Abstinence Ch 02 Dinner

The week following the game of Abstinence was tumultuous. The once solitary rhythm of my thoughts hiccuped with sharp, intrusive thoughts of my neighbor.

Showers were with the lights off; I washed myself in the concealing dimness to avoid facing the truth.  For the first time ever I'd been exposed to a man, and worse, it was him.

What had he seen when he looked at me? Was he repulsed by the twenty extra pounds I'd gained in his absence? Every imperfection had been laid bare by that stupid game;  the freckles that dotted my breasts and traveled across my stomach, the slight sag to my larger bust, or maybe the molten core of my traitorous pussy?

The mirror showcased me caressing my breasts, reliving the feeling of his hands covering me. I cursed the heat beginning between my legs. Work was waiting and I couldn't dally.

***

He was a block ahead of me when I exited the metro station and headed to the office. His gait was easy this morning, no tension across his broad shoulders. My pulse quickened as my eyes wandered down his body. Friends, I reminded myself as images of his nudity seared across my brain. Those thoughts were tucked tightly into a recessed corner as I resumed walking.

He was there at the security desk when I stepped off the sidewalk and pushed through the heavy door. Saying goodbye to the security guard, he fell into step beside me.

"Good morning," he said.

"Hey," I responded, my eyes meeting his in quiet hesitation. His lips, pulling up at the corner, genuine, exuding warmth and friendship dashed my lingering  hope for sparks or butterflies.

The elevator doors closed in front of us, surrounding us with stillness, silence thick in the air. The backs of his fingers trailed down my arm. A sharp intake of breath.  Mine or his? The radiant warmth of his skin bridged the miniscule gap between his lips and my earlobe.  I counted the seconds, waiting for him to speak.

"See you Saturday."

The elevator doors opened and I stumbled through.

***

The line of numbers fuzzed before my eyes for the third time. I had forgotten what I was looking for and it wasn't even lunch time yet. The look my lab partner gave me strongly suggested I take a break.

Locked in a bathroom stall, a firm resolve to pull it together echoed in my brain. Work needed to resume, but my mind circled around nails down my skin and warm breath in my ear. The fixation vexed me; I needed a clearer mind.

The chill of subway tiles behind my head did nothing to cool me. Concentrating on my breathing only brought hyper awareness of my breasts moving against my shirt. A meticulously manicured red nail ran small circles around a nipple.  Another joined on the other side, the rhythm picking up as my face heated and my body tensed.

Skin hot and wanting, I lifted my shirt and freed my breasts from confining lace. Cool air raced against my nipples, aroused from touch and being bared in this inappropriate venue. I cupped my breasts, squeezing, feeling his imagined hardness behind me like a steel rod against my back. Panties drawn to one side, my fingers slid over my clit. Breath held against the moan threatening at the back of my throat, my pussy gushed with release. Frantically pulling paper from the dispenser, I blotted at the arousal dripping from my cunt down my thighs. Clean, with a clear head, and my clothing righted, I was prepared to face the world. I tossed the ruined panties in the wastebasket on my way out.

***

"Love isn't real," My roommate lectured over a bowl of chocolate ice cream. "It's just trying out different people until you find one you can stand for the next thirty years."

"That is the most fatalistic thing I've ever heard," I told her.

"Paul was a psychopath." She stabbed her spoon back into the ice cream.

"Better to find out now, right?"

"It's all just compromise," she stated.

"How did you get so jaded?" Rhetorical questions whizzed through my mind. This was a typical conversation following one of my roommate's explosive breakups. "I still believe in happily ever after. One day I'll meet my soulmate," I insisted.

"Fat fucking chance," she said more vehemently than called for. "Hallmark movies were written by desperate writers who have never been laid."

We'd had this conversation over and over in various forms, but that didn't stop hot tears from leaking out the corners of my eyes. I blinked and rubbed them away, hoping my roommate wouldn't notice.

"Why are you crying? I just got dumped." I closed my eyes, but it didn't stop the tears. "I'm not upset," she added. "I'm just resetting."

"God, I know. And it's my eyes crying, not me; I just want my forever. And I want it for you too, even if you don't believe." I sniffled and tried to eat another bit of ice cream. The tears had slowed and I thought I'd finally gotten control.

