Why do girlfriends insist on dragging you out to noisy clubs when you’ve just been dumped? And then, why do they desert you to go and dance with fit young men when they get fed up of your “Oh, but I loved him sooo much” whining?
Of course, you have to ask that if I knew all this, why did I let Lindsay, Christine, and Sally drag me out in the first place? I have absolutely no bleedin’ idea! I put it down to being in a weakened state. I spent the last weeks of winter sitting in a dark room, eating chocolate and watching every last episode of Friends. That could have brainwashed me into thinking that going out with my bosom buddies actually might cheer me up.
Also, the light was returning, the trees were in bud and the new year was moving into spring. I guess my sap was rising. I felt ready to shrug off the mourning period and come out into the sunshine once more. Maybe.
I’d half convinced myself that it’d be fun. I spent a few hours pampering myself in preparation for the big girlie night out. This involved me drinking a couple of large glasses of white wine and actually shaving my armpits and putting on make-up. I’d not done so in such a long time. Steve liked me make-up free and didn’t mind a bit of excess body hair. That thought led to spending an extra fifteen minutes re-applying my mascara.
The first hour or so was fun. We all sat together and drank, giggled and remembered. We’d been quite the fearsome foursome in college. We hunted in packs and always got enough meat to go round. In fact every time we went out, we ended up snogging at least one bloke each.
I should have known they were on the prowl by their outfits. My three single friends know exactly how to attract the opposite sex梫ivid colors, low cut tops, and high cut skirts. Their hair was long and flowing, ready to flick at the flutter of an eyelash.
Lindsay was the first to apologise and split off as we danced round our handbags together. She’d seen an old flame and was interested in checking out if the spark still ignited on her ring o’ love.
Christine was next, her apology just as sincere. A dark-haired, dark-suited man wooed her on her way to collect more cocktails. At least he paid for a round of drinks before depleting our group to just two.
Sally left to “pay a visit” half an hour ago and has yet to return. No doubt that red head of hers has been turned by something young, firm and juicy. I guess that means I’m off home via the twenty-four-hour Tesco for wine and several blocks of chocolate.
I don’t know what inspired me to look up at just that moment, making contact with those powerful green eyes. I’d not be surprised to learn a spell had been cast on me. It is difficult to see much in a club, where bodies sway and thrash to the music, accompanied by flashing lights and enwreathed in a veil of stale cigarette smoke. Those eyes, oh those eyes, have beamed through all of it. Maybe that’s just the “sex on the beach” talking, though.
Those eyes are green, not like Jim Carrey in The Mask green, but more like that dark green you often see in velvet; that dark, middle of the rainforest green. And those “cool on a hot summer’s day” eyes are fixed on me.
I mean, really fixed. Not just an accidental crossing of gaze, but a definite stare. My cheeks are burning like they’ve been baking in the sun and I know they’re glowing like a neon light in a kebab shop.
I drop my eyes and take a breath. When I look back up, I expect him to have turned away; but no, he’s still looking at me. I’m not weirded out by his attention, just a little uncomfortable. I wonder what he finds so fascinating about me. My hair is not quite brown, not quite blonde. My eyes are blue; not azure blue or stormy-skies blue, just middle of the road, kiddie-picture blue. My face is round, leaning towards chubby, and my features plain. I’m honestly and truthfully very average.
Steve was always saying so. He said I was the most averagely beautiful girl he ever met. I always thought he was being cute. Then he ran off with a stunningly gorgeous model and I realised I had been a stop-gap. Any port in a storm, you might say.
I wonder if Green Eyes will come over to me. I flick my line of sight rapidly to the sleek black hair, ruffled and not overly styled, back to the eyes – yup he’s still staring. My gaze flicks down to the soft sensual lips, thin then suddenly plump, then thin again, and lower to the little dimple in his tapered, clean-shaven chin.
