Before I could place my whole hand back on you, you broke our kiss. You pulled your lips away from mine and pressed your hands into my chest. You unlocked your ankles from behind my back and pushed me away. I feared I had overstepped. Before I could say anything, you jumped off my car, grabbed my hand and led me into the building. We didn't say anything. We didn't stop to kiss. Nothing! At that moment we both knew that we didn't want anything to impede getting us into your apartment.
Up three little steps and down the hall you dragged me; dragged me as we raced each other to your door.
When we got to your door, your dug with both hands into the little clutch hanging off your shoulder. How could it be taking so long to find your keys in that little bag? I was ready to just kick in the door when your hand finally emerged with the key, the key to the lock, but more importantly, the key to us resuming our endeavor.
The door swung open and you pulled me by my hand thru it. You kicked it closed behind us. I wasn't sure you had taken the key out of the mechanism. I didn't care. You didn't care.
No lights were on. Neither of us remedied that.
You headed down the hall and I followed. As you went, you kicked off your shoes and just dropped your handbag. I dodged them as I continued to follow.
We finally arrived at your bedroom. The only light was a neon glow coming in the window. It was red. It gave the room an aura of passion. I remember that it seemed erotic, fitting.
Once were both in the room you untucked your shirt from the prison of your jeans. You fiddled with the buttons on the blouse. Your arousal and rushing were presenting more of a barrier than the garment maker intended and more than you were willing fumble with. In a carnal display of impatience you gave up on unbuttoning the shirt. Instead, you placed two finger from each hand into the gap between the buttons at your cleavage. With all of your might, you ripped apart your hands like Superman in a phonebooth. Your shirt ripped open. I can still recall the sound of the buttons bouncing and sliding on the tile in your bedroom. I stood there slack jawed at the bawdy scene in front of me, frozen for a moment. I snapped back to reality as your hands started to work on the belt and then button-fly of the jeans you were wearing. I suddenly became keenly aware that you were working towards being naked and I was fully dressed. I was fully shoes and a shirt behind you and about to have to add pants and underwear, too.
I reached over my shoulders and gathered the material of my polo in my hands. I pulled over and down. The shirt came off as I was kicking off my shoes. The shirt ended up on the floor next to the shoes. You had undone the belt, but were still working on the jeans. It wasn't going to be as easy to circumvent these buttons as is was on the shirt.
My belt was undone in and instant; the snap and zipper quickly followed. As soon as the waistband of my boxerbriefs was safely over the head of my erection, they both dropped to the floor and I stepped out of them. I was now standing there, naked, my erection fully engorged and as hard as it had ever been. I watched as you struggled to get your well-fitting jeans over your ass and down your thighs and calves. I smirked as you fought against the denim. You tried to kick them off, but all that did was turn them inside out. They were still stuck on your ankles. In a list ditch effort, you threw your naked ass onto the bed and kicked.
I watched as you struggled. The thought to help you never popped into my head. All of the blood had migrated from my brain. Instead, I just watched the denim remain in place, bunched at your ankles. I watched the pink lacy thong that I had peeped as you got out of the car dance between your thighs. I stared at them and watched as they disappeared and reappeared between your thighs. I imagined what the little triangle of pink lace was hiding. I fantasized about the taste, about what it would feel like to surrounded by the warmth of you.
My concentration was broken when you asked me to help. That drooling on your floor wasn't going to facilitate us being together.
I didn't respond. I just took two steps forward and grabbed the jeans by the belt loops and pulled. I felt why you were struggling. They were snug; the price you paid to look as good in them as you did. But not nearly as good as you looked with them on the floor next to your bed. And that is where they ended up.
Relieved that they were off, you put your feet on the rail surrounding your mattress and pushed up, throwing your body into the middle of the bed. Your heels pressed into the mattress as you raised your hips and slid that pink thong over your hips and down your legs. I was mesmerized by your nakedness and couldn't take my eyes off of you.
I studied all of your. Your areolas, puffy with excitement, little pimples of arousal showing how much you wanted me. You nipples, hard as pencil erasers and bigger yet. I had felt them through your shirt and created a picture in my mind. But that picture blushed in comparison to the real thing. Your flat stomach. Yoga had been transforming your body.
