This is the story about a young woman named Kelly, and an older gentleman TJ, written in the first person from the perspective of the girl. TJ is a friend of the family, and was Kelly's frequent "babysitter" when she was a young girl. Readers will notice I have split the events of the evening into two parts. Part One is the more tame telling of the non-sexual portion of the evening, and those not wishing to partake of the more heated part of the story may wish to stop after this part. Part Two is the more "R-rated" portion of the evening's events, and some readers might even wish to skip Part One, and get right to the action. In either case, enjoy as you are most comfortable.
This is my first attempt at writing this type of story, and serves as a break from my more scholarly writing on European history. There are sequels already written to this story of TJ, Kelly, and her girlfriend Alexis which may be published at some future time. I am a new writer of erotic material, I would be very open to constructive criticism.
*****
Part One:
My name is Kelly, it is Saturday evening and I have a date tonight. I am sitting at my dressing table now getting ready for it and thinking about my date—where he is taking me, and what I might wear. Having already showered and spread some lightly scented lotion on my shoulders and arms (and other strategic places). I am dressed in bra, panties, and sheer thigh-high stockings brushing my hair. The man I am seeing tonight has distain for pantyhose—not sexy. "Pretty girls should wear pretty things." I smiled to myself thinking of him saying that with such a serious look on his face. I think many young women (I am twenty-two) consider stockings to be somewhat slutty—particularly with a garter belt, which I do not wear. Actually, I kind of like the way that the fabric of my dress feels on the bare skin between the top of the stockings and the waistband my French-cut panties. It reminds me that I am female—makes me feel "girly." To be quite frank, it also makes me a little "moist" in a particular part of my anatomy if you know what I mean.
As I look through my closet for an appropriate dress to wear, I spot one of my favorites. It is a simple dark blue dress with small flower designs. The dress is short, but not too short, and buttons up the front, from just below the navel to a few inches below the white collar, with a slender belt at the waist. When I date men my age, I have a some tight very short dresses, but they are not appropriate for going out with TJ. I always leave a few buttons unbuttoned at the top... just enough to tease a little. This dress is classy and tasteful with three-inch heels, and would appeal to a discerning man like TJ. As I finish dressing, a wicked little thought about leaving my panties behind creeps cross my mind, but as sexy a thought as that might be, I dismiss the impulse and finish dressing
with
French-cut bikini panties.
I have known TJ most of my life, (a long-time friend of Daddy's) and he has, on frequent occasions agreed to watch over me when I was a little girl and my parents were out of town, or out
on
the town. He is intelligent, cultured, and has three college degrees. TJ was a terrific babysitter for an only child, and our dining résumé started early. It was homemade pizzas, or sloppy joe's we made for ourselves, and popcorn with a game of Backgammon or a movie at his Townhouse for a ten to fourteen year-old girl. When I turned eighteen we switched to occasional local family-style restaurants, and at twenty-one... restaurants offering a bit classier fare... the best wines with the best food. Our nights out now, are a continuation of our long platonic friendship. Tonight we will be dining at a very nice but not overly "high-test" restaurant.
TJ has a slight build at five-foot eleven, and a hundred seventy five pounds, with muscles toned from many sporting activities, which he still enjoys (tennis, skiing, roller-blading, racquetball, and bicycling). I am pleasantly aware of his "tone" each time I give him an affectionate hug and can feel the firmness in his arms, shoulders, and chest. We have enjoyed some of these activities together over the years—particularly roller-skating and bicycling—and occasionally, skiing. He is a suburb skier, and it is a struggle for me to keep up with him on the slopes. He is not classically handsome but is still nice-looking. In his younger years, I am guessing that many women would have found him attractive. I have always thought that nature gives some men their good looks and charm quite unearned, but there is something more compelling about a man like TJ who makes the most of what he is given. TJ as often told me that I am smart and pretty. He is not trying to flatter me, but is just being honest and straight-forward. When I challenge him on this, telling him that he is just saying that to be nice, he just flatly tells me "I'm just telling it like it is, sweets!" "Sweets!" That is his favorite effusive for me. His service as a military officer has taught him to be punctual, so I know he will be on time and I plan for that.
I am now ready for my date. A glance at my watch tells me it is straight-up eight-o-clock—and just then—the doorbell rings. I open the door giggling a little at his promptness, and TJ steps though wearing a curious look on his face (likely about the giggle).
"What?" He asks.
"Um... nothing. I'm ready, let's go. I'm starving, TJ!" I insist.
"Right!" (He smiles.)
As is our custom, I give him a warm hug and rising up on my toes; giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. I grab my purse and as we walk to his car, I wrap my left arm around his right, placing my right hand on his upper arm... mmm, still hard.
Dinner was wonderful, as always. I had a filet mignon since I was in the mood for a good slab of high-end "dead cow," and because I like the way the name rolls off the tongue in French (giggle). Most people would have a "Cab" (Cabernet Sauvignon wine) with that, but I was never able to get past the overly dry-dusty taste of it. TJ suggested a Zinfandel, also a dark red wine, but somewhat fruitier, and a little easier on the pallet. I liked it—I could taste some of the "notes" in this wine, including a hint of blackberry, and a little black pepper. TJ tells me that grapes take on flavors from the earth and surrounding plants were they are grown, giving the wine its notes... so I always taste for them. I'm getting pretty good too! Overall, the "Zin" was a tasty wine, but (as I was to discover later) a bit higher in alcoholic content than some other reds. He did not pick this wine for me to get me inebriated, but to accommodate my distaste for drier Bordeaux wines. He had glazed broiled Salmon, with a nice California Sirah... ("and some fava beans"... just kidding. Giggle). We ordered a dessert to share (Crème Brule) with a nice dessert wine. At times, we have had Madera, or Port wine for dessert with or without the actual dessert, but tonight it was a nice California Muscat. I like that wine because it is sweet without tasting like syrup. I am proud of my increasing facility with food and wines, because the right one really does compliment the meal.