"Maybe I'll hit up our neighbor next weekend, see if he's any fun late at night," she mused. The tears resumed. I'd been both disappointed and relieved when my roommate's breakup gave me an excuse to put off the game for a week. My roommate raised an eyebrow at the fresh tears.

"Did you fuck him?" she asked.

A laugh escaped my throat and rattled around my bowl of ice cream.

"Of course you didn't," she said. "You should. You two have a real connection."

Images flashed into my mind. Hands exploring the contours of my stomach. An intimate gaze upon my nude body. The tickle of his whispers in my ear. I raised the bowl of ice cream to my forehead and rolled it across my cheeks, willing the growing flush to evaporate from my skin.

"He kissed you didn't he?" she asked.

My hand on his cock. His finger inside me.

"Yes," I said.

"What's the fucking problem then?!" she demanded.

"There was no spark. It's not him." Saturday had been the single most erotic experience of my life. I longed for a reprise of the feelings he stirred in my body. But it felt wrong to feel so good with someone who didn't give me goosebumps when our eyes met.

"Fuck the spark. Give him a chance. Your "spark" is some mental crap your brain vomited out to keep you single forever. You need to learn to be with someone."

"Growing up, everyone was in love with him," I said, "but I never was."

"Honey, you can't wait around for 'forever'. At some point you just need to grab love by the balls and fuck the shit out of it."

***

By next Saturday I had come to terms with my life. Twenty-four years of celibacy was enough and any soul mate would understand if I needed to start living before I met him. Saturday when my roommate swept out of the apartment like some sexy whirlwind, I put on a pair of lacy black panties, unlocked the door, and texted my neighbor that I was free.

Words blurred on pages, sit com plots held no draw, I found myself fidgeting with anything in my reach. My wandering mind was interrupted by a knock on my door. A flush drifted from my neck, lower with each heartbeat as I rose to answer the door.

My neighbor walked into the apartment and flopped down on the couch.

"So, what are we doing tonight?" he asked as I fit myself against him.

"You know perfectly well what we're doing tonight!" I exclaimed, launching a pillow at him as he smirked at me.

Extricating myself from the arm he'd slung across my shoulder, I lifted from the couch and fetched the board game from my room. The box lay on the table, beckoning in black and crimson temptation. Raising the playing pieces from the box, his eyes were glued to my finger as I ran it slowly along the stallion's distended cock.

"You want to roll first?" I asked, passing the dice.

We rolled until he got to pick a card.

"Step 1. Order a shareable three course meal from a local restaurant.

"Step 2. The player will spread the first course across the nude body of their partner. The partner may not move or speak while the food is being laid out.

"Step 3. The player will eat a piece of the course off their partner using only their mouth. Then they must feed a piece to the partner, no hands allowed.

"Step 4. Switch positions. The second player will now plate the main course on their partner. Same rules apply for eating.

"Step 5. Players will place the dessert course on each other. They will eat dessert off their partner, mouths only."

"That's a little more complicated than last week," I stated. "No spicy food allowed."

"Oh, this is going to be fun," he said. "It's my card, I can order whatever I want. We could go super spicy Indian?"

I shook my head vigorously at his teasing, thinking about the possible effects of spicy food on skin. Vindaloo and samosas flashed through my mind before a vivid image of his tongue licking across my stomach locked my thoughts.

It was his card to play, so he ordered from my bedroom, insisting that I not know what he was ordering. When he was done, he came back into the room with a mysterious smile. I sat down next to him on the couch, food still flying through my head as I tried not to think about his mouth exploring my body.

"Relax," he said, squeezing my shoulder. "It's just dinner."

I leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body through my shirt. The smell of his familiar detergent calmed me as I breathed him in. The comfort of being next to him settled on me, combating the nerves screaming about the upcoming dinner.

***

The food arrived, large paper bags from a French cafe down the street. Buttery, rich aromas drifted from the bag, an unidentifiable sweet tang gave subtle hints as to what he might have ordered, but I restrained myself from guessing.

"It's time to become a plate." He motioned up and down my body and then gestured to the picnic blanket he'd laid across the carpet.

"Do you want to undress me, or are you going to watch?" I asked.

