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“There’s a much nicer ambience at my place,” is the sentence that begins the second part of our first amazing evening together. We’ve been sitting at the bar for over three hours, and the place has been getting more and more crowded, but thankfully never to the point where we can’t hear ourselves speak. We didn’t really expect to be here this long-when I suggested we meet for a drink or two at about seven at a quiet tavern near your office, who would have thought it would turn into a spontaneously agreed-upon dinner at a Japanese restaurant around the corner, followed by a half mile walk for overpriced but dead-on apple martinis at stop number three, a dimly lit hipster dive with a reddish glow in the air and Tom Waits tunes meandering from the speakers overhead. It’s almost eleven-thirty now, and what was supposed to be a modest Friday night date before you headed home to rise early for a trip tomorrow has become something much more. And when you suggest walking back to your apartment, I suddenly feel very sure I’ll be rushing to jump on the very last Metro of the night in the wee hours.
Of course, you can never predict instant physical attraction, and from our cautious initial flirtations after our first drink sprung something much more tangible. I had almost no choice in the matter, obviously, since you looked so stunning when you appeared, dressed in a tight black skirt and a white sweater which is all neckline. The scrunchie tying up your hair adds a wholesome, first-day-of-college feeling to your look which is belied by your amazingly sexy body. The first time you really laughed tonight, you leaned over a bit to touch my arm, and I responded in kind, and from that point on we seemed to get closer and closer to each other at the first bar, culminating in a little soft hand-holding after dessert. We held hands on the walk to this trendy place and our knees have been in constant contact with each other ever since as we talked about our jobs, our families, the state of the modern comic book, and whatever happened to the whole Atkins thing. So very nice.
“What do they charge for martinis at your place?” I ask you, smiling, looking down at your fingers enclosed in mine on the bar.
“Very little,” you say. “But bigger tips are expected.”
We leave the bar and walk out into the perfect summer night, Friday party-goers passing us left and right, breathlessly in search of what we’ve already found, which is the ideal companion to usher in the late hours. It’s only three blocks to your apartment, and we laugh and hold hands tightly, your footsteps right beside mine. The smell of your perfume has a much greater effect on me than the few drinks I had tonight. I can’t wait to kiss you, and wonder where exactly it will happen.
Standing behind you as you produce your keys to open your door, I lean over to smell your hair without you noticing. I look at the nape of your neck longingly, knowing that it’s going to be getting some very intimate attention before too long. The anticipation is priceless. Knowing that the night began with us knowing so little about each other, and then, in seemingly the blink of an eye, knowing that the night will end with my lips on yours….who needs more reason to be alive.
Your living room is dark and you choose to keep it that way, turning the light on only in the kitchen to let its illumination flow towards us, but fall well short. You kick off your heels right away and I leave my shoes behind as you take my hand and lead me over to the sofa.
“Sit down,” you tell me. “Want anything? Glass of wine?”
“No, I’m perfect,” I tell you, and sit on the cozy sofa, turning my body toward you in expectation. You sit down beside me close enough so that I know we’re not here to make idle conversation. All our talk, great as it was, was for being out in public and unable to do what we truly wanted after only a couple of hours: kiss. You smile as I lift your right hand in my left and I place my lips tenderly to it.
“Such a gentleman,” you say softly. “Want some music?”
“Absolutely,” I say, and you bend over to the nearby knickknack table to lift a remote control, making sure to leave your hand at my disposal. You press Play and the quiet strains of Nina Simone float into the air. You set the remote control down again and lean right back into place on the sofa, your body turned entirely toward me. You bring your legs up and fold them before you, leaning your head in your free hand. I kiss the other one again and set it down gently on your lap, keeping one finger curled around one of yours.
“Well, I’m glad you like me,” you say. “I almost had my doubts there for a little while.”
“Really?” I say, turning your hand over to expose the palm, which I begin to stroke with infinite lightness using just my index finger. “What gave you doubts? Was it the way I’ve been gazing into your eyes all night? And moving closer and closer?”
“I was going by another criteria,” you say, looking down at your palm as it’s treated to a tiny, affectionate massage. canlı bahis “I know you liked my personality, but there are other aspects of me I was expecting you to respond to.”