No dining-out worth its name would be complete without a caffè macchiato for me (complete with leafy design in the creamy topping). I like mine with a little Amaretto, to give it an slight almond flavor. TJ had a double espresso—straight (yuck, too strong). I sometimes like Irish coffee, but took a passed on having another kind of alcoholic beverage (Irish Whisky). The dinner conversation was stimulating as usual. TJ talked and I just listened and smiled adding just a little here and there as is my way. As I listened—and without realizing I was doing it—I finished my third glass of the Zinfandel, had some more of the Muscat, and poached a little of TJ's Sirah—it was good—but it was a little spicy for my taste.
As I stood up from the table, I began to feel the effects of all the wine and liqueur, and had TJ not been behind me pulling out my chair, I might have stumbled a little. He caught me by the arm and then my side to steady me, and as he did, he accidentally brushed his hand up against my right breast, and I felt a slight warm tingle. He looked apologetic, but I just smiled, and as I straightened, gave him a kiss on the cheek. As we walked out—and under the guise of continuing to steady me—TJ let his hand slide down my side, and lightly brushed across my butt (not exactly an accident this time). Okay, no biggie, just a light touch, and I do not exactly feel that way toward TJ, but I just let it pass. (Actually, I rather liked it!)
TJ opened the car door for me, helped me in, and entered on his side. For some unknown reason (but most likely the booze), I purposefully let the hem of my dress ride up a little exposing the dark elastic band of my stockings, and in a sitting position, this also exposed a small triangular hint of panties. This did not escape TJ's notice, but he was polite about trying not to notice... I just smiled to myself as he drove away knowing that he
did
notice. I dozed off a little on the way, and was pleasantly surprised when TJ thought to stop at a quiet park near my apartment to give me a little fresh air before taking me home. The slightly cool evening breeze felt good as we walked and talked, and I was coming out of my fog a little as the coffee started to kick in. After the relative warmth of the car, the coolness also felt good on the skin above my stockings under my short dress... and across my skimpily clad little hiney.
When we finally arrived at my building, TJ helped me into my apartment, taking the keys from my hand after several abortive attempts by me to find the slot. He just smiled and without breaking his gaze from me, smoothly slid the key into the slot, turned it and opened the door. I immediately crashed on the couch—on my back—with my left arm and leg flopping over the edge. My head still swimming. I was cogent enough to notice the problem I presented to TJ, which was what to do with me. Without a second thought, he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom, and carefully deposited me on the bed. He removed my belt, unbuttoned the front of my dress to the last button, and then gently lifted my head and shoulders and then hips, to slip my dress down enough so he could pull it completely off over my legs. He carefully laid it over the back of the overstuffed chair. I once again felt like the little girl he used to care for. It felt comforting. The stockings were next (since I dropped the shoes at the door as I entered), and they joined the dress on the chair. As I started to doze off, I thought of my earlier decision about whether or not to wear panties—and now was thankful that I decided to keep them. He tried not to touch any of my sensitive areas as he removed my clothes, and helped me under the covers, but his strong hands felt good on my body.
It was sometime later when I awoke, still in bra and panties, and wandered (actually, kind of stumbled) into the kitchen. I think it is universally accepted behavior at times like this, to first open the refrigerator and look in to see what looks good... so I did that. I decided on the jug of orange juice, I started to put the bottle to my lips but thought better of it, and looked for a glass. As I sat on the stool at the kitchen counter trying to reach some level of cognition, I could hear a slight snore coming from the living room. I had not noticed during my trip from the bedroom to the kitchen, that TJ had camped on the couch. Likely, he stayed to be on hand in case I needed anything due to my earlier wasted condition. I finished the juice, looked around the semi-messy kitchen trying to get my bearings, slid off the stool, and padded into the living room. I watched TJ sleep for a moment before grabbing a light cover from the closet to put over him. He was facing toward the back of the couch on his side so, on a whim, I slid in with him spooning up behind him. I pulled the cover over both of us. It was very innocent I suppose, but I was not twelve anymore. He was still wearing his shirt and trowsers, but had removed his jacket, and his warmth against my body felt good as I kissed the back of his neck and rested my head against his shoulder blade.
I am not sure how long we lay cuddled on the couch, but it was later into the night (or early morning) when I awoke again. TJ was not on the couch. After a cursory glance around, I spotted him in the kitchen drinking coffee he had gotten up and made for himself. Somewhere down in my limbic brain as I dozed, I thought I had a faint memory of him getting up and giving me a warm kiss on the cheek as he exited the couch... could have been dreaming though. Just then I heard a familiar voice coming from the kitchen,
"Are we still alive?"
To which I rubbed my eyes, stretched, and answered to his use of the "royal we,"
"Yah, We're still alive, thank you very much (yawn)."
