That evening as I lay across my couch with a glass of fine red hanging from my fingers, I thought about our brief encounter, and how inevitable it all was.
It wasn’t really a matter of if my phone would ring, but when. I already had him, just as he already had me. I was suddenly hungry, but not for food. Starving. I couldn’t keep my mind on anything but his blue eyes and his tan neck . . . and that fucking mouth.
I sipped from the crystal glass and felt the dry merlot slide down the back of my throat. Even that reminded me of what we might do. Eventually . . . suddenly . . . passionately.
I rubbed my feet together as I listened to my favorite internet jazz station broadcasting from my phone through the overhead sound system, knowing full well that the horn section of classic jazz may as well be called the horny section. The smooth aggressive tones slid up my legs like the tide, and my free hand followed suit.
I realized on my way home that it had been a while since my thoughts had turned so carnal in response to a man. I hadn’t been seeing anyone for about a month, and the last time a man touched me in a sexual way was some weirdo on the subway. That put me off thinking about men for what I thought was going to be forever.
I realized then that I just needed some raw stimulation to get my head back in the game. His eyes were definitely fantastic, but his body standing close to mine was perfect. We fit and I knew it right away. It was going to be good.
I set my glass on the marble end table and leaned back, inching my fingers up under my skirt a little further. I knew where I was headed, but the journey could take a million years for all I cared. I wasn’t so much waiting for his call as I was enjoying the thick anticipation of “when.”
When would he finally talk himself into taking that dangerous step? When would he be able to get that sexy ass of his over to my apartment? When would I be able to let him leave my snug embrace to slink back home to his “wife.”
The large picture window in the living room afforded me a spectacular view of Manhattan. Miles of city lights and moving cars lay before me like a sequin dress shifting in a gentle breeze. I always imagined that a few of the closer buildings might contain a peering telescope or two, but this thought had never swayed me enough to invest in large window coverings. “Let them look,” I always thought.
As I peeled back the hem of my skirt, the tops of my black stockings came into view. I always liked how thigh-highs made my legs look, especially where they ended. I sometimes wondered what a nice garter would do for me, hanging on tightly to my stocking tops, lest they fall, exposing my bare naked legs to the world. I never felt the need to try them, but suddenly I wanted to, wanted to stand before him in my stockings and a garter and nothing else. Fuck panties.
Mmmm, that was a scrumptious thought. I slipped my fingers over the gusset of my black silk Vickie Secret panties, and thought about how good just about anything in the world would feel sliding its way across my velvety crotch.
My libido was high, but not so high that I felt the need to really work myself over. It was more of a maintenance kind of touch. Keep the feelings up, keep the juices flowing, but not full open tap. It just felt nice to have a soft pressure against my moistening lips and to feel the gentle touch of silk on my pearly button.
I was reaching for my glass to take another drink as my phone rang.
And it rang deep; deep inside me.
It rang in my heart and in my hands, and the race of adrenaline almost knocked my glass to the floor.
Should I answer it . . .?
Or should I just set it to vibrate and hold it against me, letting him give me a secret thrill each time it buzzed as he tried to call me again and again.
I picked up the phone to look at it, it was Stacy.
“Hi Stace, how did it go?” I said into the oversized smart phone, which wore its own revealing slip case with an exposed belly, allowing my fingers to gently stroke its smooth glass, (stop it).
“It went fine, but I’m just leaving now,” Stacy replied. “I don’t know if we are going to win this one Grace.”
“We’ll win it,” I soothed, “If those assholes on the defense don’t find anything promising, they have no case.” This was true, and I knew it. Being a junior partner meant that I had access to a plethora of information, and I usually got my fingers into most of our cases, the same way I was getting them into to the top of my own lacy case files at the moment.
“We better,” said Stacy, “I’m done with these late-nighters. How do you do it all the time?”
“I have no social life Stace, you know that,” I replied, and then dropped the bomb, “although I did give my number out on the way home today.”
“You did?!?” Stacy was clearly surprised that I had actually spoken to a man. She knew I had sworn off of them lately, especially strangers and lawyers.
“Good god Stacy, he was gorgeous,” I reminisced into the phone like it was years ago. “I’m sure he’s married, but I don’t fucking care.”
“Oooh, you bad girl,” Stacy suddenly shifted her tone from post-work ranting to vivid interest, “where did you meet him?”
“It was right on the sidewalk, just past Doreo’s. I was just walking by . . .” my fingers started pulling up on the hair just above my clit, underneath my silky . . . what were those words again . . . fuck panties. Ok, I was in need of some serious help. “His eyes were on me Stace, you know, the way we want a sexy man’s eyes to be on us, except his were searing and hungry. I ducked into some store full of knick knacks and shit, and he followed me right in.”
“Holy shit Grace,” breathed Stacy into my ear through the phone, “I can’t believe it! So you just gave him your number?”