Bedroom Closet

I knew S___ liked her from the time she came to the table. He was imme­di­ately charm­ing, mak­ing her laugh, giv­ing rea­sons for her to stay. So was I. Just what we both like. Not too tall, not too short. Soft and curvy, long hair, great smile. She was a lot like me in many ways.

It was a slight dis­ap­point­ment to find out this adorable lit­tle wait­ress was good friends to the peo­ple we were meet­ing. Some lines we dont cross. Too close to friends is somthing we dont want to take the chance on, espe­cially work friends. We would have tried to take he home though. All night I was look­ing for rea­sons to touch her, to see if that spark was there. Had she not been a friend we would have stayed, chat­ted, bought a few drinks then asked if she’d like to go home with us.

I laughed at S___ in the car when he men­tioned how cute she was. I teased him about how I could tell he was lust­ing after her. When he told me it wasn’t just for him I knew he was speak­ing the truth. He could see us together. I could see us together. It would prob­a­bly begin with just she and I, S___ enjoy­ing the view. Time would go on though and I imag­ine he would be a part soon enough.

Kiss­ing her would be the start. We would laugh as our glasses bumped, hav­ing for­got­ten to take them off in that first bold move. Pas­sion would move in quickly though. A pos­si­ble new expe­ri­ence for her would feel good, feel right, and as I pull the comb out of her hair to let it down she would move closer to me and we would be lips and hands.

Shy­ness at the begin­ning for both of us as our hands explored each other. Cup­ping a breast as we kiss, press­ing up against each other, hands on thighs, hands mov­ing down each oth­ers backs. S___ ends up guid­ing us towards what we both want but her shy­ness is con­ta­gious. His hands envelop mine and move them to her waist as we stand, guid­ing them to the bot­tom of her shirt, mov­ing them to feel the naked skin of her waist, up her ribcage, around to her back and then boldly brush­ing over a nip­ple hard from excite­ment not cold. Her move­ments echo mine with­out prompting.

As I kiss her neck I pull up her shirt slowly, paus­ing my kisses only to slip it over her head, resum­ing them quickly and mov­ing down to her breasts. Soft white mounds, push­ing at her bra, peek­ing out of the top as her breath­ing gets heav­ier. I trace the exposed curves with tiny kisses as I feel her lift­ing my shirt…

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