I was driving along the road, not precisely in a hurry but eager to get home. I was about to execute a left hand turn when she stepped into the intersection. Quickly braking, it registered on me what a beautiful woman she was. And how familiar she looked. Although covered by sunglasses, unmistakably our eyes met. She passed and I continued. I thought about her the whole way home trying to place her face. I kept seeing her short dark hair and long, long legs under her camel coloured skirt. Her stride, her swing…confident and beautiful.
I dreamed of her that night. She was naked and all my senses were filled with her. I could taste her skin, my limbic system was bouncing with the scent of her hair. The sound of her voice vibrated beneath my collarbones. She writhed sinuous shivers of succulent desire. I woke just as my body tensed in orgasm. Barely awake I instinctually finished myself off before the day intruded. I ached to return to the dream but the day beckoned.
I made it my ritual to pass the same corner at roughly the same time every day, especially Tuesdays, the day I had first seen her. Weeks and then months passed and I never saw her there again. My life continued, varying only slightly. Then my friend Letitia called, begging me to go out with her Saturday night: a new band, hotties, dancing, please? Very little coercion was required. We made our plan and I hung up.
Saturday. Galleries and bookstores. A subconscious clothing selection for dancing, something cool and fluid – and sexy, naturally. Planning the perfect outfit is something of a ritual for women, we can’t leave until the whole woman is satisfied. And what pleased this woman was a short pleated skirt, and a black silk shell, worn with black wedgies and barely there undies. I’m a less-is-more kind of woman, so I let my hair be itself: a curly, unruly disarray. Minimal makeup, silver bangles and earrings, a small purse for the essentials and out the door.
Letitia was already at the bar, surrounded by the usual cadre of leering, hopeful men. No wonder, my friend is so gorgeous: red hair, sprinkles of freckles and a tiny red dress poured over her perfect, tiny body. The men parted like the red sea and we embraced, looking fabulous times two. We drank a few cocktails at the bar and I was scanning the crowd as usual when I saw HER, just two steps away. My knees went watery. I stared, probably with my mouth open. She was as stunning as I remembered and she was wearing my favorite shade of blue. I could have been happy just watching her but she noticed me (gaping, I have no doubt). She smiled and gave me a little nod, motioning toward the dancefloor. I took a large gulp of my cocktail and followed her. We were dancing close, not lovers close, but close enough for me to smell her perfume. Our eyes were locked together and we were in a private bubble, occupancy two.
We danced, she for me and me for her. Our hips swayed synchronously, our arms beckoned teasingly, we performed for each other. My mind, the part that was not dancing, was racing, supplying scene after scene of erotic possibility. My nipples hardened and I could feel moisture that was probably not sweat collecting between my thighs. I touched her waist and surrendered fully to the pounding sensation of the bass line and my blood. We might have been alone because I have no recollection of anyone but us. The blue fabric of her dress clung to her breasts and I could see her nipples were as stiff as my own. Could this really be happening? A shine covered her exposed skin. I wanted to lick away the moisture on her neck and between her breasts. I wanted to feel the silk of her movements against my hot skin.
People passed between us and in a blink she was gone. Gone? I looked around, scanning the darkness of the room for a glimpse of her. Nothing. Just as if she never was, a figment. Slowly I became aware of the men around me, the ones not engaged, eyeing me like I was the featured dish at the beggars banquet. I caught Letitia’s eye and motioned towards the ladies room…time out. Why are the restrooms in these places so blindingly lit? Do the owners really think that women want to see what heat, sweat and booze have done to them? Squinting, dodging exiting women I was grateful the walls shielded me from the bass beat. I made my way to the sinks for a dash of cool water, and there she was, just stepping out of the handicapped stall. “Oh good,” she said to me, “you made it”.
Bewildered, elated, “Made it?”