Green Eyes is hot. Now I am unnerved. He’s been staring at me for what? Two, maybe three minutes and he hasn’t made a move. Is he shy? Those eyes don’t seem shy; they’re fixed right on me for a start. That doesn’t shout “shy” to me. Why isn’t he coming over then? Is he staring in horror? Have I got something between my teeth or around my face?
I slip my hand up my chest to my chin, then subtly rub at my cheek and face. Nope, nothing obvious there. Is he smiling at me? I see it in those evergreen eyes first, before it travels to his lips. A smile, a sexy smile. And unless I’m much mistaken, a suggestive smile.
I feel a corner of my mouth lifting in a sly, knowing smirk. I look into those deep eyes and gather all the courage I have. I know this is the cocktails working, but I lift a finger in front of me (right in the middle of our joined gaze) and beckon him over, still smiling.
My heart hammers, louder than the thumping disco music, or so it seems. I lick my lips nervously, my gaze dropping from his, unable to maintain the stare through my nerves.
Will he come over?
I take a few calming breaths then look up. He is there, just lowering tight and tasty buttocks down onto the green baize seat at the other side of the tiny, round table. I panic now. What do I do? God, it’s a long time since I was last single. I’ve forgotten how to do this. I gaze intently at the glass in front of me, the sad remains of my last cocktail lolling at the bottom.
I feel the now familiar weight of his stare and glance up. He smiles at me and I smile back, focused in on those harmonious eyes.
“Hello.” I barely whisper, the words getting caught around the rock-like lump in my throat. I just hope the guy can lip read or I’m sunk.
“Hi.” I see the lips move, but I barely hear him. His eyes are still locked on me. He leans across the table and I feel the heat of his gaze on my neck, then his breath tickling my ear and finally I hear, in soft, husky tones, “I hope you don’t think me rude for staring at you. I just couldn’t believe such a beautiful woman was sitting alone.”
I giggle coyly, dipping my head to my shoulder, then lean over to whisper in his ear,
“Oh, I didn’t mind. I just wondered what exactly you were looking at.”
This close, I can smell the subtle freshness of his aftershave, see the strong set of his jaw, the slight hint of dark hair in the “v” of his partially unbuttoned black shirt.
“Your sparkling eyes, so sad even when you laugh. You’re tapering neck, the soft creamy flesh there and down into the cut of your low top, wondering how soft it would feel under my fingers, beneath my lips.”
I gasp, the sheer tone of his low voice tingling through me. I bite my lip nervously as his hand brushes the side of my thigh, then let out the slightest moan when it settles on my lap, just above my knee. I all but orgasm from surprise as his lips brush softly along the skin just below my ear.
“I was looking at your lips. So plump and inviting, becoming wetter and pinker as the night wears on. I love them now, all the lipstick removed. They look so sweet, so tempting, so ripe.”
A slight squeeze to my thigh and he’s whispering again,
“And focusing on your lips got me so hard, I hope you don’t mind me telling you this, so aroused that I began to think about your other, hopefully wet and juicy lips.”
There is no doubt that my lips are juicy now. His lithe fingers stroking my knee coupled with the sexy voice in my ear have definitely seen to that. But I doubt the honesty of his words. Is he just looking for an easy lay tonight?
Actually, do I care? I mean, I’ve just come out of a massive relationship and I’m not exactly ready to get entangled in another one. I am incredibly horny though, and sex with no strings sounds better and better the more I think about it.
How long has this silence sat between us? I can hear the hiss and puff of his breath against my ear. His hand has not moved from its place upon my thigh.
“I’m speechless.” I reply, leaning closer to his ear, “I have to confess, I don’t think you’re telling the truth�quot;
A remembered hand print is all that’s left on my thigh as his hand moves to the table and covers my own. Grasped firmly, it is pulled below and over, to cup his hard-very hard-cock straining against the soft fabric of his trousers.
“Well.” I pull my hand away, uncomfortable with clutching a man’s private parts in public. “So you didn’t lie about that then.” I cough and splutter, my face flushing with embarrassed heat.
“I want you.” His lips are back against my ear. “That is the honest truth. Beyond that I cannot think. I cannot think of anything but your body and how thrilling it would be to feel your naked flesh rubbing against mine.”