“Mmmm, other aspects, yes,” I reply. “I noticed everything a man can notice, believe me.”
“Did you now?” you inquire sweetly, and place a finger beneath my chin the way you did back at the bar when we broached, ever so briefly, the subject of sex and what men love about it so much. “You know, I’ve been watching your eyes and never once did you frisk me with them. That’s pretty commendable.”
“Not once,” I confirm. “I know I must have set some sort of record. I have the endurance of Shackleton.”
“Of course, being an absolutely flawless gentleman can make a girl feel unwanted,” you say, moving your finger seductively below my chin, tickling it.
“If it makes you feel any better,” I tell you honestly, “when you went to make that phone call during dessert, I helped myself to some secret sights.”
“Good, good,” you say. “I thought about turning around after a few steps to see if I could catch you.”
“I expected that,” I tell you, “and I was on guard against you being so sly.”
You lower your hand and rest it on my arm. “What I was really expecting was some subtle glances at the place most men tend to get lost in. In fact, I wore this sweater just to make sure it happened.” You laugh.
“And I haven’t fallen into your trap, not once,” I say proudly. On the CD, one song ends and another begins. The music seems so soft in the background, it could almost be playing only inside our heads.
“You’ve lasted so very long,” you tell me, interrupting my massage of your palm to fully hold my hand, “that I wouldn’t be at all put off if you broke down and took a nice long look right now.”
“Ahhhh,” I whisper, moving my face a little closer to yours in the semi-darkness, “I’m not collapsing that easily.”
“No?” you sulk pleasantly, responding to my movement by bringing yourself toward me.
“I’m waiting for a chance at a more private view,” I say, and then our lips have pressed together for the first time. I bring my hand up to touch your neck as we connect, and this is no tentative peck; we come together and stay together for quite some time. I’m amazed at the softness of your lips, intoxicated by their warmth. I’ve wanted to be this close to you all night and now it feels just as it should. You let out almost inaudible sounds of comfort when we shift our lips to accommodate the other’s movements. I find myself doing the same thing. You slowly raise your arms to place them on my chest, curling your fingers into my shirt and bringing me even closer to you. We break our kiss for just one moment to get our breath and look into each other’s desirous eyes. Then we come together even more intently, and I slide forward on the couch a few inches to get as close to you as possible, wrapping my arms around you. Strands of your hair tickle my forehead and you feel my tongue slip onto yours. They entwine and play for a moment. Then I pull back and place several small, earnest kisses on your mouth, each one more delicate than the last, making you smile at their silly storybook tenderness, before I bring my hands up to your face and kiss you far more passionately. You respond with a yearning sound and sift your fingers through my hair. I love the feeling that your lipstick will leave tiny traces of you on my mouth, love the way you brush the hair away from my eyes as our lips get wetter and wetter. You lift your right leg slightly to rest your knee on mine, cozying up for a nice long spell of making out.
“Mmmmmmmmmm,” you purr when we pause to luxuriate for a bit in the sensations of our bodies cuddling, our faces so very close. Even in the gloom, you can see the details of my hazel eyes as they gaze into yours. “It didn’t take us very long to get comfortable, did it?” you ask rhetorically.
“Not long, no,” I answer. “Let’s get even more comfortable. I have nowhere to be.”
We kiss again, and sink ever so slowly into the cushions on the sofa. I drown in the scent of your perfume and your skin. I control our kisses for a few moments, my hands touching your face, guiding it gently as my lips journey over yours, turning it when I want to kiss your cheek and then lower my attention to your neck, which I brush serenely with my mouth before resting a firm, resolute kiss there as my hand draws a loving path from your neck to your ear. Then you’ve leaned into me and kissed my chin before pulling my head forward to assert yourself, smothering my lips with yours, nibbling on my bottom lip hungrily, pushing your tongue into mine. We let them dance with each other for a time, and intensify our embrace.