“Come here,” and she pulled me into the extra large stall with her, locking the door behind me. Her mouth, sweet and cool was on mine. She tasted so good. My mouth was hungry for more and my mind for once, unquestioning. We kissed and kissed, meeting and exploring for an ecstatic eternity. I could feel my womanpart pulsing and dared not hope for more. I savoured the pliability of her bottom lip, duelled tongue to tongue, nibbling at all I could reach of this new territory opening before me. I moaned and she broke away, placing her finger against my lips. Her head bent to my breast and I felt her teeth against my silk-clad nipple. A sigh slipped from my lips and my hands stroked her hair. I revelled in the sensations and in the moment. Then, her hot mouth was at my pelvis, her breath fire against the flimsy silk walls, weakening and energizing me. Her hands lightly caressed my damp silk prison, slowly insinuating themselves into my inner wet. Her tongue lapped at the silk of my panties sending deep craving waves all through me. And then a merging of hot and cold, tongue and clit, as she tasted and explored me right there in the blindingly-lit Ladies’ room.
I was beyond the moon, up in the stars, why would I care about the women entering and leaving the bathroom when all I cared about was this woman, entering me? Did I care that my moans echoed off the tiles? Were the other women outraged? Amused? Envious? I did not care then, as my orgasm built. I could hear her moans and looked down at her, her other hand was between her own legs moving quicker and quicker…and suddenly I was there, that safe, warm, sexy, explosively erotic place where orgasms are born. A moment of excruciating pleasure. Her pleasure met mine as her cries mingled and vibrated with mine, bouncing off the walls of the bathroom. My legs wobbled and I slid down the wall of the stall to join her on the floor. I put her left hand, the one that was between her legs, to my mouth and slowly licked off all of her honey from her fingers. Then I kissed her again, savoring the taste of me on her mouth. My hand went to the hot spot between her legs and slipped first one, then two, then three of my fingers inside her. I explored her and let my thumb dance over her hard little clit. I wanted to taste her, give her pleasure, indulge in the ambrosia of this true life fantasy…but not here. “C’mon, let’s get out of here…” She nodded and we helped each other up, straightening and smoothing and dusting each other off, not hurrying, but with expectation and excitement.
We stopped at the bar and I ordered us a couple of shooters, Orgasms, of course. I told Letitia I was going outside for some air, while my lover and I stood close, almost as close as Siamese twins. Twins? No. Pussy cats, yes. We slammed our shooters, I paid the bartender and we went to the parking lot. We climbed into the backseat of my car and resumed kissing. I was topless and her dress was crumpled at her waist. Her breasts were out and perfect and the windows were getting steamed up. Under the arc lights of the parking lot behind the bar, I tasted my first woman.
My tongue lapped the length of her, ass to clit and back again. Gently I separated her labia with my fingers and ever so slowly licked and nibbled and sucked her into a writhing, bucking frenzy. My face was covered in her juices, my breasts were pointy and sensitive and my heart was beating louder than the music inside. Reckless, I rejoiced when she gripped my head and her thighs quivered like she’d just run a marathon. I could tell how close to orgasm she was when her inner muscles clenched my fingers. It took only a shivery movement of my tongue to push her over the edge to climax city. Even after her peak I kept licking and kissing her. I wanted the moment to last, peached and fragrance and warm lazy sun.
At last she spoke, “I’m Kelly.”
“Well Alannah, I must say I don’t think I’ve ever had this much pleasure from a night out before.”
Still trembling from her orgasm she reached for me again, sliding her fingers into my wet hole. Smiling into each other’s eyes, we played together until we’d both had the pleasure of another orgasm. Subsiding, we became aware of knocking, and I heard Letitia’s voice calling me. Bless her, she was only mildly shocked to see the two of us so dishevelled, “Taking a cab home, you okay, Al?”
“Yeah, good idea, I’m fine, talk to you tomorrow,” I replied. She grinned, waved and was off.
Kelly looked at me with her big grey eyes and asked if I would take her home, to my place. It wasn’t until the next day that I found out she was married. But that’s okay. My husband doesn’t mind my nights out with the girls, as long as I bring one home for him once in a while.
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