I fidget with the hem of my skirt as the car pulls into a parking spot. The gas station looks seedy at best, but when you're in the middle of downtown LA I suppose seedy can be taken as a compliment. The setting sun casts shadows in areas while highlighting others. The stark contrast in lighting draws my eyes and the artistic side of my brain can't help but acknowledge that there's still some sort of weird appeal to the place. One of those grungy, run down, "here's some reality for you" types of beauty.
You put the car into park, causing it to lurch a bit, bringing me back to the here and now and out from the never ending trails of thought in my head. I look over at you, then back down to the hem that I've been playing with on and off all day. The girly-ness of my outfit is still new to me, foreign, odd. I press my knees together feeling the skin of my thighs touching. The sensation is so much different than the feeling of when I'm in my gym shorts or yoga pants.
Tom-boy me in a skirt... Odder things have happened, but at the moment, with adrenalin beginning to pour into my blood stream, I'm hard-pressed to remember what they are.
"Follow me," your words are so few, and yet so heavy. I feel my brain being to go into hyper drive.
What will happen if I follow you? Is this all just irrational build up in my head? Is this me reading too far into things? Am I making something out of nothing? I mean, really. This could be a simple stop for who knows what. Soda, chips? We're supposed to watch a movie later tonight after all. What's a movie without snacks?
But what if it's more? Like earlier. Like how you told me to lay down on the bed in the hotel room. What if it turns into more like that did as your hands slid up my legs slowly tugging down my panties as I bit my lip, gripping the sheets as you drew out that action with agonizing deliberation.
What if this is one of those naughty things we've talked about? One of those fantasies I've admitted to? What if this is something that I should be dripping over at just the though of happening?
What if it's everything? What if it's nothing? What if, what if, what if?
All of this, racing through my head in a span of seconds at just your words. All of this wonder and worry, thrill and fear, and the only way to know is to do what you said. I'll only know what this is if I follow you.
I bite my lip. Chewing. Thinking. Analyzing.
Do I want to know?
Even as I think the question I know I do. I want to know. The tightness between my thighs, the wetness I can feel already beginning to gather, answers for me even as the of hint nervousness within me plants itself firmly within my consciousness.
What happens if it's nothing? What happens if I'm getting all worked up and it's just a pit stop?
Hush, I tell my evil little voice, my voice of doubt, as my hand pulls on the door handle. I ease out of the car as you do, smoothing out the skirt as I stand in the setting sun. The light makes me raise my hand to cover my eyes as I walk up to the building, meeting you in front of the car.
You take my hand, gently, but firmly, causing me to lower my head as my makeshift shield against the sun is pulled down. I walk with you, mildly forced to do so unless I put in effort to pull my hand free from yours. I could stop this. I could not follow...
But I want to follow. I want to know. So I walk, squinting down at the gum speckled concert.
We don't go far. Only to the side of the building. I'm able to barely make out the sign for a unisex bathroom, the sudden apparent darkness from the shadows a drastic contrast from the blinding light of just a moment before.
My mind has enough reason to see the line I crossing. Just a foot back is the light. The safety. The known. I'm moving into the darkness. The secret. The corruptive temptation of the unknown.
Does this make me low? Does this make me as less than? Should I be resisting? Is anything gained from denying myself the things I want?
So many thoughts swarming in my head, questions I don't have answers to plaguing me.
The door opens with a noisy, rusty squeak before I am pulled inside behind you. The thud of the door closing behind us seems deafening in my ears and yet the sound of my heart pounding, my shallow breathing, is somehow louder.
I stumble a bit as you pull my hand forward, making me step in front of you so my back is to you. The pitch-black darkness of the restroom is suddenly dispersed as the light for the restroom is flicked on, I presume by you. The smell is borderline sickening, and I can see through my squinting eyes, true to its nature, the seedy gas station has an equally seedy bathroom. Those thoughts do not last long as I feel your hands roughly grab my breasts through my top, pulling me back against your chest as you squeeze my body.
I can't help the startled moan that spills from my lips at the feeling of your firm touch and the sudden hardness against my back. My head falls against your shoulder, eyes wide yet unseeing, as my hands reach up to cover yours, my knees suddenly weak from the flood of sensations.
Your hands knead my flesh, finding my hardened nipples and pinching mercilessly, my piercings making it easy to find them. I moan again at the onslaught, eyes closing, returning me to darkness so that my whole world is nothing but your touch, your quickened breathing, the scent of your skin and the dirty things we're about to do in this equally dirty place.
Your hands move up over my breasts to the neckline of my top. You tug the fabric down in a quick motion along with the cups of my bra so my breasts are exposed. The momentary feelings of coldness and vulnerability vanish as your hands return to their grasping.
"We... shouldn't...," I weakly gasp out even as my hips push back against your groin and my back arches into your hands, a reaction I can't help or stop. Do I want to stop this? Do I want your hands to leave me? I don't know. My body wants this, craves this, needs this. Even as my brain tries to rationalize why I shouldn't, I know I do.
"We'll get caught. We'll... get in... trouble..." The words are hard to say, to think, to find as you pull on my nipples, rolling them between your fingers. Another moan claws its way from my throat as I feel the first rivulet of wetness begin to drip down my legs. I want this. But I shouldn't. But I do. Please.
"If you let me do this and stop resisting it will be quick. No one will know. No one will know you're my naughty little slut," your voice invades my mind as one of your hands slides down to my hip pulling me backwards as your other hand slides around to my back, pushing me forward so that I bend forward in front of you. Through the whole motion my hips stay securely against the hardness of your groin, which you grind into me.
My hands extend out in front of me, bracing myself against the wall as you change my position to what you want. My knees feel so weak I'm surprised I'm able to stand still, and I take a moment to have pride that I am. That I haven't collapsed in front of you... yet. I haven't collapsed like I did before when you made me stand with my back against the wall while you kissed and sucked on my clit...
"You know you want this," your voice again. Your voice making me admit to this dark side of myself. This naughty side. This slutty side. Your words slide over my consciousness the way your hand slides up my thigh, pushing my skirt up higher and higher. The fabric moves up over my hips so that my body is exposed to you. The panties I would normally have worn already tucked into your pocket from earlier, their absence a marker that even before we entered this room that I had already given in. I had already crossed that line.