It goes on. At one point, I lay your head back against the back of the sofa, where you let it rest as I move my lips downward, kissing every part of your neck, sometimes with the most tentative touches, sometimes with a firmness that lets you know you’ve truly become mine. I rest my lips upon bahis siteleri your skin as you close your eyes and I move them slowly from left to right across your neck, letting a little moisture create a gliding sensation on you, and I end my path with a modest flick of the tongue on your earlobe. I pinch it almost unnoticeably between my teeth for a second and you giggle in a most womanly way. You next feel my lips press on the upper part of your chest, just inches above the slope of your cleavage, and it causes you to arch your back. I place the tip of my tongue a couple of inches lower, leaving a trace of moisture there for you to feel. Then your lips are covered by mine again, your head pressed back with the insistence of this next kiss. I stroke your hair and inhale you. I hear you whisper my name and when our faces are as close as they can be, your eyes open and we become utterly lost in the sight of each other’s heavy expressions of want.
Without a word we lie down on the sofa beside each other. You rest your right leg on my side as we make out, sliding it up and down, rubbing me blissfully. Our arms remain wrapped around each other. Our kisses become softer and sweeter for a few minutes, romantic ones, kisses for a gazebo in the park. But then I see something a little different in your eyes, a fresh desire equaled by mine, and you roll on top me, your breasts pressing maddeningly against my chest. You begin to kiss me and somehow tease me at the same time, drowning me with long, wet, minute-long kisses that lull me into a wondrous lethargy in which I am completely under your control, the movement of your head dictating mine completely, only to release me at a point of ultimate comfort to shift your weight with awesome friction and start all over again. Sometimes when you lift your head from mine, my eyes remain closed and my mouth involuntarily moves toward yours. You won’t give me what I want so easily, playing a little game where you start to make our lips connect but then pull back until I’ve rested my head again to await whatever you do next. Your hands sift through my hair as you lay a kiss on me that is so brazen in its wetness that I make a sound of surprise. Your tongue probes my mouth and sinks in deep, causing mine to lick and swirl with yours almost in self-defense. Your face moves and bobs above mine with increasing rapidity, pressing down with open lust, your mouth opening wider, smearing your lips across mine, and I lean up to run both my hands through your hair, grabbing it and tilting your head back so I can suckle on your neck. You moan as I draw your soft flesh into my mouth, leaving a fond red mark there.
We make out the way inexperienced teenagers can only dream of for a good twenty minutes. We find ourselves wallowing in every kind of contact our mouths can make. Lying side by side, I kiss your eyelids, your hair, push the fabric of your white sweater off your shoulder and tongue you there too. I take your fingers and kiss them one by one. I turn you over completely and use nothing but my moist lips to make love the back of your neck. Your distant purrs let me know I’m doing things just the way you like. Your sweater has shimmied up from your stomach with all our squirming and I rub the almost impossibly warm skin there. When we face each other again, I keep one hand stroking back and forth across your naked belly.
You do something to me then that you can have no clue creates an almost raging passion in me. You take my index finger and you silently draw the tip of it into your mouth, licking it, making eye contact with me as you do it, and then you move on to the next finger, and take a little more of it into your mouth than before. It’s a sight and sensation more erotic than any I know. At last you make one of my fingers almost disappear into you, sucking on it, then letting it out with exquisite slowness.
Time spins out and eventually we find ourselves lying beside each other and merely gazing, your hand on my chest, mine on your stomach, still moving there comfortably. Our mouths are partially numb, partially tingling from our amazing kissing session. My hair is mussed, my shirt is untucked. Your sweater is halfway up your stomach and your skirt has been creased. The Nina Simone CD has long since gone back to Track One and started over.
“You’re not going to be leaving here for a while,” you tell me, your voice low and silky.
“I have no intention to,” I tell you.
“Now I really know you like me,” you say. “I could feel it on my thigh when I sucked on your finger. I could feel it very strongly.”
“You should be able to feel that for many hours to come,” I assure you.
You smile at me. “Sit up,” you say, and you’ve lifted your leg off me to let me up. I’m almost disappointed, I had become so cozy. I sit up and run my hands through my disordered hair. You rise off the sofa entirely, and you bend to the remote control again. You take the volume of the CD down a tiny bit, and then you turn to face me, standing above me, looking down.
“Here bahis şirketleri I come, handsome,” you say, and you place one knee on either side of me, lowering your hips to my lap, settling in, your skirt becoming taut, making yourself at home on me. I have no complaints. You push my hair behind my ears, straighten the collar of my shirt. Then you touch my lips, parting them.
