Seeing Alicia Again

What was high school ever about? The teachers told us, the future. I never thought that would mean sitting alone in a bar after work.

With my navy blue tie dangling from my neck, I listened as I slid the bottle of beer across the counter back and forth. I thought about how funny it was, how I rarely drank in high school. I'd have a sip of whatever, here and there, at a party or ten but rarely drunk.

I then thought of an old friend, he was a brother to me. An arrogant asshole, but he was a brother. He always had girl and even worse, for me, flaunted his triumphs. I'd smile and cheer him on.

Then, she sat next to me- with short dirty-blonde hair a cute smile and legs that I could lick for hours. The bar was empty, except for its usual flies, so I was taken aback that she sat there.

We made our pleasantries, I bought her a few drinks and when I could I'd sneak a few glances. Her low-cut tank top didn't help, when I needed to look into her eyes during conversation. For the most part, I did my best, thinking of baseball.

Then I realized, this beautiful sight in front of me is Alicia. Not so much a triumph of an old friend, but one he would gloat about. Just for lying next to her one night after a few drinks and a poker game. I told her, who I was. I made a joke, one that she would remember. Of course, she laughed and we hugged. That's when the ball was hit out of the park, I was barely thinking of anything but her and what she wore and how she wore it.

A black mini-skirt, not hiked up but definitely leaving the eyes wanting more. The eyes knew she had smooth, soft, skin, the kind that water could trickle down, but wouldn't want to leave. The tank-top, red with a white rose print, but the roses are not what I was trying my hardest to steer clear from. What I was trying to evade my eyes attention from was the lacy-black bra, and my mind wondered what was under. Her collar bones and neck, and how I wanted to run my thumbs across each simultaneously as I kissed her glossy pursed lips. Although, what I really wanted to do was give it to her hard, while biting her ear, I'd show her I'm alive and Babe Ruth does play baseball.

Baseball, shit, baseball- I was staring at the countertop, I might have been tipsy, drunk even. She asked if I was alright. I came up with a lame excuse and asked if she'd share a taxi with me, because maybe I couldn't drive. I had my own agenda.

Another lie came from my mouth, and she helped me to my door. Two flights of stairs could kill a drunken man, but I wasn't drunk. She helped me in and settled me down. She sat with me and turned on the TV. She leaned me, I made moved. Acting, drunk and stubborn, I started groping her leg. She didn't seem to like that, but I kept going. Though, she didn't like it, she was polite and stayed. Then with rough hands I poked at her pussy. She jumped, but I definitely felt how moist she was. I was in.

"Sweetheart, I have a confession to make," I said without a slur or a droll, "I'm not drunk at all, and I just needed to know. The rough hands can stay like that if you'd like, but I'm sure you'll like what I have in store for you next."

She raised her eyebrow, and I raised her skirt. I lowered her panties and the moistness that I felt before didn't compare to what I felt on the fabric now. I teased her outer lips, just enough to her a whimper. I stood up, raised my shirt. She started with her tank top, but I motioned No and smiled. I lifted her arm, raised it around my neck as I tucked my other arm under her knees. I carried her into my bedroom, and gently laid her down, and scooted her to the end of the bed. She instinctively spread her legs. I blew on her cunt, stuck out my tongue and teased the hairs and gently brushed the clit. I wasn't ready, but from the scent and the heat around her crotch she was ready. So with great pleasure I made my way down her left leg. While making hickeys, as I reached up and touched what she desired to be touched, her clit.

I alternated circular motions with my thumb on her button as I teased her inner lips with three fingers. The three undulated like an impatient person tapping on a hard surface, but her it was soft, slick and I wasn't impatient – she was. I made it to where I wanted to go, her foot. Licking where her high-heel once was, I came to the realization that I was once told it's an erogenous zone for women to have the middle toe sucked. So, I tested this theory, and I was rewarded with a warmer, thicker, inlay of pussy-juice. Maybe it was just my minstrels of fingers, performing upon her warm hole.

I couldn't resist such an invite of drinks, but tonight I'd drink for one. She'd scream for the world. Without hesitation I made my way back down, and with both hands I spread her legs wider, and smiled even wider at her. She knew what was coming, her. I felt her pubic her in the palms of my hands and with both thumbs I gripped her clit. Then, I licked the pink protrusion. My right hand went straight under her tank top and snaked under the wire, I twisted her nipple hard. My left hand would then thrust two fingers, pump, and then three fingers into a slick canal of desire. The rough patch at the top of the cave, I knew was her g-spot, so I exploited its awesome power and made her scream, her juices flowed across my cheeks and down her ass crack.

I kept pumping in and out, she kept panting and screaming. I'd sometimes tickle that rough spot at the top, and sometimes I'd switch hands and breasts- making her shirt wet with her own juices, not that it wasn't already sweaty. I her screaming turned to whimpers and my pumping turned to small tickles, her and there. I went back to licking made a mess on me and her and my bed and my floor. At least, everything on her would be clean.

"I have a confession to make," She said with a sultry voice and a panting smile, "I knew you weren't drunk. It's my turn."