Fuck. I’ve got to give this guy points for effort. I’ve never been this horny from so little contact. As I compose myself to reply, he carries on. “I’m leaving now. I have a taxi ordered. Would you like to share it with me?”
A gentlemanly offer on the surface, but only a step away from asking me to sleep with him. Why should I refuse? The girls have left me alone, I need to get back home and who knows? I might just take the chance and follow my hormones for once. A fuck for fucking’s sake seems like a good idea right now.
“Yeah, okay.” I reply, “Thank you.”
He stands up and offers me his hand. I take it, honestly not knowing how steady I will be on my feet. Cocktails are easily taken whilst perched upon my stabilising big bottom, but standing up could prove difficult.
He slips my arm through his as I stand up and chivalrously walks slowly towards the door.
“Do you have a coat?” he asks. I shake my head. He slips my hand out from the crook of his arm and wraps it around my shoulder instead. “It’ll be cold out.” he says matter of factly, and before I can complain he is walking forward and pushing me with him.
He’s right. There is a chill spring wind blowing as he pushes open the club door. I step out onto the damp tarmac of the road and he follows close behind. The street lights are reflected in shallow puddles, making the ground glow like the yolk of a fresh farm egg. At the pavement edge is a shiny black taxi, Green Eyes taps on the window, establishes it is meant for him, and opens the door for me to step in.
The beauty of the back seat of a Hackney cab is its spaciousness. There is plenty of room to fit three, maybe even four, tipsy ladies, making a cab home a cheap option for a gaggle of girls on a budget. However, sitting with Green Eyes I feel like we’re in a child’s push car, we’re squashed so close together. The more I fidget, the tighter he holds me to him “to keep me warm.” It is very cold out there; spring is only just starting to emerge. But boy, is it hot inside this taxi!
I find myself snuggling in towards his body, enjoying his solid warmth. His hand slips round my waist and cradles me. I feel peculiarly safe in the arms of this stranger. His hand moves higher and cups my breast. I nuzzle into his chest and feel his hand grow yet bolder, the long fingers grasping the globular flesh, strumming over my nipple.
I let out a little gasp and rub my hand up and down his front, dipping as low as his belly button and sweeping up to the centre of his chest. His hand sweeps down to my hip and slips under the cotton of my tight-fitting top. If the driver glances at us he will see the hand under the stretched material, but I don’t care. I feel his fingers prying at the bottom of my bra and then he eases it up and over my breast, making it possible for his fingers to feel my flesh. It spurs me on. My hand dips lower and brushes over his crotch where I can feel he is still hard. Looking down, I see a definite pyramid at the front of his trousers.
“Yesss,” the sibilant hiss echoes in my ear as I grip my hand around the fabric and the cock within its confines. I move my hand up and down a few times and feel his hand grasping and releasing my tit to the same pulse.
I find the zip down the centre of his trousers and tug at it. The hand at my breast drops and slithers over my stomach before slipping under the waist band of my skirt. I am highly aware of the driver and the fact he can hear, and possibly see, everything that’s going on. I slip my hands inside and find my fingers gliding over hard flesh. The surprising lack of an extra cloth barrier is sexy. It also seems a bit kinky, as if this guy was hoping to get some action tonight.
“What number was it, pal?” the driver’s voice chirps in and my fingers tighten, reflexively covering up his exposed member.
“Seventeen,” he replies, pulling his hand out of my skirt. I remove my hand and he zips himself back up.
“Tell me now. Are you coming in with me? If you come in, we’re going to fuck.” His words are stark and almost offensive, but his voice and tone are compelling. “If you don’t want that, then tell the cabby you want to go on home. It’s up to you.”
I hate decisions. I almost wish he’d not given me this one, but part of me is grateful he did. It shows me that he is gentleman enough to take rejection at this late stage. I’ve just been massaging his cock, but he’s given me a metaphorical “get out of jail free” card all the same.
