I was visiting an old friend who lived in the city. It was my first trip here and I was weary from a long day of traveling. My friend considerately arranged for dinner to take place in my hotel's restaurant knowing I'd be tired. The dinner party consisted of a group of friends of my friend, many of whom I didn't know but since I'd be spending a few weeks visiting, it made sense to meet the people with whom I'd be socializing. It started innocently enough with the accidental brush of my hand against his thigh.
I have an unfortunate habit of dropping my napkin at inopportune times. During dinner, while I'm having an animated conversation extolling the virtues of dry versus fresh pasta I become aware that my napkin is heading towards the floor. Not missing a beat in my conversation, I reach down to catch the napkin and instead find myself grabbing a warm thigh; upper thigh to be exact. Immediately, I jerk my hand back and I feel my face redden. Thankfully, it's dark and loud in the restaurant. Embarrassed, I refuse to even acknowledge my unintentional groping victim. I'm saved from my discomfort by the arrival of our food and soon we're all quietly eating, drinking wine and enjoying company.
We're a large group seated at a round table with two half circle booths, the kind you have to slide into. It's very snug seating with just enough respectful distance between diners to feel comfortable. Partially through dinner, I realize that I'm still missing my napkin and I try again to reclaim it. This time as I angle my body to reach down I feel movement from the man next to me. "Would you like some help?" he whispers in my ear. He slides closer to me so I alone can hear his voice. His left leg presses firmly against my right leg making it impossible to reach the napkin without touching him. Again.
"No thank you" I reply waiting for him to move away. Nothing happens. I wait a few more seconds and press my leg against his giving him a friendly hint; still no movement. Annoyed, I reach my hand under the table, sliding it down his thigh, past his knee where I'm able to grab the napkin. Clarity in charged social situations was never my strength, but even I realize that he purposefully left his leg resting against mine. I drag my hand slowly up his leg with the napkin trailing behind. His leg is warm and muscular and as my fingers caress the area over his knee I feel his leg jerk slightly accompanied by an intake of breath. "He's ticklish," I smile to myself. My fingertips dig into his thigh massaging their way to his hip before sliding off his leg. "I'm sooo sorry," I murmur as I place the napkin back in my lap. He makes no response, but I can see his mouth controlling a slight grin. Dinner continues uneventfully while I become more aware of the man sitting next to me. He doesn't speak to me again, but I know he is conscious of me.
After dessert, fatigue sets in and I find myself day dreaming. Instinctively, I rest my head on the back of the booth, close my eyes and begin skimming my hand along my thigh taking in the textural differences between my stiff leather skirt and the soft, smooth skin of my leg. I'm contemplating heading to my hotel room and taking a long, relaxing bath when I realize two things. I'm no longer feeling my own skin, but instead the smooth material of khaki pants and that my hand is no longer stroking my own leg, but is sliding back and forth over the leg of the man next to me. Shocked, I freeze and start to slowly move my hand back toward my own leg when I feel his leg move as if to make my hand continue its motions. He leans closer, his breath stirring the hair around my ear and says, "Don't stop."
Table conversation turns to lighthearted talk while I'm living in the moment experimenting with pressure and touch exploring the man next to me. My hand navigates every inch of his upper thigh and I'm boldly moving towards his inner thigh. Meeting resistance in the form of his other leg I push my fingers between his thighs and give a little nudge hoping he'll take the hint. This time he does and opens the distance between his legs. I leave my hand there, curled around his thigh, but I continue to explore with my fingers. I can feel his arousal growing as I slide my hand closer. My fingers are soon sliding over his hard erection. My hand rests there rubbing and teasing for what seems like an eternity. All too soon, some of my friends are leaving and I'm obliged to rise and hug them goodbye.
