Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Milk and Honey

Yes it has been forever and a day since I have written a damn thing. What keeps me from writing is the same thing that keeps someone who is unable to run cross country from going to the park where people are on the jogging trails 24/7 in their cute little spandex shorts and iPod earbuds. If we can't have it, it hurts like hell to even think about it.

So up until now I have pretty much kept my geographical location out of things. Partly because of the irrational need to remain private, but also because I didn't feel it relevant to anything I was writing. Hell, what I have written was not an attempt to lure local girls to my bedroom. It was an outlet for my imagination and frustration. But I think I can pretty much abandon that idea now. I don't care if you know where I am. I'm not exactly going to point you to my door or to my lunchtime coffee hangout, but why not tell you about my city?

I live in Auburn, Alabama. Not exactly in the heart of town, but close enough to everything to be able to enjoy the city. I have lived here for about ten years. A lot has happened to me, but I won't bore you with all of that garbage. This is a college town, and I get to see the best and brightest young people of today come and go, along with the dumbest and most useless. I have sat in Toomer's drugstore drinking lemonade, strolled past Samford Hall, wandered through Tigertown, and jogged through Kiesel Park.

So right about now you are thinking that I ogle all the college girls and imagine myself sleeping with every new flavor of teenage legs that walks by with a Tigers college tee strained across her breasts.


In fact, most teenage girls turn me off. By teenagers, I don't just mean people in their teens. I mean any college student that giggles like an idiot, twirls their hair, and is obviously one of those people in high school who cared more about their iPhone than their grades. Today I want to tell you about something that did turn me on, and it was a humdinger, let me say that right now.

And there is nothing redeeming about this whatsoever. It is 100% pure lust. I was at a coffee shop in town, and there was a group of students milling about laughing and yelling about youtube videos they had seen online, and about who did this and who did that, and who got who got shit-faced from too much alcohol. Standard teenage silliness. I was sitting at my booth alone with my Kindle and coffee. I was dressed from a day at work; khakis and a dress shirt with loosened tie. I glanced over at the group from time to time, wondering if any of these kids cared about the education they had here more than their peers' escapades. One girl in particular was painfully adorable, tight little tank top "Aubie Girl" shirt, perfectly formed little baseball sized breasts, legs that went on forever...from the cute little sandals she wore that showed off her french manicured toes all the way up to where her gym shorts barely hid the gorgeous silhouette of her sex. Yes, of course I am looking. I am dead on staring; and for a moment, I think I see a tiny whisp of dark curlies peek out. My mind dissolves into what her arousal would taste and smell like as I ravaged her body with kisses from her head to beautiful toes. I'm 37, so I am twice her age, most likely. She has probably had at least one or two sexual partners by now, and maybe one of them has actually made her climax of his own accord. I imagine how it would be if I had her to myself for a night. I would not even begin my pleasure until I had made her so hot she was gasping for words, and even then I would want at least one spine twisting orgasm to rack her body before my cock even made it's way into her hands. I imagined what her little puckered lips would look and feel like as they slipped over the head of my cock, and how I would have to WILL myself not to explode in her mouth from the mental image of that alone. This entire fantasy was interrupted, however, because I was not vigilant enough about my own bearings, and as I looked longingly at her mouth, I became aware that she was looking back at me. My eyes locked with hers, and for a split second there was that moment of "What happens here, I wonder?" The movies fill our heads with images of the girl smiling demurely as she lowers her eyes, and then leaving the restaurant with a giggle and a second glance stolen at the gentleman...teasing him with her eyes. That isn't how it happens in real life though. In reality, what happened was she wrinkled her nose, rolled her eyes, and wrapped one arm around the college guy standing behind her. He leaned over and kissed her, and the moment was gone. Their party got up and left soon after, and I was alone again.