“I’ll come with you,” I breathlessly reply. Fuck it. I’ve had enough of being sensible, and Lord knows I’m horny. My heart thumps, beats and bats against my chest as he takes my hand in his and helps me out of the taxi.
“Have fun.” The taxi driver chortles just before he puts his foot down and heads out of sight.
I don’t know where we are. The sight of red-stoned terraced rows is one you can see anywhere in this town. The house he is taking me towards looks in good condition and behind the bright-red door is a living room that I am surprised to see is clean and tidy. I can see light, sandy laminate flooring, the deep red of the pristine sofa and apart from a large TV and accoutrements not much else.
“I’ve not lived here long,” he says, after watching me gawk, “so I’ve not managed to mess the place up yet.”
I giggle and he pulls me into his body. His lips reach down and kiss mine. His lips and nose are chilly from the frosty night air, but the heat of our kiss is sure to change that. Lip on lip, tongue wrestling tongue, our mouths cover each other. Our bodies press together, and I can feel that hard throbbing cock poking into my soft stomach.
His lips roughly pull from mine and trail down the side of my neck, stopping to nibble along the way. I moan and gnaw my lip as his nibbles turn to bites and I run my hands over his back, pulling up his shirt and running my hands up across the bare flesh. As his teeth nibble once more, I drag my nails down his spine.
He moves on, down into my cleavage. His hands grasp the sides of my breasts, squeezing, then smoothing down my waist and over my wide hips, to pull the cloth of my top. He pulls it up and over my breasts. His mouth drops into the crevice of my cleavage as his hands fiddle around my back, until they find and unclasp my bra. My breasts drop a little, still confined in their constraints until his hands return to my front and flip the material out of the way.
I feel a little moment of insecurity as my large breasts all but sag into his hands, but his insistent kneading and the appreciative gasp that escapes from around his kisses makes me feel a little better and allows me to lose myself in the sensations.
“God you’re beautiful,” he groans as he momentarily lifts his lips from my flesh, before plunging his mouth down over the nipple he is cupping lovingly in his hands. I mewl with pleasure, throwing my head back in pure delight. A nip of his teeth makes me gasp and grasp his hair firmly in my hands and sends a jolt of heat to my pussy. As if he knows, he follows the heat and drops down to his knees, skimming my skirt down my legs.
He sits there staring up at me for a moment, and I look into those vibrant-green eyes and blush. I move my hands in front of myself instinctually. He gently grasps them and lays them at my sides.
“You are a goddess,” he gasps, his eyes roaming over my body. Although vulnerable and self conscious, my flesh tingles with heat as his gaze passes over it. His lips move in and trail up my inner thigh; his hands go to my hips and grasp the thin straps of my tiny thong knickers. Slowly he tugs them down, his face centimetres away from my naked pussy, my thong lying between my feet.
I hear him draw in a long breath and release it in an intense sigh. I have never been so closely scrutinized. I feel exposed and cannot work out if I’m scared to death or more aroused and alive than I’ve ever been.
Thick fingers stroke through my thin smattering of pubic hair and one slips into my slit. My clit sings its thanks, resonating through my whole body. Those fingers spread, pulling my folds open, and after a moment of cool air on my exposed clit, I feel the arousing warmth of his lips kissing and sucking upon it.
Hands move and suddenly they’re shoving me sharply backwards. I over-balance and fall, luckily, onto the fire engine-red sofa behind me. I giggle as I land and notice the cheeky smile on his face. He crawls forward and spreads my thighs open. With a cheeky wink he nuzzles his head between my legs and continues his impassioned licking.
His hands rest commandingly on my thighs, keeping them wide-spread as his head delves between them. His lips slide over my wet flesh and I gasp, then pant and groan as the sensations whiz from synapse to synapse. He laps and lingers upon my clit, swirling his gently-rough tongue around it, making me close my eyes as the pleasure pounds through my pussy.