“Do me a favor now, and close those hazel eyes of yours,” you say. Done deal. Within my new world of darkness, I feel you shift on me and I hear fabric moving against fabric.
“Keep them closed, now,” you say. “You’re about to get your wish.” I feel your hands settle on my shoulders. I sense your torso moving forward, and your hand brings my head closer to you, holding me by the hair. Then I feel soft flesh against my cheeks, and I realize you’ve taken off your sweater. I’m unable to keep myself from opening my eyes now. You guide your cleavage, snug inside a blue satin bra, into my face. I sink into it, your breasts brushing my cheeks, surrounding me.
“Better?” you ask, looking down at me.
“All kinds of,” I say, and bring my hands up to your bra. I cup your breasts through it, and then I squeeze them, a full handful of warm, pearly flesh in each palm. After holding them firm for a moment, I slide my palms back and forth across the satin, slowly rotating my hands to knead those breasts, so pillowy, so white. You sigh and rub my shoulders absently, barely able to keep focused on it. My hands dip between your bra straps and your skin and massage you tenderly. Then they move those straps down off your shoulders. Your cleavage becomes more pronounced as the straps hang there. I could take your bra off entirely now but I don’t. I see you’re loving your view as much as mine as my eyes take in this wondrous sight.
I bring my lips toward your right breast and I kiss it as I massage the other. My tongue emerges and touches your flesh. I kiss you right above the cup of your bra, and then my tongue has snaked inside that cup to where your nipple is still concealed. With great dexterity, my tongue washes over your hard nipple, then brings it out, freeing it from the bra cup. I enclose it fully between my lips and give it one long, firm suck, then let it go. I bring my left hand up and pinch it between my fingers as my lips drift across your canyon and move to the other bra cup. Again, I kiss your breast before inserting my tongue beneath the satin, exploring, licking the nipple, then pushing away the satin to free it. I poke my tongue more fully out and rest it upon it, then flick it a little, causing you to moan. I pinch it as well between my fingers, and then, yearning to see what your breasts look like fully exposed, I peel down the bra cups until they spill out, touching my face again. I grip your breasts in my hands and swirl my tongue around each nipple, careful not to brush the tips now, getting them wetter and wetter. They become hard as pebbles, and then I flick them with a newly moistened tongue, making you wince with pleasure. I enclose each in my mouth, drawing in as much flesh as I can as my hands stroke the sides of your breasts, then push them toward each other. I place my tongue between them and draw it upwards, licking all the way up to your neck. Then, pressing on your breasts, I move my hands in wide, slow swirls, rubbing and moving them against each other. The skin of one breast brushes against the other again and again as I turn my head to savor each nipple. When I lift my head, they’re soaked in saliva, creating an erotic coolness there, a sensation of guilty pleasure that keeps them aroused and erect. I lean back to just look at your breasts, admire them, worship them, all the while keeping my hands working on them in a lazy midnight massage. Your bra slips little by little down your arms. You run your hands across my chest and undo the top three buttons, and then, after a hesitation to look down at your nipples and see my fingers playing with them, pressing them into your flesh with my thumbs, you undo three more. You move your hands inside my shirt and rub my muscled chest.
“You like what you see?” you ask me in a breathy voice.
“I love it,” I tell you. “Tell me if you like this,” I say, and reach beside me, to where your fuzzy white sweater rests on the sofa. I lift it, rest it on my upturned palms, and bring the fabric up to your breasts. I press the sweater against them, and holding it firmly, I move it from side to side across your nipples. All it takes is one brief second of that kind of obscenely delicious friction to cause you to gasp and tense your shoulders. Your tits jiggle with the sudden shock, which I much enjoy. I rub your nipples with your sweater and you gasp again, sucking in air, jerking back involuntarily. But after a moment to collect yourself, you dare to bring your chest forward again, to where the sweater is held taut and still. You reach up and cup your breasts and squeeze the flesh around your nipples to reduce their sensitivity just a bit. I draw the sweater across the stony tips again and you cry out and throw your head back and sigh. You can’t take it anymore and you push the sweater away, smiling and breathing hard. Two tiny circles of wetness have appeared on the fabric.
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