That was when I saw her. She was not a student; not at the moment anyway. Right now she was a waitress. Maybe she works to pay her way through college. Maybe she lives here in town. Maybe her grades weren't good enough for college, but she needed the job...who knows? I could find all these things out I suppose, but she is very busy. Lunch rush has ended and she is cleaning up getting ready for the next wave. What sexy outfit is she wearing, you ask? A dark green polo that has faded areas from repeated washings, a pair of black uniform pants, no-slip shoes, and her hair is in a ragged ponytail. She walks with purpose, towel in hand ready to wipe tables. The outline of her cell phone shows through the back pocket of her pants. She is maybe early twenties, at most. She looks at me, smiles, walks over and asks if I want more coffee. Her nametag says Jessica. I nod yes, and she returns to top me off. As she walks back to the counter, I see her stop for a moment, look both ways, and slip off one shoe. Little white no-show socks reveal an ankle that tapers upward to nicely defined legs, as far as I can see. She leans against the counter, brings her foot up, and massages the sole deeply. Her eyes roll back in her head for a moment, and slipping her shoe back on, she pauses to do the same for the other foot. The front door buzzes, and she quickly slips the shoe back on, goes to the hand sanitizer station, washes up, and puts on a smile for the customer with the to-go order. I forget myself for a moment and allow my mind to wander again...

In my mind, she walks back over to me, and tells me her story. How she got here, what she wanted in life, and how she will get it or die trying. We talk of how I know she WILL get what she wants because I see how hard she works, and how I think a beautiful young lady like herself has the world at her feet, she just needs to wake up and see what I already see in her eyes. We talk off and on between customers, and when things get busy again, she says "Maybe we can...I dunno?" I ask when she gets off work, and she writes her number on a napkin. I come back at the end of her shift, and she nervously smiles and suggests that me might go back to her place for a beer.

On the drive back to her apartment, she talks for a few minutes, then nods off a few times...utterly exhausted and sleep deprived. When we get there, she sits down and immediately starts to get back up to get the drink for me. I step over to her, gently push her back down on the sofa, and say "You rest; I will get it." I find the drinks in her fridge, and walk back to her with a pillow I have grabbed from the chair by the TV. I hand her the glass, sit at her feet, sliding a pillow under her knees, and resting her feet in my lap. I remove one shoe and then the other, then begin a slow, deep massage of each foot from her heel all the way to her toes. Her head lies back against the sofa, and little moans of pleasure escape her. I work intently on each foot, and then move up to her ankles and lower calves. She is now completely relaxed, and she says "If you keep that up, I will fall asleep. I know I will." I tell her to do what she feels, and she says "Do you mean that?" I tell her yes, and she unbuttons her slacks and sheds them to the floor. I take a moment to enjoy the view of her legs. I was right, they are trim and lithe, but totally relaxed at this moment. She lies her head back again. I gently massage her legs now, working up to just below her knees. She smiles and says "I will give you exactly four hours to stop that." I work slowly upward, careful not to overstep my bounds. Her lacy boyshorts reveal a firm, tight little bottom. I ask if she would like me to work on her back, and she says "Oh, God yes..." and she stands and strips off her shirt. Her little bra leaves nothing to the imagination, and when she lies down on the couch, I explore the hard lines in her shoulder blades and her lower spine. She lets out a "Mmm." every now and then, and I finally hear a sound I knew was coming. Measured, even breaths and a slight tiny little snore.

She is out.

I sit there patiently. Two hours pass, and finally she stirs. She apologizes profusely, and starts to get up. Once again, I tell her to stay put. She sits back down, and looks up at me with such a beautiful face that I can hardly imagine the waitress that once lived inside it. I ask her if she would like to wash up, and she says she would. She goes to the bathroom and runs a bath, then tells me she will be out soon. I sit and wait, and after a few moments, I hear her say "Would you mind doing something for me?" I stand at the door and say "What do you need?" She says "I would love it if you would wash my back." A lump is in my throat. I step through the door and see her turned away from me, sitting in a tub of bubbles. She nods toward the sponge hanging from the shower head, and I take it and work it up into a lather. I wash her back, and she reaches back to her ponytail and pulls it to the side. I wash her neck and shoulders, and then prepare to exit so that she can have more alone time. She thanks me, and I smile as I see the smallest hint of a nipple peeking from beneath her arm.

I step outside, and become aware that I am fully aroused and hard as steel. I push this thought from my head as best I can as I hear water running and then draining from the tub from behind the door. Suddenly, I hear her voice again. "Could you do me one last favor?" I tell her "Yes." through the door, and without warning, the door opens. She stands there, fully naked, nipples responding to the change in temperature, and her little hard belly trembling in the chill. Without any control left, I slide to my knees in front of her, and looking up into the carefully manicured patch of pubic hair framing her clit, I bury my face into her crotch, my tongue finding her clit in one smooth movement. Her body falls slowly back against the wall, and she cries out in one long moan "Oh God, that! Yes please..."

(to be continued...)