"I'm going to watch," he said, taking a seat on the couch. Despite last week's adventure, my stomach dropped at the thought of undressing in front of him. Never overcoming the shyness of my youth, I still hid in the bathroom instead of changing in the locker room at the local gym. Steeling myself, I unzipped my skirt, letting it fall to the ground. Button by excruciating button, my fingers shook as I opened my blouse to reveal the scandalous lace bra underneath. Like a mantra, I repeated to myself there was nothing wrong with being naked. Even as a kid, I'd known that, despite the debilitating shyness.

"You look delicious." His craving eyes traced the lingerie, his appetite not limited to the upcoming meal.

I told myself to be brave, and lifting my arms overhead, I twirled around, letting him see me clad only in lace. My bra dropped to the floor next and I was rewarded with an encouraging smile. With a last deep breath, I shed my panties and tried not to feel self-conscious at his stare and continued state of dress. Laying down, arms and legs outstretched, hair fanned around me, I became his plate.

Perhaps a safe choice for a first nude dining experience, he'd chosen cheese with boozy fruit. That sweet tang identified, chilled pineapple soaked in some spirit raised goosebumps  across my flesh, his fingers a subtle warmth against me. The perfect placement of each successive chunk kept his eyes locked on my body.

His mouth crinkled with concentration as he studied my breasts, the nipples pebbling under his intense scrutiny. Syrupy peach slices placed in spirals around my nipples threatened to slide off with every breath.

Blueberries, swollen with liquor tickled my stomach, my abs sore with suppressed laughter as he placed a single grape in my navel. The slightest tremor would undo his meticulous work.

Strawberry slices smelling of rum ran from my knees to the tops of my thighs. His face drew close to my skin as he worked, breath feathering between my legs as he placed the last two pieces of strawberry.

A hand span below my navel he rested a single orange slice, brisk against my burning skin.

When all the fruit was placed, the tropical smell of my body evoking piña coladas  and strawberry daiquiris by the pool, he strategically placed the cheese slices.

"You are so beautiful," he said, staring down at me. The sincerity in his voice tugged at something near the back of my throat.

"Can I take a picture of you?"

Alarm bells went off in my head; my heart began to race like I'd just been caught with my purple dildo. Despite the fruit and cheese covering my body, my nipples were on full display, peaches only covering some of the freckles. My pussy was bare, framed by fruit. I was exposed and any photograph he took would exude vulnerability. But I also felt beautiful and I needed to hold on to the feeling of being appreciated in my skin.

"Yes."

With my permission given, he took out this phone and immortalized me in fruit.

Our feast began with pineapple and cheese, his teeth raking gently across my skin. He fed me bite after bite, lips hovering over mine. He nipped and sucked his way across collarbones, wrists, arms; a thousand kisses covered my body.

The tease of his hot breath lingering over my nipple as he lifted a peach started my pussy pulsing. Sugary syrup dribbled wantonly over my breasts. Tongue licking, lapping, elicited an involuntary groan from deep within me.

Arms free from fruit and cheese, I worked my fingers into his hair as he cleared the peaches from me, his tongue tending to wayward rivulets of syrup. When the last peach was gone, he caught my nipple between his teeth.

"Oh my God," I gasped as he let it go.

"Shhh," he reminded me.

Lips against skin, heavy breathing, my heartbeat in my ears were the only sounds in the room. The single grape and single slice of orange were the only remaining fruit. Arousal blossomed in me when he lowered his mouth to the grape, his tongue delving deeply into my navel. As my body arched, mouth opening, he deposited the grape onto my tongue and proceeded to the lone slice of orange.

He knelt at my feet, one leg in each hand, leisurely separating them, raising my knees. He leaned in, a hair's width from where I was spread before him, the orange slice balanced precariously. Air moved as he breathed me in, buried in my arousal. I ached to be touched, but the only thing on my fevered pussy was his gaze. His eyes crested the horizon of my skin, locking with mine.  My insides blazed from the brief contact when he lifted the slice of orange, his body traveling up mine as he brought it to my mouth.

Retreating, licking his lips, his smile sent a tingle down my body. Desire roared through me, my eyes begging him to nip at my stomach and nibble at my thighs. But I lay mutely, feeling the aftershocks of his mouth on me, rejoicing that my body was capable of tingling for him. He handed me a wet towel.

"Clean yourself up while I get comfortable."

My body needed convincing to move again, and I lay loose, heavy on the floor. Was this what it meant to be wrong out? I thought as I rose to sitting and ran the towel over lingering stickiness.

