I got him. Finally. Really got him. We'd danced around each other for months. Neither of us was a kid and we were a bit over-cautious, I suppose. I was 99% sure he liked me, and, well, he was that rare guy that makes you wet every time he's around. At least he did me. And I spent a lot of time wishing he would...do me. lol. Then I moved condos and, to my surprise and delight, he agreed to come for a drink and look it over.
But still...well, it was as much my 'fault' as his. Every time I decided to make THE move, I don't know, something cropped up and the moment passed. So we talked and sipped wine, and talked, and sipped wine, and an hour went past and I noticed him stealing a glance at his watch. And believe me when I say my heart sank. Which I guess showed somehow, and he was more attuned than most guys, because he explained there was an important game on with a team he supported. Actually, he asked first if I enjoyed the sport in question -- and since I don't mind the sport in question, and it was him asking, I switched on the TV and freshened his glass and mine. "It should be a rout," he said, "over by the half."
It wasn't. His team played badly and the game stayed tight. Ever noticed how much you can learn about a guy from watching him watch his favourite sport? Someone should teach us that, girls, when we're young. It would probably save us a great deal of pain. But that's a footnote, of course. The truth is, as the half neared an end, an idea came to me. Believe me when I say my mouth was dry, and my pussy anything but, when I switched off the TV. The silence was deafening, but I thought you've-done-it-now-girl in-for-a-penny and said, "You can buy more time if you like."
He gave me the quizzical little smile I always really really liked.
"Five minutes at a time." My mouth was ashes. So I sipped my wine. "But it'll cost you one thing you're wearing for each five minutes."
I almost came on the spot when he said, "'Wearing?' So my shoes don't count?"
It simply came out, on its own. "No, they don't. I find barefeet extremely erotic, don't you?" His eyes slid to my own barefeet, tucked up under me on the sofa -- and he chuckled, reaching down to slip off his socks. I tried for dignity as I slid off the sofa to retrieve the kitchen timer, but I had to have a quick check once I was in the kitchen to make sure I hadn't, well, I was wearing a light coloured skirt -- and I was THAT wet. Relieved to find it didn't actually show through, yet, I returned to the livingrrom. "That doesn't start til the game resumes, of course." "Of course," I replied, as I set it to 0 again. "And I can quit any time, of course." "Of course. At the end of a time segment, of course."
We were like a comfortable established couple, playing a game to spice things up. Except, of course, we were still on the brink, so to speak...and to say 'electric' would be an understatement. I actually jumped when the timer pinged. Using the remote to switch off the TV, with the game still tight, I was reasonably, well, no, I won't lie. My hands were shaking. It was now all about would-he-backout -- and if-he-didn't- Welch-would-it-be-his-shirt-or-his-pants. But it really was a close game and he apparently didn't want to miss a minute.
It was his pants. And I learned some more. Not least that the bulge in his shorts was very very very promising.
So now I was praying the game would stay tight enough and I was ecstatic when the opposition scored a try (did I mention the game was rugby?...all those guys with great butts in tight shorts!) to actually take the lead. He shot me a theatrically pained glance, and we kibbitzed playfully, but his eyes rarely left the screen -- and when the timer was running down, with his team threatening, and him not wanting to miss anything, he started to unbutton his shirt.
Sheer impulse. Just the thought 'why-not' and out came the words, "Oh-no, over confidence has a price. Shorts this time."
And he glanced over at me...and my heart froze, then thumped away like mad because he smiled and shrugged and stood up and slipped them off. He was too quick for my liking, but if the glimpse I'd caught was anything to go by, well, I was buzzing now in anticipation -- but his team scored then...and they scored again about 3 minutes later, so I was wondering if they were far enough in the lead when the timer pinged.
I needn't have worried. He was already unbuttoning his shirt!
Girls, he was gorgeous. Everything I'd dreamt of when I was using up the batteries over the past few months -- thick, and curved, and, well, we don't have to tell the lie about size not mattering when the tip reachs beyond his navel, do we! "So how does this work now?" he asked, still staring at the game.
I swallowed. "We go on, of course," I said, hopefully, and when he didn't react I added, "I'll just have to think up, uhm...?"