Steve never liked oral sex. Correction: he liked receiving it. I cannot remember the last time he went down on me and he never, ever, licked me like this. I feel exposed, the cold air caressing my skin, tensing it across my breast, my nipples crinkled and aching with the cold and the excitement.
I don’t know this man’s name, yet he is so very, very close to bringing me to orgasm. His tongue is flicking my flesh at just the right speed and pace to tumble that first domino of pleasure. I can feel it triggering the next and the next until they’ve all fallen and set off fireworks that fizzle, bang and spark throughout my whole body.
I have no time to recover as he pulls himself up my body. His lips graze over my stomach, once, twice and again as he rises up to his knees. As he stands, I pull him down onto me, the roughness of his clothed body pressing hard against my soft nakedness. His lips seek out mine as he writhes on top of me, edging my body round ’til I am lying along the soft, caressing material of the sofa.
His lips are everywhere, covering my flesh with marks of heat and lust. My thighs are wide around him. As his hands fiddle at crotch level, pulling open his belt and fly, the knuckles stroke across my wet, sensitised flesh, readying me for more. I need more than his fingers, more than his tongue to satisfy me now. I lift my head to stare over the hillock of my stomach and am rewarded for my discomfort by the sight of a gorgeously engorged prick.
I watch as he handles himself, slowly dropping his buoyant cock to my welcoming hole. I watch and feel him pressing into me, the head stretching me, pulling me apart to accept his pleasure. As he slides inside, my head falls back and I purr, the sensation vibrating from my pussy to every part of my body.
“Oh yeah, you’re so hot, so wet. Oh fuck, I knew you’d be this good from the moment I laid eyes on you.”
His words resonate along my skin, as his cock strokes me like a violinist playing a jig. My legs wrap around him, pulling him deeper. My hands cling to his strong arms, holding him to me, wanting to know it’s real.
“They seem to think its good, too.” I freeze beneath him, and go to turn my head to the side. “No, no don’t look. Close your eyes.”
I so want to look to the window, but I close my eyes, wanting to please him more than satisfy my curiosity. I always want to please; mostly to make my life easier, to keep myself out of the line of fire. I’m surprised by the purity of my need this time. I don’t do it for any reason other than to give this man pleasure.
“There are two of them. Young lad, young woman and they’re watching us. They’re watching you, on your back, naked and legs spread wide letting me, a near stranger, fuck you. Yes, they probably watched as I licked you. They can probably hear you too, you noisy slut.”
I’d have slapped Steve if he called me a name like that, but from these masculine lips it sounds almost like an endearment. In this moment, so turned on, he could call me anything and it would make my cunt contract. His rhythm is pounding. My breasts are bouncing wildly and I can hear the gentle creak of wooden feet against wooden floor.
“You love having an audience, don’t you?” I nod my head, to indicate that I do. I didn’t know it before, but tonight I am definitely learning all kinds of new things. “The idea of that young couple fuelling their ardour by watching me bang my hard cock into your naked, pleading body drives you crazy. I bet they’re thanking their luck stars over walking past this window tonight. I swear the guy is stroking his cock. I can just see his shoulder moving. It’s harder to tell, but I bet the girl has her fingers in her knickers, too. They’re getting off on the sight of you’re beautiful body. God, you are perfect.”
He groans and his rhythm increases, the rub of his jeaned legs chaffing the inside of my thighs, the edge of his soft shirt tickling my nether lips and fluttering against my clit. My whole body is pleasure. I’m on a plain above orgasm. Every moment, every noise, every sensation is orgasmic and as he growls and moans and stiffens above me I scream out as I spasm around his creaming cock.
His body falls forward, his head against my shoulder and I wrap my arms around him. I’m overwhelmed with emotion, plagued with a host of questions and impended by the inability of opening my mouth.
“Hush.” He says, placing a finger, still scented by my juices, over my lips. “We will talk it through tomorrow. Let’s just enjoy it for now, okay?”
I nod, and stroke his back. Content in the arms of a nameless man, in a strange place, becoming part of a fairytale clich� Falling in love with the man who gazed at me across a crowded ballroom.
