I missed you today. Yesterday, too.
I usually see you sometime during the day. You are there, in the ops room, behind the almost soundproof glass, either when I arrive, sometime while I'm there or before I leave.
Yesterday I missed you because I went out the back door and you were on the swing shift. I checked the log and found out you were in. That's good - I was afraid you might have left without me ever getting a chance to say much more than "Hello," or "Which machine has a connection to this printer?"
Your smile lights up my whole day. We've barely met, exchanged "Hi, how are you"s and smiles and waves. I'd like to take you to lunch.
"But you're married," you point out.
"I said lunch," I return with a smile. "Just lunch."
"Why?"
"I'd like to get a chance to talk to you, maybe know you a little better." Now it gets awkward. I've never been much good at talking with women, especially not beautiful ones. You are, at least to me. Your face is pretty, your smile bright and alive. Your hair is ebony and curly, not too long. It frames your face well. Your body excites me - all the right curves in excellent proportion, nothing too big or too small. "Somehow the waves, smiles and inconsequential patter aren't enough."
"But you're married," you observe again.
"If that bothers you for just lunch,... " I trail off.
"I don't know, maybe," you admit, thoughtfully. You pinch your lower lip lightly.
"My treat - that way you can blame it all on me."
"Dutch, if we go at all. That way I owe you nothing."
"Tell me when and where," I smile, trying not to grin and fall over. "You know where I am."
You came to my office once, that day when nothing seemed connected quite right and we were almost the only two people in the building. That day you had on sweats. I forced myself not to stare - was that the right thing to do? You dress so well. Even the sweats had a charm and elegance on you.
We settle on a restaurant and go one day. The food is nice, but I can't eat. I've been eating too much lately anyway, and the pleasure of your company is too exciting for me to care about eating. We talk about all kinds of things, including your being single and living alone, and my opposite life. You wonder what drives me to ask you out, what do I want from you? Company. A friend. An alternative to eleven years of a failed marriage that just won't die. But that's another story, not for this audience.
There's something there. Of course one can never tell, but I see something in your eyes when you look at me. I start to watch more closely. Nope, it's not there for the other guys you see that I can see. Dinner would not work, so we go to lunch again. This time we sit on the same side of the table, and you let me buy.
"I'll just blame whatever happens on you," you joke. Suits me.
The Saturday before New Year's I'm working again. I arrive about an hour after you did. I had to call you to let me in since I don't have unlimited access to the place - not yet. You come to the door and let me in. You're in sweats again.
"Hi!" you say. Is that genuine warmth, perhaps even affection I hear in your voice? "Good to see someone here besides me!"
"I need the hours," I reply. You nod. You understand. We've discussed that, too. We get to the ops room door. You pause before going in. I wait. So far, you're the only one I've seen in the office.
"How about lunch today?" you ask me. I feel mushy inside.
"Can't, sorry," I demurr. "I have to get home right after work."
"What time are you leaving?"
I tell you. You point out that you get off an hour before that. I want to make hay on the double entendre, but would that put you off? I decide not to.
"Stop by before you leave," I invite you.
"OK."
Sure enough, right around three-oh-five you appear in my door.
"That was quick," I note.
"I don't live too far from here," you begin, suddenly shy, hesitant. "I could make you something?"
"Sounds tempting." Now it's my turn to hesitate. What if she calls me here while I'm out? I decide. I'll handle it. "Your car or mine?"
"Follow me - that way we're not bound to a round trip," you say.
I gather my things as you describe your car. I parked next to it. You're still in the doorway when I try to pass through. I look at you, puzzled. You reach out and touch my shoulder. That's enough for me, well, that and the look in your eyes. Our lips meet. Briefly, but oh so sweet! We go out to the parking structure together. My head is spinning.
I manage to follow you to your place without losing my mind. You let us in. Your place is a reflection of you. Quiet, tasteful, neat. How I have dreamed of a place like this, especially over the last seven messy years.
"What would you like?" you ask, your voice lower than usual. You look so cute, so sexy like that.
"You," I say and draw you in.
This time the kiss is fiery, passionate. Our tongues meet, introduce themselves, then begin to tangle together. I can remember the last time I had a kiss like that - eleven years ago, in Santa Rosa. My wife doesn't kiss like this. I revel in it.
My hands are all over your back. We press close, then apart. I haven't been this hard in years, and you felt it against your belly when we crushed together. I run my hands down your back and over the swell of your cheeks to cup them, pull your groin closer to mine. We finally break the kiss, gasping for breath. You pull back and start to unbutton my shirt. I raise my hands and run them up your sides. I catch the hem of your sweatshirt and raise it. You lift your arms and it's off. Then I'm caught - what do I do with it?
You sense the predicament and take the garment from me. It falls to the floor as you reach my belt and start to tug on my shirt. I study your upper body. The bra was made for you. It hugs your breasts with just the right tension between support and restraint. Your nipples poke out, good news for me. i realize how hard my own are as you pull my shirt free and slide it down.
