Author’s Note:
This is something a little different, and I hope you find it exciting.
All characters have been pulled into existence from the erotic ethosphere for your personal pleasure. Please take care to relish in their unreality, as is their intent.
***
I could feel the heat from his steel blue eyes riveting into my tingling body as I navigated the bustling walkway before me. I knew I should have kept moving, ignoring his intense surveillance, but I slowed . . . just enough to let him know I noticed.
I could tell from his posture and attire that he was married or divorced or something, but his face was one of those chiseled sex-pot faces that make so many women go weak in the womb.
Surely he had an inkling of what his hard pressing gaze did to fragile thighed women like me. It made us want babies, lots of babies that looked just like him, bursting from between our legs where we invited him into in the first place. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t floating around on the surface of our minds or anything, but it was there, somewhere deep within the tangled strands of our DNA.
As my pace slowed I instinctively made an abrupt left into a small store selling what, menagerie? Jesus, was it that obvious? I didn’t care. I knew he would follow even if I had strolled right into a burning building.
And he followed alright. I heard the tinkling of the bells chiming behind me as I walked the first creaky aisle filled with rows of sappy, doe-eyed Precious Wonder figurines, puke.
My heart was racing, but it felt very natural. I probably would have acted exactly the same way had we been out roaming the Serengeti, back before the invention of the stick.
I slowed to feign interest in a row of small books on . . . something. Crochet? No, it was macrame. What the hell was the difference? Oh well, it did the trick. I picked up the book as seductively as one can pick up a lame book, and flipped it over to “read” the back cover.
I felt his eyes breathing on my neck, and my unadorned hand instinctively reached up to shield it teasingly from view. The old floor groaned beneath him as he slowly approached, sure of himself, yet not too aggressive. It was perfect. My thighs tingled and my heart began to dance beneath my blouse. Play it cool.
I turned my head to look directly into those flashy eyes, cocking a brow at him as if to ask what the hell he thought he was doing.
Then I let my gaze settle on his mouth, and I knew. That mouth was going to be my favorite part of him. I was going to enjoy the way those bulbous lips would hold back his delicious tongue from entering my hungry mouth too soon. The way it would open around my breast, gently drawing a bare nipple in to its moist center to suckle. The way it would look divine with just an upper lip showing through my fuzzy hair as the rest of it dragged my needy body into a sea of electrical bliss and orgasmic fervor.
Fuck. That was just his mouth. I was in big trouble as my underwear seemed to suddenly feel cumbersome and unnecessary.
His button down shirt was of course open too far, or not far enough. The tan skin appearing below his cleft chin was pissing me off it needed to be kissed so badly.
I knew I would see a ring on his finger, and that didn’t piss me off nearly as much as the other thing . . . what was it again?
The whole scene was happening too fast, and if I didn’t pull my shit together he might just have me right here on the floor, with Garfield and Odie watching.
“Can I help you?” I asked him, with as much off-putting disdain as I could muster.
“Um,” He gloriously stuttered, clearly not having thought this through. I loved that. “Do I know you?”
“That depends,” I said keeping my eyes steady, knowing full well I could pause here indefinitely and really say just about anything next . . .
Such as: “Have you ever been to Groove City,” or “Do you spend much time around courthouses,” or “Have you ever been blindfolded and tied to a bed in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party on 54th Street?”
I went with . . . silence. I tore my eyes away from his piercing gaze and looked down at my oh-so important book.
“On what?” he asked, stepping an inch closer. My nerve endings reached out for his across the stale air of antique paper and scented candles. I raised my eyebrows again but not my eyes.
“On whether you followed me in here because you thought you knew me,” I lazily ran my finger down the spine of the stupid book, “or because you were just hoping to.”
Man that was a little much, even for me. I knew how to tease a man, but come on, that was just giving it away. He didn’t smile though, or even move a muscle. It was a stalemate while he processed my reply, neither of us willing to make another move, or say another word.
I knew I had the upper hand, so I lifted my eyes to meet his again and cocked my head a bit, arching my eyebrows and thinking loudly, “Well?”
“My name is Mike,” he said a bit sheepishly. He thrust his hands into his deep jean pockets. I was glad that he wasn’t being too cocky on the surface. I was, however, hoping he could be very cocky a little further down.
“So you don’t remember me then, Mike?” I asked, setting the book back on the shelf in front of me and turning to face him. “Or are you just hoping that perhaps I might recognize you?”
He looked me in the eye and then dropped his gaze down to my patent leather Persache purse, into which my hand had suddenly vanished.
He leaned just an inch forward and lowered his tone to me, “Both.” His single word rippled down my legs.
“Well . . . Mike,” I said as I nervously fished out a business card I had gotten from an old bookstore two blocks over, “I can’t say that I recognize you from anywhere. I can say however, that I appreciate your forthcoming nature.”
I found a pen and cradled the card in my shaking palm, scratching down my name and number as quickly as I could. I had to get the hell out of there before I said something that might give him the impression that I would take him home that minute and make his night.
“So if you do happen to remember,” I said, flipping the card out between my expensively manicured nails, “you can call me . . . ”
He reached up and fumbled a little grabbing the card from my electrified fingertips, and I almost touched him. That was dangerous. A first touch has always been my weakness and I needed to stay sharp.
It always seemed to be the married ones that had this effect on me. Maybe it was the promise of a true fling with no attachments I was into. The last guy I was seeing was so afraid he would lose me somehow that I just needed to get the hell out of there, a self-fulfilling prophecy and all that. Who needs that kind of constant pressure?
This man got to me though. As I studied him while he briefly read my card I could see that he was neat, but not polished. His hair was thick and full, and I wanted to set my face in it to see how it smelled. I imagined that his wife was a girl’s girl, spending too much time with her friends and her mother, shopping and talking and blah blah. If she had paid him proper attention at home, his eyes on another sexy woman would have simply reminded him of her, instead of the fact that she wasn’t with him nearly enough.
As it was, he was hot for me, thank god. I would have paid him for sex had he asked me to, but I knew he had no idea that women actually thought this way. I was attractive, and he was attracted. That was it.
Leaving things as they were, I stepped to the side and walked past him, breathing into his ear, “Good bye, Mike.”
As I made the power move and sauntered toward the exit, I heard the floor moan as he turned to watch me leave. I opened the door with as much poise and nonchalance as I could muster, and just barely heard behind me, through the diminishing space between the door and the jamb, an awkward “B-Bye Grace.