Quickie Sex Stories – Expectation (Part 2)
I dry off and put on a pair of black lace undies and a matching bra before wandering to the closet to pick out the perfect dress. He’ll be here any minute, I know, but I want something that stirs him the moment I open the door, something that immediately makes him want to unwrap me like a present on Christmas. It has been two months since he has been in town and a day hasn’t gone by that I didn’t think about him, miss him, long for his touch. There have been others but he is the one always haunting the back of my mind, lingering in a way that others don’t or can’t.
Fingers fumbling through the fabrics, sliding through the double row of bright colors – blouses, dresses, pants, camisoles. I can’t find what I want. I pull out a dress, hold it up, check myself in the mirror, and decide against it. I slap the metal hook back on the rack and my eyes fall on the clock. I have two minutes, maybe less, before the doorbell rings and he’s standing there. I grab a little black number, poly-rayon blend, it’s low cut in the front and hits just about mid-thigh. I grab the shoes I bought to match it, high, metal heels and lots of little straps.
I throw the dress over my head. The fabric hugs me, outlines every curve. I sit on the edge of the bed with the shoes. I have always loved these shoes, so many straps winding around the ankle and up onto the calf. I feel sexy just cinching the buckles tight.
Hair is next. No time for something fancy, I comb it straight, twist it into a bun, and impale it with a long, jade hair pin he brought from China last year. As soon as my fingers touch it, my mind tumbles back to the day he brought it for me. The first time I used it. The first time he slipped it out and my hair fell to my shoulders.
Our relationship is not a terribly complicated one. We met in an airport. He is a pilot. Tall, dark, and handsome in a Southern California high school football star kind of way. If there is a pilot pinup calendar, he should be on it.
He likes black and white movies and a Highland Scotch – neat with a water back, the same way I do. When our eyes met from across the room, he made his way over to me. I was sitting at the bar waiting on a flight and he had just landed.
We stared at each other as he walked from the gate to my side. It was instant magnetism. We both knew the score before he made it half way. He asked what I was drinking, a typical question when I am sitting at any bar, but his reaction to the answer locked us together in the way we are today.
“Did I tell you that you could drink my drink?”
“I didn’t ask,” I answered incapable of taking my eyes off his.
“You will from now on.”
It’s been over a year and I have seen him probably ten times. I look forward to little else as much as the time we spend together. Our relationship is unique in a way that thrills me.
My heart is racing.
The mirror reflects and I start to check for details that might be out of place. It was a rush job but I need to look as close to perfect as possible. I already have a strike against me, the glistening moisture between my thighs.
My eyes check the clock again. He’s seconds away, I can almost feel it. I close the closet doors, straighten my glasses, and roll the lint roller over my shoulders. As close to perfect as I’m going to get, I think as I take one more overall look at myself in the mirror. Lipstick! I rush to the dresser and grab a deep red, his favorite color and start to apply it.
I’m just smacking my lips together when the doorbell sounds. It’s him. My breath catches, and I can hear my heart beating. He’s here.