"I don't want to make love," you say, then pull me close for another kiss.
Our bodies meet. An electric shock thrills all over me as my skin touches yours. You are smooth as silk. I wrap my arms around you as we explore each other's mouths again. You taste good, too. I wonder if I do.
"Mmm, you taste good," you say a moment later.
"Mind reader," I kid you. "You too."
I reach for the clasp of your bra, but you stiffen and shake your head.
"Not yet... "
So I pull you close and cup your ass again. I'm a leg and ass man - have been for as long as I can remember. From what I've seen so far, and felt in the last few minutes, yours are perfect for me. You gasp lightly as I squeeze and caress. Your hands trace around my waist to my belt buckle. You open it, then unbutton and unzip me. Your hands dive inside. Your eyes open wide.
I don't wear underwear. On special occasions, like when I really need support, I will. Since I was sixteen, when I sat in on a discussion between two other guys about the merits and disadvantages of the garments, I decided then to eschew them.
"You're leaking," you say.
"You inspire me," I whisper as I hook your waistband and begin to pull down. To my surprise and delight, you let me drop the sweat pants to your ankles, then step out of them with my help. My face is so close to your mound I can smell the aroma of your sex wafting out. I'm dizzy again.
"Stand up," you command. I pause. My hands slide back up your legs to your hips. You shiver. "Not yet... "
You take my hands and pull. I rise, my jeans falling part way as I do. You kneel before me, tugging them the rest of the way down. We removed our shoes at the door, I my socks as well. Your eyes seem fixed on my raging erection as I step out of the jeans you hold. They join the rest of our clothes on the floor. Your hands slide back up my legs. I shiver from the delightful sensations this gives me.
"You're dripping," you notice.
Then you wrap one hand around my shaft while the other catches the pearl of lubricant that seeps down from the crown of my glans. You look up at me as you raise it to your lips. I almost come right there as I watch you lick the drop from your finger. Your other hand starts to rub my shaft. My head feels like it's about to explode.
"I won't last long like this," I warn, my voice thick.
"Then I'd better take care of this before you mess up my place," you say.
With that, your warm, liquid lips descend on me. Sparks fly through my brain as you work me over with your mouth and tongue and hands. I can't breathe. I think I last about ten seconds before you take the biggest orgasm of my life from my body into yours. I have to grasp your head for something steady to hold. I would fall but for that. My legs are like rubber as you pull three, four, five strong pulses out of me into your hungry mouth. You drain me dry without letting up. Then I slip out as my knees buckle to the floor. You straighten up and seal your mouth on mine.
That's two new experiences for me, no three. A mind-wrenching blow-job (what a term for such an exquisite sensation), I come in your mouth, and now I share the taste of that with you. Suddenly I'm ravenous. We split the taste, swallowing and exploring for more. I've never thought much of my own taste before from what little experimentation I've done. With you, I could do this all day.
You don't stop me as I unhook your bra now. On our knees together like this, it's easy to remove. Then I feel the spark as your nipples touch my skin in our next embrace. I feel faint, but your kiss revives me once again. After a few more minutes of sharing mouths, we finally break for breath and some words.
"Are you all right?" you ask.
"Words fail me," I say. "That was - holy!"
You smile.
"Now, what would you like for lunch?"
"This is going to sound silly," I start.
"What?"
"I'd like to give you a bath," I say as I look straight into your eyes. "Then I want to rub your favorite skin lotion into your entire body."
"I don't want to make love," you say again.
"I won't push," I agree. "But you have to let me give you something for what you just did."
You think it over, then nod. We struggle to our feet, and you take my hand. As you lead me to your bathroom, I watch the motion of your hips and buttocks under your panties. How incongruous - I'm naked and you're not quite. I'm getting hard again.
You lean over to turn on the taps. I move in behind you. I slide my shaft between your legs, just under your panties as my hands reach around to cup and caress your pert breasts. You sigh. Your hand comes down your front to cup the end of my penis. I gasp and nuzzle your neck. You sigh and fondle me back. As you lean down to turn off the taps, I slip down your back and hug your legs and ass close. You turn before I can stop you.
"Wait!" I say.
You look puzzled.
I reach up and cup your mound again. You inhale sharply. I pull the waistband of your panties out and look down inside at the black curly hairs.
"You're peeking!" you giggle.
I nod, then pull the waistband out of the way so I can kiss you there. You shudder as I do. Then I lay it back in place.
"Turn around," I whisper. You do. I slide my hands up your legs again and touch the wet material in between. "You're already wet. Perhaps you don't need a bath?"
"I'll leave that up to you," you murmur.
I gaze at the beauty of your behind as I pull your panties down now. I have to kiss it. You snicker.
"Get in," I direct you.
