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There are certain perks working in the media industry, one of which is comps — complimentary goods, gifts, or services. I fanned a pair of concert tickets for one of Leta’s favorite bands in front of her and said, ‘Friday night, you and I are going on a date.’
‘That’s sold out!’ she said, her eyes brightening over the laptop screen.
‘It is.’ It had been sold out thirty-seconds after the tickets appeared online. Even with both of us trying from our respective computers, we hadn’t been able to secure a pair. However, a radio station I did graphic design for had been able to secure five pairs. Sometimes getting what you want was as simple as knowing the right person to ask.
‘When can I expect you, sir?’ she said from across our breakfast nook.
‘Seven,’ I said.
On Friday I took evening clothes — jacket, dress shirt, slacks, and a tie — with me to work at the studio. I had to shoot stills for a local restaurant and layout copy in Dreamweaver for an Internet catalog. I was ahead of deadline on both projects, however, so it was a comfortable working day. I finished the photo work-flow by two and worked until four on the catalog. I caught up on email and billing until five. I showered. I dressed. I called for a car.
I could have easily driven the mile to our home. It’s what I would have done for a regular date night. But a taxi took away the distractions of driving and parking and let me focus fully on the evening and Leta. Plus, I liked that delighted smile she had whenever I surprised her like this.
‘Did you lose something?’ she said, indicating the taxi, as she exited the house. She wore her little black dress and heels. Her hair was up off her shoulders. She held a pocket book which matched the dress. She looked delectable.
‘No,’ I said. I held the cab door for her, enjoying the brush of her scent as she slipped past me. ‘I know just where I left it.’
The driver dropped us at a tiny restaurant a block from the concert venue. It had once been a house but was now converted into a bistro with French leanings. We sat on their patio and dined on sauteed chicken and chevre crepes — their specialty. We drank pinot gris. The day gave way to the evening around us, the hint of fall coming on the air. The restaurant busied, but our corner of the patio felt calm and peaceful. I reached across to touch Leta’s hand. I looked into her eyes. We talked about geekery and I listened to the anticipation ramp up in her voice as we talked about the concert to come.
Then it was mere steps to the venue, an old meeting hall turned into a waypoint for the more eclectic acts passing through town. It was small and tight, like a dance hall, almost claustrophobic compared to the arts center downtown. Inside you felt the crowd and the band. And you felt the heat quick. But this was rock and roll. Well, the rockin’ swing and ska of the Cherry Poppin’ Daddies. That room quivered with the horns. It beat to the drums. It thrummed to the bass.
After three encores, it was over.
‘Thank you,’ Leta said as we stepped out.
‘You’re most welcome,’ I said. I called for a car on my cell phone and was glad to cool down in the few minutes it took for it to arrive. We put the windows down for more cool air and Leta nuzzled against me, my arm around her. She hummed one of the songs to herself.
‘Want to dance?’ I said.
‘Not in front of the driver,’ she said.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Behind him.’
I saw her thinking about it and I smiled at her in the near dark of the cab. She nodded. She moved so that she was straddling me, the hem of her dress lifting high on her bottom. I put my arms around her, drew her close, and held her steady. I swayed as she hummed. I felt the warmth and softness of her close to me. The press of her thighs against mine. The press of her breasts against my chest. I nuzzled between her ear and shoulder and kissed her throat.
I held her to me with one arm while my other hand slid along the smooth dress down to her bottom. How odd it is that her skin can feel both cool and warmth in the same touch. Cool in finding her flesh, warm as it stays with mine.
With the next turn I wildly dipped her to one side and pulled her back to her giggling. Then she eased against me, lightly against me with the subtlest grind of her hips. I saw the fire in her eyes and I kissed her. Her movement became less subtle now. I heard it as much in her breath as I felt in it her hips. Pressing against me. Pressing against me. And me pulling her tighter to me with the one arm, the other hand stroking her bare thigh bunched against me.
I cannot say when the car stopped. I only noticed when the driver cleared his throat, and that could have been at least a day or two later in the evening. Leta carefully extracted herself from my lap, her hands tactful in smoothing her dress over her bottom in the dark as she exited the cab. Then, laughing, she walked quickly towards our door. I paid and tipped our driver, then followed her to the house at a less deliberate pace.
