I don't know what I was expecting from you but it wasn't to be asked out. Always the perfect gentleman in your suit, your neat shave, your lapel pin. Reserved. Kind of a prude. Once you had to say the word 'phallus' and you blushed furiously. My opposite in many ways and so fun to mess with.
I can be a little messy, a little wicked sometimes. I can go too far but you took all of my teasing about what a nerd you were with a good-natured smile. You seemed so uptight I hadn't even realized you were attractive at first to be honest.
Eventually, I noticed how much of a distraction you were. It was something about that mouth of yours. The way you wrapped those full lips around syllables and the passionate way you talked about the subjects you studied. I started to imagine what it would be like to kiss those lips, to have them on my body. How soft they would be and how the stubble on your chin would feel scraping across my neck. My bare stomach. Every time you spoke, I would force myself to look away, only to concentrate on your words or risk being embarrassed when you realized I hadn't been listening to anything you'd said.
Divorced once already and shy around women, I hadn't ever expected you to make a move and I'd told myself it was for the best. I was taking a break from men. But you surprised me. Of course you hadn't really asked me out. You'd made it clear this was a professional invite. A totally platonic hiking trip. I had just moved here and
would I like to go hiking with you since you knew the area so well
? Of course I would. I did love being outdoors and staring at the outline of your tour guide's ass under his tight jeans never hurt anyone as far as I knew.
So here we were, taking in the sights as we marched along. Sweating in the late summer sun.
"How are you feeling?" You asked.
"With my fingers mostly," I replied. I could feel you rolling your eyes.
We had walked as far as we could from civilization to emerge on a ridge overlooking the most gorgeous view I had possible ever seen. I was not paying attention to my feet. You stopped so abruptly that I walked right into you.
"Hey, watch where you're walking mister," I joked.
"Sorry," you said, flashing a smile. "This is about as far as I go today. Let's stop here for a minute."
"No arguments from me. You're the boss," I said.
"Wow, you finally admitted it," you said wryly. I ignored that and sat down in the shade of a scraggly tree growing straight from the rock.
You sat down beside me and we both guzzled a good amount of water. I lingered a little too long on your neck as you tipped your head back. A fine sheen of sweat glistened there on your skin and I had the strong urge to run my tongue over it.
"What's up?" You asked.
Jesus,
I cursed myself out silently for how long I'd been staring.
"Nothing," I laughed. "Little overheated I guess." I made a big show of pulling on my tank top to air it out. In just a tank, shorts and boots I wasn't that hot but you seemed to buy it.
"Good thing we stopped then. What do you think of it?" Being from this area, you asked as if you had personally curated this place and your reputation was on the line.
I glanced at the magnificent purple mountains stretched out to the horizon under a cotton candy sky.. "It's ok I guess." I bit my lip to keep from grinning.
"I see," you said with mock concern, all the laughter confined to your eyes. "Is there something that would improve your experience ma'am?"
"I mean, I don't want to sound demanding but maybe being carried to this point by some sort of pack animal and greeted by a margarita in an air conditioned tent. Just a few simple touches like that."
You rolled your eyes and a shadow of a smile pulled on your lips, not quite able to stay deadpan. "I'll check with the event managers."
"Seriously, thank you for showing me around. I don't really know many people outside of work yet and you took time out of your day to do this."
"You said you wanted to explore the area and someone had to make sure you didn't get lost or fall off the side of a mountain."
I let out a loud, fake guffaw. "Wow, thanks for the concern. I won't say anything else after this because I'm allergic to sincerity but I mean it. Thank you."
You swatted my thanks away like a pesky fly.
"Don't even mention it. It was purely selfish anyways. I'd prefer to be here any day of the week rather than a stuffy room and I like hanging out with you." I squirmed a bit as you looked directly into my eyes. I liked it a little too much when you looked at me. It didn't have to mean anything. I could just enjoy being looked at without it going anywhere. There was an awkward pause in conversation and I played with a loose string coming off my boots. I was acting like a goddamn teenager.
You pulled something from your pocket and I heard the slick sound of metal on metal. I saw what was in your hand and pulled away instantly. A knife. You must have seen the shocked look on my face and put your hands up like you would for the police. "Oh god, I'm so sorry. I was just going to cut that string for you." You gestured to the string I'd been playing with on my boot.
I put my hands over my face, suddenly embarrassed. "No, shit, I'm sorry. The only reasons I can think of to carry a knife around is that you like to bring women to remote places with no cell phone coverage and murder them." I gestured to the wilderness around us. "Or you're a 90 year old grandfather who always carries a knife just hoping someone eventually needs to open a box or something."
"I am
very
old. So incredibly old," you said quickly, holding up your hands. I could tell you felt bad for scaring me. I let out a breathy laugh and extended my boot towards you. In an instant, you had cut the string and folded the knife back up. I scooted close to you. The scent of your skin mixed with aftershave drifted up to my nose. You smelled so fucking good.
"Hold on. Let me see that again." In an instant the blade had been flipped open and I had leaned over much closer than necessary to examine it. It was actually kind of pretty if I would have been looking properly. Bright silver with mother of pearl in the handle. Instead of that, I was noticing my arm pressed against your arm. My leg against your leg as I leaned in. My fingers brushing over yours as I pulled it from your hand and examined it.
"There's no corkscrew or nail file or anything. What kind of amateur knife is this anyways?"
"Um... what?" I've rarely seen that level of confusion on a human face before or since then.