As I sit back down, my hand stays in my lap. I don't want to push my luck with him. Minutes later, I'm surprised to feel a hand taking my own. Strong, warm fingers are massaging my right hand and I'm shaken by my reaction. My body is getting warm and yet I have goose bumps on my arms and legs. He is caressing each finger slowly touching every inch of skin with soft yet firm hands that have a surprising light touch. My head is again resting on the booth and my eyes are closed. I can feel my chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. My body betrays my cool, calm exterior. My nipples harden and a slight, electric pressure is building between my legs. I shift my hips trying to ease it, but I only succeed in intensifying the pressure. My left hand rests in my lap, massaging my thigh in precise coordination with the sensual assault on my hand. My hand starts to slide under the edge of my skirt with the ultimate goal of releasing the building pressure. I'm struggling to remain cognizant of my surroundings, but it's becoming difficult. I realize I'm starting to draw attention to myself, so I sigh loudly and say, "Maybe three glasses of wine is my limit?"
"Lightweight," someone snickers from the other side of the table. I sense more than hear his restrained laughter. He and I are both aware that it's not the wine causing my reaction. I put up no fight when my hand is returned to his lap. I'm reveling in the feel of him while his hand uses mine to stroke his erection. He forms my fingers around him and slides them with firm pressure up and down. Soon his hand falls away and I'm stroking him on my own accord. I can feel his breathing quicken and I realize he's as turned on as me.
I turn my head to look at him and our eyes meet. An unspoken question is asked within those timeless moments. Without breaking eye contact, I reluctantly pull my hand off my thigh, reach inside my purse and grab my extra room key. Giving him one last long stroke, I remove my hand from his erection and slide the key onto his lap. Leaning over, I whisper "30 minutes - room 402" and get up to leave. Making my way around the table to say goodbye to my friends, I avoid looking at him for as long as possible. Finally our eyes meet again and from my angle, I can see he has the key in one hand and is touching himself with the other. He looks at me for a long time and just as I can't bear the coming rejection, he imperceptibly nods his head.
In a fog, I find my way to my room and I'm shaking with fear, anticipation and anxiety all at the same time. What am I doing? Is it too late to change my mind? I enter the room and put the safety lock on the door knowing it will prevent anyone from entering. I stand with my back against the door. I'm torn between the logical, safe decision and the needful desire that is threatening to bubble over. Taking a few deep breaths, I clear my head and think. Turning around I remove the safety lock and move towards the bathroom.
Strangely enough, once the decision is made, I know without a doubt it was the right one. I'm calm and my head is clear. I know what I'm doing and I'm turned on by the idea and thoughts of what's to come. In the bathroom, I remove my clothes and step into the shower. As collected as I am, I'm still nervous and a hot shower may help me relax. I wash my hair and soap my body, taking time to ease the aching between my legs. Minutes pass, my legs are tingling and I am having trouble standing. It feels so damn good, but I force myself to stop before I find release. I don't want to deny myself any pleasure later.
While I regain control, I let the hot shower pound my shoulders, easing my tense muscles. After rinsing my body I turn off the water and climb out of the shower. I wrap a towel around myself and also my hair. I look around for something to wear, not exactly sure what to put on. I find a red satin button down shirt and pull it on. I button all but the top and bottom buttons. The shirt falls to mid-thigh and I wear nothing else. I'm towel drying my hair when I hear the key in the door.
I stand in the doorway of the bathroom, towel in hand. He walks into the room and closes the distance between us. He says nothing as he reaches for me removing the towel from my hands and tossing it to the floor. His hand grips my shirt, pulling me closer. I move towards him standing with my legs parted and he slips one of his legs between them. We're facing each other but only our legs are touching. We make eye contact again and it's electric. I place my hand on his chest and close my eyes. Breathing in his scent, I open my eyes, asking, "Are you sure?" Once again he smiles as if amused by me.
"What do you think?" he asks.
"I don't like to assume." I shoot back. He takes my hand from his chest and slides it down the front of his pants.
"Is this a clear enough answer?" he replies. I take my time exploring, knowing it's a clear enough answer, but wanting to take back some control.
