He saw her online ad, and the hot pictures, and immediately responded. They emailed back and forth a few times, and then he asked if she would go to an office party with him -- that way they could meet in public and she could feel comfortable.
She agreed, and met him there. It was crowded at first, and they had little time to talk without interruptions from his co-workers. She had gotten a little bored, and just moved to the sofa by herself while he was engaged in a long discussion.
Suddenly, the partygoers from the office had moved outside leaving just him and her in the living room of his house.
They were almost a generation apart. He was 52 and she 35. He flopped down in an overstuffed chair sipping Jameson's Irish whiskey. She laid across from him on the sofa sipping a glass of wine.
She took a sip and dribbled a little down her chin, and giggled as she wiped her chin with her delicate fingers. "So, Here we are. You're being very quiet. What are you thinking about over there?"
He took a sip of his drink, and smiled. "You. Me. Things."
She laughed; tossed a pillow from the sofa at him. "You know, you sound so full of shit!"
"Well, granted. But this this not one of those times. All night, I've been watching you moving among the guests, flirting and charming, and I'm thinking how beautiful you are. And that I've never told you. I'm thinking that if I could just touch the soft skin between your breasts," he took another sip, "and bury my nose in your hair...I think that the weight of the world would lift from me for a moment in time."
She rolled her eyes, "Oh, yeah; right. You are so full of it." But she looked back at him and he started to talk again. He talked quietly, in an odd mood.
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was her desires stirring, because no one had talked to her like this. Whatever the case, his mood was contagious.
"To touch my lips to the back of your neck; to slowly breathe those words into your into your ear.
"To hold your chin in the palm of my hand, my thumb caressing your lips. You'd look at me but you'd say nothing. You'd slowly part your lips and slowly and gently lower them and surround my thumb with them and gently suck it into your mouth that feels as hot as a thousand suns....I'd close my eyes and hold my breath from the ecstasy."
His voice fell silent. He looked out the front window; took another sip of his drink.
She sat transfixed. She didn't laugh. Her breathing increased ever so slightly and started to shallow out.
He looked down at the floor and continued:
"To caress your throat, your collar bones, that soft delicate place where they meet. To take your breast gently in my hand and feel its firm softness and its weight, gently grazing your nipple with the lightest touch, and softly rolling it between my thumb and forefinger. To hear your breath coming in soft little gasps at the touch.
"To watch you as you close your eyes. Maybe feel you shift your weight, moving your hips forward, your thighs parting slightly as they press against my thighs, searching for something to press your pussy against."
He fell silent again. He took another sip, never looking at her, but at the floor. Maybe he was beginning to feel self-conscious. He was older. He was an average looking man, as several female friends told him, politely - he was "unconventionally handsome." He started taking Viagra on his 50th birthday.
After a long moment, and to her surprise, she found herself speaking.
"Ummm, so, what else? You know, what else were you thinking...about us - uh, I mean about me?" She felt awkward. None of her male friends had talked to her like this before.
He smiled, slowly looking up toward the ceiling and closing his eyes. "The softness and slickness and wetness between your legs; the scent of your sex. What it would be like to press my face into you."
"To taste you, smell you, run my fingers between the slick folds. Feel you move against me."