I have wanted to do this for a long time. Ever since I started bathing my children (a necessity of parenthood that I'd just as soon forego) I've wanted to pamper a woman that way, but, of course, with the addition of the erotic passion I'd want to lavish on her as well. You respond exactly as I wish as I soap your chest, taking the time to lather your breasts gently, lovingly. Then your abdomen. You shiver and shake as I wash the flower of your sex between your long, smooth legs. I go back and wash your arms, then your legs, your feet and toes. You sit forward and I wash you back, all the way down. You jump as I slip my fingers into your gluteal cleft and slide them over your anus. We open the drain, then stand to rinse you under the shower spray. I take my time rinsing your crotch - you seem to like that a lot.
"Where are your towels?" You tell me, so I get the biggest one I can find for you.
In your bedroom I dry you off, taking special care with your hair and pubic area. We take care of locating the body oil you want. I hesitate.
"Will this taste bad?"
"Smell it," you say with a smirk. It smells of strawberries.
"As long as it doesn't taste like Oil of Olay," I say. You giggle.
"How do we do this?" you ask.
"Lie down on your back," I instruct you. You frown, questioning, but you comply.
I draw some lotion and warm it between my hands. Then I start with your abdomen. You jump at first, your skin and muscles both. Then you relax into it, luxuriating in the feel of my hands on you.
"Why there?" you wonder.
"It is the seat of all tension in the body," I explain as I work the fruity scent into your skin and gently warm and knead your nearly flat belly. I like the gentle swell just below your navel, above your perfumed treasure. I have to kiss your navel. You giggle again.
I did this once before, in college. The girl there was one of the great loves of my life, and she let me seduce her with the first full body massage I ever administered. Now you relax as I move up and rub the sweet lotion into your ribs, then ever so gently, your breasts. I suckle your nipples as I do them, too. You seem to be quite restless as I do that. Noisy, too.
"Shh!"
I move up to your collar, then down one arm at a time. When I finish your second hand's fingertips I whisper, "Turn over."
"What about my legs?"
"Not yet... " A lazy, relaxed smile creeps across your lips and cheeks.
As I straddle your legs, my rigid shaft presses in your cleft again. I try to ignore this as I rub the strawberry into your back. I note some excess tension in your lower back and work it out. Then come your cheeks. I take my time here - your ass is one like my ideal woman's - firm and soft, rounded but not too big, heart-shaped. Then I work the oil into your cleft. You seemed sleepy, but that wakes you up. You stiffen when I pull your cheeks wide and plant a kiss on your anus.
"No, don't," you protest weakly. Then you shake and I smell your nectar as you come from my licks and probes.
"Sorry," I say as I begin to work on your legs.
"'sokay!" you manage to gasp.
When I reach your feet I have you turn over again. Then I go to work. First, your feet get a good workover. I like this because it makes me feel good to have that done to me, and because I can move your legs apart. Now I can get a good look at that luscious pussy awaiting me at the tops of your thighs. You look down at me as I'm doing this. Your face is radiant.
I work my way up each leg a little bit at a time. By the time I reach your knees, you have them spread for me. I start to kiss behind the oil as I apply it, little by little up your thighs. Your breathing is so deep and throaty by the time my hands dance around the tendons at your pubic bone that I know I can have you if I want to. That hungry look in your eyes tells me the same. but I will not betray your trust. Not today.
With my hands and lips and tongue, I work the oil into your outer lips, then lick it off. You raise your legs as I work in to the center of your flower. It is already soaked with your nectar, so I leave the oil behind and taste your sweet cunt. Oh, God, how I've missed this!
I find your clitoris and suckle that. You scream, buck and thrash and flood me with your second orgasm. I won't let you go at that, though. As you come down I tease your vagina with my tongue and fingers. You start to rise up another wave, so I move up and attack your clit again. I am again rewarded with a drink from your pleasure well. You taste so good I have to do this again and again. I vary it each time, a little bit. Once I lick down to your brown rosebud and probe you again there - another quake rules your beautiful body at that. I use two, then three fingers in your cunt as I lick your clit to another orgasm. Then I add my thumb in your anus and you climax again.
Finally I have to stop. Time crawls on, and my neck is getting a bit sore. I let you down slow, licking you clean with gentle slides and sucks.
"Why didn't you fuck me?" you ask.
"You said you didn't want to," I reply. "Let's save that for next time."
"Next time?" you smile. "Planning ahead?"
"No, my sweet Sarah." There, I said your name. "I leave that up to you."
"You're sweet," you reply. You look down at my rampant penis. "Let me fix that - you're dripping again."
"Sorry."
We laugh. Then you make good your offer. My mind shatters once again from the delight you visit upon me.
At last it's time to go. I hate to leave, but staying would be difficult. I'm late as it is, although not too much. At the door we kiss a long good-bye, for now. My last glimpse of you in your bathrobe is so enticing I almost change my mind and ask to stay. No, better to let you think it over. In a way, we haven't crossed that final line yet. We can still convince ourselves we've done nothing wrong. Maybe.