She’d left the door open for me, but was nowhere to be seen in the half light of the single lamp in the living room and the light over the oven far past the dining room in the kitchen. I looked towards the stairs and listened for her above.
‘Are you hiding?’ I called out.
Nothing.
I left my jacket on the stair post and started up.
I called out to her at the top of the stairs. Nothing again. But I saw our bedroom door half open in the low light of the single lamp in the hall. I walked towards it.
‘Leta?’
Nothing.
I pushed through the door.
She stood at the far side of the room silhouetted against the French doors that opened to the little balcony. I could just make out the curve of her.
One of the great advantages we have is our ability to communicate. Leta and I enjoy talking to each other. We leave notes for each other. We email. We text. But in that moment, as she looked over her shoulder at me, we didn’t need to say anything. The words — the feelings — streamed between us beyond simple means.
I put my arms around her and drew her back against me.
Woman. Warmth. Softness. Tenderness. Strength. Compassion. Cleverness.
The closeness drove my desire for her.
I am a man, I will not tell you I need her, but I do. I need to touch her and kiss her and fuck her. I need to possess her as a man possesses a woman and is possessed by her in return. It’s as vital within me as my need to breathe. It drives me at an animal level, and it took much to resist simply tumbling to the floor with her and fucking her relentlessly without finesse. But being of nobler mind as well, I was able to move her the three whole steps towards the bed before pawing at the zipper to her little black dress.
I peeled the dress down over her shoulders and breasts. She wriggled it to her hips and then to her ankles. She bent to pick it up, her bottom pressing against me in a wonderful way. She slipped out of her black bra and panties in two silky whispers.
She turned to me and smiled. I could see the twinkle in her eyes. She dropped back upon the bed, arms spread wide, almost as if making a bed angel. She was a bed angel. Her skin looked creamy in the half light from the window. Her body curved with luscious topography.
Never looking away from her, I undid my tie knot and pulled it through my collar. I tossed it out across her and drew a silk line down her right breast, over her belly, and onto her right thigh. She squirmed at the cool, soft touch. I smiled at her and threw the tie aside.
Quickly I removed my shirt, trousers, and boxer briefs, standing over her, naked and hard. I dropped down next to her and drew her into my arms. She felt both cool and warm against me, but ever so soft.
I stroked her hair, cupped her face and kissed her deeply. Our tongues flicked together. I tasted the sweetness of her bre
ath. She returned my kiss. Her hands smoothed my shoulders and arms. We knotted in embrace from lips to ankles.
With each touch, each breathy sound, I felt myself growing more aroused. Harder. Ever so harder. And thick. My cock pressed against the soft flesh of her thigh.
I cupped her breast with one hand and thumbed the nipple madly as if it were the very toggle of her desire. I bent to take her other nipple between my lips. I sucked. I flicked my tongue across, drawing light crisscrosses. She moaned. Her thighs shifted anxiously.
Madness and desire was what little left I had in my mind for thinking. Those thoughts were far less thoughts but more low throaty growls – they couldn’t be anything but growls – I heard myself making.
My hand trailed slowly over her belly and onto her thigh. And now between her thighs. Hot. Wet. She gasped in my ear. My fingers traced the delicate flesh. Opened her. Touched her. She gasped. She shifted towards me. Her thighs opened wide to me.
I wanted to fuck her.
I shifted between her thighs, my hard cock preternaturally leading me.
She groaned as I entered her and I heard myself groaning as well.
We were as close as a man and woman could be. Literally together. Slowly grinding against each other. But then more than grinding. Thrusting. Lifting and meeting.
And then in something beyond time, I found myself cumming. My mind electric and primal. Draining myself into her. I felt her clutching me completely, trying to draw me down deeper into her.
And I wanted her to cum. I moved up onto my knees, my cock withdrawing just a moment while I reposition. My hand guiding it in again. My hand staying on her. My thumb finding her clit. Thrusting and rubbing. Thrusting and rubbing.
She mewled. Her hips thrust towards me. She moaned. I looked in her eyes. She both pleaded and looked lost. Her head rocked back. She cried out.
I rolled to her side and drew her close to me, holding her. I slowly became aware of the sound of our rushed breath, but little else — certainly nothing outside the envelope of my arms.
After a few minutes she looked up at me. She said, ‘So…now only three encores to go?’
I looked down at her, smiled, and kissed her.
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