coquetterie

The previous post, a tweet, alludes to what I did at lunch today. I hope you’ve been using your imagination between then and now.

Business lunches find me bored, generally. Lunch today certainly wasn’t any different. I sang the praises of documentation, web presence, FAQs and more to gray-haired, paunchy men in ill-fitting suits.You know the type. Old-fashioned and out-of-touch, they addressed me as sweetie, dear and honey. I told them an infinite number of times why they continued to lose ground to the competition: cheeky, upstart bastards.

While they rolled the foreign concepts of SEO, blogging and more around their heads, I caught the eye of a handsome man two tables over. Tall, bald and dimpled, he exuded confidence. His finger bare, I knew that doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t looking for a commitment, just a little lunchtime flirtation. Surrounded by colleagues, he winked surreptitiously to me. I smiled in return.

As I flirted and picked at my lunch, a dollop of salad dressing landed on my lip at the corner of my mouth. I watched my prey. I felt his gaze on me. I knew his eyes watched my lips and what was to happen. My pink tongue slid over my red-stained lips, and with a deft flick, removed the salad dressing. His eyes widened a feral grin spread across his face.

I turned my attention back to the bickering and dickering gentlemen at my table. One solicitously asked if I felt well. I looked pinched and drawn. I wanted to scream that I’m just fine, getting hornier and hornier as my mind wandered, dwelling on what I would do with my new flirtatious friend.

I squirmed in my seat. I thought of how I wanted to fuck him. I wanted to push his chair back and slide onto his lap and ride him. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck, then slide my lips against his, plunging my tongue into his hot, wet mouth. I wanted to pull his shirt apart, not bothering to unbutton it. I wanted to send the buttons flying across the restaurant so I could free his chest to my marauding hands.

Thinking these thoughts, I lurched from the table with a half-hearted excuse and I hurried to the ladies room. I pushed into the first stall and locked the door behind me. I braced against the cool brick wall. I could feel the fever of desire spreading through my body, I knew my cheeks flushed crimson, highlighting the stark contrast of my dark hair and creamy skin.

My fingers bunched my sun dress into my hands and pulled it thigh high. I freed one hand from the folds of material and let it skid to between my thighs. I pushed two fingers into the hot, wet folds of my cunt. Serendipity smiled upon me today, the one day I decide not to wear panties beneath my dress. My fingers plunged in and out of my cunt. My fingers brushed against my clit.

Before I could judge the time lapse, I came hard on my fingers. I could smell the scent enveloping me. I continued to self-fuck and caress until another hard, powerful orgasm rushed through me. Sagging against the wall, I caught my breath and I could hear the sound of the lively bathroom around me.

As always, I licked and sucked my fingers clean. I blotted my cheeks and forehead with tissue and flushed it away. I exited, went to the sink and washed my hands. A wicked, knowing grin played upon my lips, and I was shocked to realize only five minutes elapsed.

I returned to the table and sat in time to see my flirtatious friend and his group had left. My lunch companions remarked on my healthy glow and less pinched look. I replied that sometimes you need to accept the inevitable and just fucking do it…

Kraak & Smaak: Squeeze Me (feat. Ben Westbeech): Plastic People (Bonus Track Version) [3:17]

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I like it when readers stumble across this blog and contact me. It’s nice and feels like a small community is springing up. What I do not like is when people are obviously only interested in your writing because of what you look like. I thought words transcended images? I suppose my thought was incorrect, at least with some.

I spent the afternoon chatting with a charming gentleman from the Chicago area. We giggled, we chatted and had a hoot. When I delivered the (what was soon to be) fateful IM that I have a rubenesque figure, he couldn’t leave the chat fast enough. Granted, I know everyone doesn’t like girls with fuller figures. What I didn’t realize in my naïveté was that my size or plumpness mattered. These words are meant to guide through the trials and tribulations of running my business and my life.

I know for certain that I do not want to date a person that won’t even chat with someone who is a size 16. I’m ticked off because it matters. How I flirt, respond or tease has nothing to do with the way I look. It has to do with me as a person. The fact that I’m devoting a post to a jackass, that has his head so far up his ass that he doesn’t realize it or this fact, is only giving credence to his values and thoughts.

Ladies and gentlmen, before you contact me, if you cannot handle chatting with a size 16 woman that is damned awesome in personality and looks, don’t even bother contacting me.

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Suit. Dess shoes. Silk tie. Cuff links. Dress shirt with French cuffs.

I said it before and I say it again: I lust after well-dressed men. We agreed to meet for dinner. You rushed. I arrived early and the hostess tucked me into a dark booth in the back.

Watching as you dash into the restaurant, your briefcase clutched in one hand, your overcoat draped over your arm, I sigh. In this instant, in this moment, you are perfection personified. You arrived directly from the office, your breathing heavy.

