Touch

"I'm going to touch you." He said to me.

I could feel my whole body reacting to those 5 little words. His voice sounded pleasant in my ear. A little more than a whisper, but still deep and husky. I don't think that he meant to be overheard by the other people standing nearby. His voice was the only thing that seemed to touch me. He had kept his hands to himself. Although his hands didn't reach out for me, his body radiated a heat that I could feel. His cologne was filling my nostrils. I was sure that he wore it to make himself more desirable to the women he would meet tonight, but not overpowering. Unlike his statement.

It was a statement. Not a question or request to touch me. Just an acknowledgment from him, about what would, without a doubt, happen that night. How far would he go in touching me? In what way would he do this deed he proclaimed. Who would know that he was doing it? Where would my body be making contact with his? When would he begin? All questions started flooding my mind, but unasked. Because I knew that he wasn't going to give me any answers to them. He was walking away, to the other side of the room.

I waited for him to make eye contact. To confirm what I had heard. My breathe had quickened in that brief moment of his passing. Realizing that I had been holding it. I let it out, long and slowly. He continued to move away. Stopping to say hello to someone who had come into the room. I waited for him to turn around. To look at me. But then I realized that looking isn't what he was going to do. Touching is what he said, not looking.

I released the tight grip I was holding on my glass. Raising it to my lips, I began to drink from the cool liquid inside. The champagne bubbles were floating to the surface and tickling the roof of my mouth. My husband caught my eye and gave a little nod. "Doing ok?" He mouthed to me. I simply nodded. Was this planned between the men? I couldn't tell. Judging by the way he followed my gaze and back, doubtful. But then it wouldn't have surprised me if he had. My husband was like that sometimes, setting up little scenarios. I wasn't sure which of them enjoyed the control more. Funny, as much as the two of them didn't like each other; they sure were alike in that regard.

I slid off of the stool I had been sitting on. Thankful for its support for the last few moments. Had it not been under my butt, I'm sure that I would have crumbled. My legs feeling weak from his passing by. I would have fallen to the ground beneath me. But now, it was a few moments later. My glass was nearly gone. I felt steadier, and sure of myself, so I got down and crossed over to the table of food.

Something to eat was what I need now. Perhaps a few bites of fruit and cheese would help to squelch the butterflies that were bouncing off of the walls of my stomach. Besides I was feeling a bit lightheaded all of the sudden. It must be this wine I looked down at the glass. Draining it, I placed it aside and grabbed a plate.

It would be my last glass of the night. My only in fact. I didn't like to drink at these things. It made my head foggy. It was harder to stay focused. I always want to retain my senses and more importantly my control, in groups like this. But I had just lost that. His declaration of intention had drained all but my ability to stay up right. I aimed to get it back.

The strawberry felt plump under my forefinger and thumb. I squeezed it slightly. It's flesh firm and yet yielding. I lifted it to my mouth and bit into it. The juice floating down over my lip and chin. I leaned forward to catch it with my napkin, not wanting to stain my blouse. The sweet fruit playing on my tongue and the slurping sound in my ear made my wonder if he meant to touch me with his mouth or hand.

The thoughts of how he might perform his deed, once again began to float in my mind's eye. The idea of this, 'touching', was taking root there and not letting go very easily. I gave into my brain and closed my eyes for just a minute, imagining. Soft, tender, and questioning would be his fingers. Quick and seemingly noticeable, is how I dreamed it would be like. They would barely notice the feel of the fabric of my skirt, as they glided along the roundness the cheek of my ass. I heard a small moan.

I shook my head, as my eyes flew open. Who was having sex already, I wondered? Quickly I remembered it was my own body, giving voice to what my brain was conjuring. I swallowed the rest of the berry and hurriedly picked out a few more pieces, piling them on my plate. My heart was racing again and I drew in a few long breaths to slow it's pace.

I found my seat occupied now by a very leggy redhead. Looking around I chose another seat, instead. I didn't feel the need to engage in small talk over who's seat it had been. I choose to forego the banter of strangers. Deciding to keep to the conversation in my own mind for now. The current discussion being a debate. What was the best course of action between allowing this man to perform his desire, or not. This was not something I had sought out to play with before. Nor was it first time it had happened either. Before it was the shock of allowing, taking over from disallowing. Now it was a toss between that allowing and the wanting, on the table.

Nibbling on the cube of cheese I studied him a bit more. He wasn't the tallest man in the room, nor the shortest. His features were softer than someone who enjoyed the rigors of the outdoors. Preferring more leisurely pursuits found in the comforts of inside. I liked how his hair brushed the back of his collar, the bits of grey blending into blonde. It was subtle mixture, unlike him. I continued to look him over, like a prey. Or was he the predator? After all, I wasn't the one making a declaration of intention.

I let my mind replay our lengthy dialogue in my head. I wanted it, I decided. When the time came I would allow this man, this predator, this prey, to lay a part of his body in direct contact with my own. The dam in my mind gave way to the images it had been piling up. I found myself tightening my ass, at the idea of the feathery caresses of my butt cheeks. The way his finger would slide along; following the seam down the back of my skirt. Tracing the seam of my body, knowing that he would know what, would be underneath it.

I watched his back as he walked around the room. His hand at the small of a woman's back, or firmly shaking her husband's. Oh the idea of that hand covering one, or both, of the mounds of flesh at my chest. His hand warming my skin through the silk of my blouse. Or deftly flicking open the buttons, allowing him direct contact with the honeyed tan tissue. My nipples felt like rocks in my blouse. I didn't need to look down to know that they were visible to everyone's eyes, who cared to look.

Would people be looking when this happened? Would he allow me some sense of privacy or make a show of my body's reaction to his touch? Would he demonstrate to others of his skill? My thighs tightened together. Already, they were trying to block entrance to what I'm sure would be his probing fingers. Much the way my mind was trying to block the images floating in and out of my mind. I could feel both the images slip out, along with the juices my body was making.

Once again I found myself sighing deeply. He was continuing his round of the room. Such a good host to the guests. He seemed to be able to read the people that he came in contact with. Knowing when to touch, and were. For some it was higher up on an arm; or lower on a backside. Others maintained their distance to his touch, offering only a hand or none at all. Would he be just as good at hosting my body's needs? Would he judge the right amount of touch? Would he know just how to touch me? To make my body shudder in need. Or to explode with passion?

I was anxious to find out. I stood up. Without meaning to, I mentally called out to him. He must have heard my silent plea, because he turned his head to look at my direction just then. His eyes never flinching as they looked over my form. Studying it. I straightened my back, preparing for battle. He spoke slightly to the person to his left, but never pulled his gaze from mine. A worthy opponent. Eventually his face softened into a knowing smile.

I smiled back and crossed the room.

~fin~