So here I am, silk red boxers. My clean body dried by a semi-clean towel. It was clean a week ago when I last visited my parents. The boxers have small hearts through out and they actually feel good on my balls. Now that I think about it, the feel is more like polyester and not silk. It looks like polyester and I have worn polyester, though not as underwear. I should probably stop looking as if I am looking at my penis. I might appear too anxious if she should walk in. She. Wow, I can't believe she is here in my semi clean bedroom. To be fair, I did clear the floor by pushing most of the clutter into the closet. I know it is an old trick but it still seems to work. I happened to clean my chinchilla's cage within the last few days so the room smelled mostly of pine and not feces. There is a smell in the room. I look nervously around the room. I smell my pits. Nope. I blow onto my hand and sniff. Nope. Kind of smells like clothes. Dirty clothes. I hear the bathroom fan turn off. She is on her way. I open the closet door and yank on a Warner Bros. sweatshirt sending the hanger violently into the shelf above. I toss the sweatshirt and it flies like an Italian flatbread revolving ever so slightly. The door cracks.
"Honey?"
The sweatshirt lands quietly and efficiently covering the dirty clothes and hopefully the smell.
"Yes, sweetie?" I couldn't see her through the partially ajar door.
"Close your eyes." Not a question but a request. Many men have fallen prey to this same phrase. They close their eyes, hope for some reward. A sip from the nectar. Permission for that which is forbidden. Only to open there eyes and find their money gone with the bitch that took it. Or even worse, she ties you up, purring how bad she wants you. Coaxing you with what she wants to do to you. When she finally says to open your eyes, you find the room filled with her friends. All of them laughing at you and your penis which is painted white like a bad mine job.
I must choose. Is she the one who would tie me up and graffiti my fragile member or is she one who would actually steal what few dollars I had in my money clip and put it all on black.
I close my eyes.
I hear the door open all of the way. I move my hands from the protective soccer crotch grab to an attempt at a casual blind akimbo. The door closes and I my pulse quickens. I am certain she is pulling out the ropes for my wrist and opening the can of titanium white paint for my...
"Open you eyes."
One breath. My eyes creep open and I see her. They close very fast. I look down to where her feet should be and I open my eyes again. I needed to take her in slowly and completely like the initial smell of your first cup of coffee.
Her legs are shaved. A ritual abandoned during the cooler months proved a wonderful gift during this mid-winter event. Her exposed knees are to my eyes a complex of curves, always soft and always inviting when she has enough confidence to bare them. Otherwise, they are merely a quick feel beneath a long skirt or nice rub while changing gears.
Those thighs. Fuck! Those fucking thighs always turn me on and now they speed up my already fast beating heart. I love to touch and caress them until my muscles ache or she tells me to stop. The latter is always true.
The bottom part of her lingerie is by far the best part of her sexy ensemble. It is a sheer skirt that is no longer than my hand is wide. It rides low on her hips, yet another part of her body I love to grip. The skirt. The skirt is flowing without a breeze and it's black. Did I mention it is sheer? The skirt barely hides a small patch of fabric some called a bikini also black also sheer. Fuck! That is fucking hot!
Her top is a mini tank cami. It is black and sheer. Can you see the theme? The straps are small and thin. Her beast can easily be seen under the fan/light combo of my room. Delicious. I am sure the room is warm enough however, her nipples are definitely hard. I know I am.
Her hair is blonde and down. The gentle curls suggest they have been waiting to be released. That much preparation has been made for this unveiling. I know that she has recently had her hair done. I still don't know what that means but the way the light was hitting it and how it fell like a golden waterfall from her head. I do know it was done right.