I wave, signaling you. A sharp nod acknowledges the wave then you wend your way to the booth. Tossing your briefcase unceremoniously into the booth, you take two extra steps, bend and press a soft kiss and a whispered apology to my lips. Your jacket blankets your briefcase.

We eat dinner. A local Mexican restaurant, we enjoy margaritas and tequila shots. We laugh. We touch. We flirt across our meals. The tension rises, clearly combustible.

We communicate with the waiter. The bill arrives. A card emerges. Paid.

We gather our things. We extricate ourselves from the booth. We saunter from the restaurant. Your hand engulfs mine. We make our way into the night.

We decide to walk to my home. The night is young. The sky illuminated by the high rise light show and the air temperate, swirling around us, teasing the hem of my skirt.

You laugh as I bat my skirt down, rail at the breeze. Your hand tugs mine, I fall against you, my head upturned. Your head lowers; your lips kiss mine.

Kissing, in the middle of the sidewalk, hot and passionate. Your tongue pushes past my cherry ice cream smile. My arms creep up, wrapping around your shoulder. Standing on tip-toes.

I break from the kiss, lips swollen, breathing heavy. My dark eyes sparkle in the dimmed evening light. Still hand in hand, I pull you behind me, a force with which to be reckoned.

We walk, rushed in silence. The sounds around us muted. Our heavy breathing, our footfalls, the swish of material the soundtrack to the race.

I smile and mumur a greeting to the doorman as we slip into the buildling. I tug you after me, although you are beside me as we enter the elevator.

Soft thuds accompany the falling to the floor of your coat and briefcase. You attack. Pressing me against the wall of the elevator, a free hand jams the button to my floor. Your mouth already returned to mine, your tongue plunging into my mouth.

You break the kiss, your hands roaming over my body as mine roam over your back and shoulders. Your mouth is against my ear, whisper how much you want me. Grinding against my hips, I feel the rock hard lenth of your cock through the layers of our clothes.

The door chimes, signaling our arrival on my floor. We somehow manage to scoop up your briefcase and jacket and exit the elevator. Your hand cups and caresses my bum as we walk the long length of corridor to my floor.

Keys in hand, when we reach the door, I slip the key in, unlock the door and we step inside…

Technorati Tags: fantasy, sex, foreplay, french cuffs, suits, well-dressed-men, kissing

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It was the waning week between Christmas Day and New Years. The week in which the lucky are on vacation; the unlucky must work. I was somewhere in the middle. I made my own schedule, picking and choosing the hours I wished to work. He was not so fortunate, on a weekly schedule. Nevertheless, we made time for each other.

We had met once before; we had drinks in a public bar in the middle between our two homes. He drank bud lights whilst I swilled strawberry margaritas. We flirted; we laughed. I spent a lot of time imagining his gorgeous lips, full and sexy on mine. He spent his time, he told me later, staring at my tits, thinking on their awesomeness. We had a little fun that afternoon, our inhibitions removed by the alcohol. Although, that’s a story for another day.

Back to the waning week, now. It was night. We agreed to meet at 9:30 at the fairgrounds, again half-way between our homes. The night was dark, damp and cool. I arrived slightly early. As I waited, I rummaged through my purse only to realize that my cell phone sat at home, on my bed. I grew worried as time passed as he had not yet arrived.

I fretted until he arrived. Tall, dark-haired, handsome and tattooed, I enjoyed our previous adventure. He stepped out into the cool night air. He helped me from my car, pulled me into his arms and kissed me. Hot, deep and hard, this kiss exuded need. His tongue dove into my mouth and I tasted him, the faint taste of the marlboros he smokes.

His hands roamed over the zip-up fleece that I wore. Beneath it, the only thing that stood between us was the delicate lace of my lingerie. His hands large on my breasts kneeded them as we continued to kiss, hard and deep. My fingers moved over his chest and then curled around his broad shoulders. The damp night turned wet, a cold drizzle started to fall. We gasped; he pulled my arms from around his necked and spun me around.

My bottom rested against his groin, his hands around me, gripping, massaging and stroking my breasts. His mouth made a meal of my neck. Teeth nibble and chewed at the tender skin. The only sounds echoing around us, our moans. I ground back against him and he rewarded me with a tighter grip and strangled sound of pleasure. We moved together two parts making a whole, synchronous machine.

His hand slipped upwards, between my breasts until I felt it on my neck. His touch, light yet strong as his fingers strummed over the sensitive skin of my neck, his mouth still tasting my neck. My hands reached behind me, grasping to feel him, to feel his cock. He sensed my eagerness to touch and tease him. I felt him pulsing beneath the denim. He bent slightly forward, whispered into my ear, “Get in the Jeep.”

We clambored into Jeep and fell over each other. Hands roamed, tongues fought, sounds ricocheted. Cramped and close described our quarters. My legs rested over his thigh. His hands snuck under the back of my top, cool against my bare skin. We played, teased and made-out like teenagers until we both gasped for more…

Technorati Tags: summer, jeep, lips, rain, cold, the holidays

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