The Dress

It's the last day of our masters degree, and the class is celebrating in a pub near Sydney Central Station. Everyone's letting down their hair after a tough couple of years balancing part time study with work and life. We're gathered around a high table in the middle of the room. Lots of drinks have been drunk, and more are on the way.

I perk up when you arrive. I thought you weren't going to make it but your sudden presence buoys my mood - along with all of the champagne.

Tall and slim, you're so striking tonight. Red hair tumbling over your shoulders for a change. In class you wear it tied back. And instead of the short skirt that shows off your willowy legs, the skirt you're wearing tonight is long and flowing, pleated and voluminous. The contrast is stark and it's like I'm noticing you for the first time.

It's strange how we haven't really talked outside of class. You always hurry off home as if you're late and in trouble, but tonight you have an unrushed air about you: free. I guess you have a leave pass from your partner.

The conversation flows around the table. People move around to chat with different people and when we get to talk, I suddenly feel no desire to move on. I'm flirting as we sit face to face on our stools, and you seem to be too. I make you laugh a lot with stories from the last two years, our knees occasionally bumping as we talk. The other members of the class start drifting away one by one, and we become more and more focused on each another. I barely notice when the last of the group leaves, except for the feeling of relief that I'm alone with you at last.

I'm marvelling at your dress. The amount of fabric is astounding and it seems to be somehow increasing as the night wears on. The thing is now like a tent. "I could get under this thing and no-one would know I'm there," I tell you, as I grab some of the fabric and lift it. "Maybe you should", you reply, smiling. Instead I pull the fabric so it covers my legs, and shuffle my stool a little closer, our knees now interlocking and covered from view.

You arch an eyebrow but don't protest. I try to give you an innocent look. We lean into each other as if we both know now is the time to kiss. You taste like cigarettes, but your tongue makes me tingle all over. I make sure your dress is covering my lap as we're in the middle of a crowded pub and my hardness is coming on fast. I put my hands beneath the folds of your dress, placing one on each of your legs. They're slender and wonderfully smooth. Despite my champagne haze, I notice a few people are glancing at us. We're becoming indiscrete, but neither of us care.

The game plays out for some time, talking, kissing and touching, and eventually, beneath the yards of fabric, I move my hand up the inside of your thighs. You look me deep in the eyes as I reach my destination and I'm pleased to find your panties soaked. I massage you gently through the sheer fabric, making you moan quietly. You move your hand to the hardness in the front of my trousers and your eyes open wide, with sudden hunger.

"So what are you going to do with that," you say. Now that we've crossed the line, we begin to talk dirty, describing what we'll do to each other. You're going to suck me dry and I'm going to fuck you right there on the table in front of everybody. This makes us laugh, but the crude turn of our conversation inflames me even more.

You explain that you're in an open relationship, which I suspect is a lie. I'm not, but I still want desperately to fuck you. The time however is now very late, and if I don't get home, I will have some serious explaining to do.

"I have to go," I say. You look stung. "But you have to come with me. Come on."

I pull you by the hand out into the warm summer night air. We walk quickly down Broadway a block or two and I lead you into a park far away from the street lights yet still surrounded by the city. I pull you to me and we kiss deeply, holding each other tight, our arousal rising like a tide. You push back and start grappling with my belt, yanking open the buttons of my fly and pulling my girth into the air. As we sink to the soft grass, once more I am beneath that flowing dress, this time removing your underwear, slick with juices, and pushing my hard shaft against you, not entering just yet. "Fuck me," you whisper urgently, and finally I am inside you, diving into your depths. We grip each other hard, eyes locked in animal intensity, moving as one. Like we were always meant to be here.

When we climax together, crying out our release, my vision gets lost in the twinkling lights of the city. I slip through space and time as I pour myself into you.