It’s one of those classic hotel lounges, with a long wooden “L” shaped bar that fronts brightly lit rows of top shelf liquor. The dark, spacious room, with velvet couches and chairs surrounding candle lit marble table tops, seemed only bigger with the lack of people in the early afternoon.
There you were, sitting at the bar, just after the counter bends, facing out to everyone who walks in. Your smile was a mix of friendly, seductive and impudent as you slowly raised your cigarette to your lips. I couldn’t take my eyes off you, and you never took your eyes off me.
The black dress you wore was my first indication that tonight would not be like all the other times we spent together over the last twenty years. The plunging neckline that showed off your breasts, making it difficult for me to keep eye contact. A slit on the side exposed your stocking clad legs, which you crossed purposefully as I neared.
I sat down and leaned in for a kiss, a “French” kiss on each cheek. I could only hear the thumping of my heart pounding in my ears. But your laugh put me immediately at ease.
So here we are, finally finding our busy travel schedules landing us in the same city at the same time. Years of conversations, both on the phone and online, has built up a high degree of sexual tension. I am hoping that tonight the lust I have for you will at last begin to be quenched.
I order myself a scotch. You’re drinking beer. You caution me not to let you drink too much. But I know that your drinking is a sign. A sign you’ve made a decision to let yourself go and submit to our desires. Alcohol is but a timer on a fuse that will burn quickly.
Friends for so long, yet we find ourselves in forced small talk, not wanting to dive right in to the reason that we both picked this same hotel to stay during our business trips. I hear the words of our conversation, I can hear myself speak. But all I can think of is what your lips will taste like when I finally kiss them, what your skin will feel like when I finally touch it, how your breasts will feel like when I finally squeeze them.
I dared myself to make a move. I reach out and put my hand on your knee. You react by uncrossing your leg, causing my hand to slide up your dress a little and rest on your thigh. I lean forward to kiss you. At first, a quick peck on the lips. Then a longer kiss. Then an even longer kiss, with lips parting so our tongues can repeat this furtive play, first by lightly touching just the tips of our tongues together, then tongues diving into each other’s mouth.
An intoxicating mixture of smoke, beer and perfume fills my senses. It reminds me of days gone by. It elicits vivid fantasies, old and new. It makes me think of sex. It is a fingerprint of my desire for you.
I want to ask you to come upstairs to my room, but I’m worried I may be moving too fast. I don’t want you to say no; I will be crushed. So I lean back in my seat. But it’s definitely difficult for me to conceal my arousal from you. Hard, in fact. My hands want to explore your body. My fingers want to run through your hair. My lips crave your mouth. My tongue craves your skin. I wish we could be dancing, slow dancing, where I could get away with trying all these things without making you feel too uncomfortable. But there is no music, and no place to dance.
You sense we need a slight change in venue to kick this rendezvous up a notch, and you suggest we go sit at the couches near the corner. You get up and lead the way, and I walk behind you watching your hips sway beneath the fabric of your dress. You sit down on a couch, putting the bar behind you, and invite me to sit on the adjacent seat. We both seem more at ease. Your position makes you somehow invisible to everyone else but me. Knowing this encourages me all the more.
You pull out another long cigarette, and I remove a lighter from my pocket, spark it, and bring it to you. Your warm hands clasp each side of my hand and guide the flame to the tip of your cigarette. Holding my hand still, you draw in a breath, lean your head back and exhale a stream of smoke.
With your right hand you remove the lighter from fingers and place it on the coffee table. With your left hand, you guide my hand to your thigh, then further up your thigh, spreading your legs subtly wider allowing my hand to slide up until the tips of my fingers can just touch the fabric of your panties. Then your legs clasp shut, like a Venus flytrap catching its unwitting prey. You laugh, then take another drag.
My hand changes from resting on your thigh to gripping it more firmly. I pull myself closer to you to plant another kiss, and just as I get close enough, you turn your head to hit your cigarette again, and laugh. I am wondering now if I am misreading signals. I feel discouraged, maybe a little embarrassed. I loosen my hold on your stockinged thigh and begin to retreat it from beneath your dress, but you close your legs and hold me there. Now I know we’re playing a game. The rules are to turn each other on until we cannot wait one more second to ravage each other. I become instantly hard, and with a sly smirk beneath your sultry eyes, you seem to notice.
With my free hand, I reach for my own cigarette. “Mind if I have a light? My hands are otherwise occupied,” I say. As you light my cigarette our eyes remained locked. At your thigh my fingers ache to climb higher. To start stroking you lightly through your panties. I want to feel them, to see if they are as hot and as moist as I’m imagining.
Small talk becomes complicated as we our minds race to what may happen next. I put my cigarette down and again lean in for a kiss. Anticipating you might coyly turn your head away again, my lips land on the nape of your neck. I pull my hand away from your lap and bring it to the side of your head, pulling you closer to me. I kiss lightly from your heck to below your earlobe as my thumb gently strokes your throat. Your head tilts back and I can hear a sound escape your lips. If you weren’t looking up, you’d see how much you were thrilling me, how my hips were beginning to slowly gyrate uncontrollably, like an adolescent boy making out for the first time. The sound of my heartbeat returns to my ears.
My hand starts to move from the side of your neck until my index finger and thumb rest beneath your jaw. My palm slowly fell to your throat. To a passerby, it might seem like I’m choking you. You seemed to like it, and low and soft moans you’re making encourages me more.
Suddenly, your grab my hand from around your throat and pull it down and in one motion you have put it down the front of your dress until I was grabbing a warm fleshy breast. I can feel precum starting to ooze from the tip of my hard cock, as my fingers, like a guidance system, begin seeking out your nipple.
With my other hand I am running my fingers through the hair at the back of your head, stroking your scalp with my finger tips. Then I clench your hair in my hand, and force your head to turn to face me, and my mouth covers your mouth and our tongues race to play with each other.
I catch a glance at your legs and notice the have spread slightly apart. My hand leaves the top of your dress and plunges up between your legs, finally feeling your pussy through your panties, stroking you between your swollen, wet lips with my thumb. Our tongues are now wrestling each other, and we can ear each other moaning into one another’s mouth. I am able to maneuver my index finger underneath your panties, letting my knuckle come to rest just beneath your clit. You gasp, and push me back. It is at this point we both realize the evening crowd has started to gather in the lounge. No one seems to be watching us, but there are certainly people with a good vantage point as to what we have been doing. In this brief pause you take your hand and grab my hardon through my slacks, and say, “Don’t you think it’s time we go somewhere else?”