Once his clothes were on the floor, he laid down, his arms and legs spread. He looked about to speak, but I brought a finger to his mouth, reminding him of his no-talking rule. The second bag contained twelve mini pastries, their box pale pink, tied with an elaborate brown bow. Quiches the width of two fingers, studded with bacon, tiny tomato tarts, and minuscule potato puffs had me salivating like one of Pavlov's dogs.

The food was elegant, the smell savory and herbaceous. Contemplating how best to plate the pastries upon him offered me a challenge. I didn't have as many pieces of food to work with and each piece was tidy in its crust. I wanted messy, wanted to lick crumbs from his stomach. The roaring in my veins had calmed to a deep simmer, but I needed the pastries to leave him as aroused and frustrated as I had been.

I climbed over him, legs, breasts, pussy brushing his skin as I balanced quiches over his collarbone. Kneeling between his legs, purposely brushing against his balls, I laid tomato tarts across his stomach. Daring him to keep his cock completely I still while contemplated the potato puffs, I ran a finger up his shaft. The resulting twitch warned me how precarious the potato puffs would be when I'd finished balancing them along his cock.

One by one, I removed the pastries from his collarbone, savoring his skin, tonguing off the remaining crumbs, stopping to suck at stubborn bits of pastry.

My breasts brushed his cock as I knelt next to him, nearly knocking over a potato puff. Flaky phyllo broke apart as I bit into a tomato tart raining crumbs over his skin, drops of tomato splattering on his chest before they made it to his mouth. Avalanches of tarts and puffs fell from his body as he lost himself to laughter. Replacing the confections, I licked crumbs from his chest. Pastries scattered to the picnic blanket as he devolved into a  ticklish mess.

"Fine," I said, instead picking up one of the only remaining puffs balanced against his head. The laughter did not conclude when I dropped the bite in his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he said, between peals.

"Shhh."

He held his breath, trying to stem his mirth. I replaced the potato puff, then popped it into my mouth with my tongue. My tongue had been on his cock; he was still quaking with laughter. Each successive rumble had me clenching my teeth and balling my fists tighter. His attempts at suppressing the laughter only infuriated me to new heights. He'd reduced me to a quivering mess on the floor and all I achieved was laughter. Logically I knew he wasn't laughing at me, but at the situation. Were my breasts, hanging less than an inch from his cock, not enough? He sported an erection I had caused, yet I had lost control of the situation. I needed to do something drastic to get his focus back on me. A broad stroke of my tongue from his balls to the tip of his head got his attention. Popping his head into my mouth stopped the laughing entirely.

"That's better."

The remaining potato puffs and tomato tarts swiftly made it behind lips. The last puff crinkled between my teeth, headed for his mouth. My lips covered his as he swallowed. I sat astride him, my knees pressing into his sides, my thighs opened to him. My breasts lowered onto him as his cock pulsed beneath me, the same beat steady against my chest. My arousal coated him as his hands kneaded my ass. He flipped me onto my back and hung above me, every nerve in my body buzzing with his presence.

His cock pressed at my entrance and I welcomed it, lost to the needs of my body. Desire was a powerful thing, and I'd momentarily put aside love, soulmates, and forever. My arched back and hands on his ass wordlessly encouraged him to enter.

His mouth at my ear, tongue probing, a quick nip. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he whispered.

"Yes."

He pulled off of me, sitting back on his knees. The tip of his cock had come away wet with my juices, his head swollen to a deep purple. He looked into my eyes as I lay dripping and open before him. Then he stood and walked into the bathroom.

Again, I had lost control. My eyes closed against the impending sense of doom buried deep in my gut. Embarrassment ripped through me at the satisfaction that had been on his face. He wanted me to lose control, had told me as much. My pulse raced as anger washed adrenaline over my already scrambled nerves. His ability to walk away left me wanting to pull him apart, shred into him with my teeth. The anger was as much a loss of control as the desire had been and I knew I had to calm myself before he returned. Minutes passed. Counting, visualizing fluffy clouds, my roommate prattling on about celebrity gossip in my head, all helped calm me. By the time I sat up, he was back, his cock beginning to deflate.

An ember of rage rekindled in me as he sat and tried to take my hand.

"Don't touch me," I snapped.