat in the same space and just had a laugh and at the end of the week Michelle broached the subject of my wife.
"Wouldn't she be worried about her husband meeting someone in a cafe like this?" she asked me.
I smiled and reassured her, brushed it off as 'just coffee' but she didn't seem convinced.
"She has other men friends," I told her, "I have friends who are women, there's really no big deal, not for us anyway. I'm sure she'd like to meet you, we're attracted to the same people." She understood my meaning, there was no need for me to be explicit.
"Am I attractive to you then?"
