She was fully dressed in the time it took me to wrestle a red thong up my thighs. My knees weren't happy—they'd spent too much time being ground into the industrial carpet which, after a while, starts to feel like the scrubby side of a dish sponge against the skin. They're probably made of the same plastic, industrial carpet and dish sponges.
I don't usually wear thongs, but this one is special because she gave it to me. It's red. And black. It's red and black leopard print, to be exact, with red lace at the sides. It's an odd combination—floral lace and leopard print—but I don't love it for its looks.
I love it because it's part of a set, the rest of which doesn't belong to me. She bought herself the bra and the bikini panties. She's got more body to keep in place—that's how she sees it. So this "set," such as it is, consists of a 38D bra, XL bikini panties, and an extra-small thong. That's us.
Actually, there's one more element which, at this time of year, probably explains why I wore the thong to meet her: each piece in the set has at its centre a little red ribbon with a gold-toned ornament sewn in. It reminds me of something you'd see on a Christmas tree.
Have I told you how much my girlfriend loves Christmas? I can't even deal with her house in December. It's like a jungle of Christmas stuff. It makes me claustrophobic. You're constantly stepping over trees and figurines and nativities and angels. Lord Almighty, the cherub-cheeked life-sized children! Try fucking your girlfriend with a caroller doll watching.
It's too much.
Which is why I keep showing up at her place of employment, pretending I'm only there to help with whichever unpaid project she's taken on this week. It's always something. She's oddly generous with her time, for someone who has so little to give.
And I weasel my way in by lending a hand... lending two hands... and a mouth...
Case in point: yesterday, the day of the leopard print underwear. We'd probably had six orgasms between us by the time I struggled back into my thong. Everyone else had gone home. Still, it's risky to fuck at work. Anybody could walk in at any moment. I tell myself I'm not excited by such things, but if that were the case I'd probably just beg her to come home with me, or follow her back to the Christmas Village she calls a house.
Risk ups the ante. It's not that I want to get caught, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't either, but that possibility doesn't exist in any other space we access... aside from outdoors. She entertains fantasies of sex in the wilderness, but it reminds me too much of fucking my Grade Twelve English teacher in the car. Been there, done that.
Back to this thong. Back to this red and black leopard print thong with the red lace sides and the red ribbon with the little gold ornament hanging down from it. That's all I had on when she pulled me into her lap.
"Do you want more?" she asked, which surprised me since we'd had MORE twice already.
