Sometimes I try too hard. Ok… most times I try too hard. Even as a kid I was labeled as an overachiever. If I brought home anything less than an “A”, tears and/or anger flowed from within. I see myself get worn down in my personal and professional life from striving, straining, grasping at that just-out-of-reach perfection. But this thing with Jack is different. I’m completely living in the moment with no worries about where things could lead—or not lead for that matter. I had an honest moment with myself this weekend and I think my lack of concern is because I really don’t care if things eventually fizzle out between us. I’m not emotionally invested. Now physically? Oh yeah. There’s some investment there. That’s what’s making this whole thing so darn fun. But my heart isn’t in play.
On Thursday I expected to have trouble concentrating on work and was fearful that the minutes would drag by until our planned eight o’clock rendezvous for drinks. Thankfully several stressful emergencies came up and I was kept thoroughly engaged with practically no spare moments for daydreaming. Jack popped by my office a couple of times but could see I was in no mood for flirting and beat a hasty retreat. Quitting time rolled around and with all the metaphorical fires extinguished my focus suddenly shifted. Many of you know stress affects me like a potent aphrodisiac and Thursday was no exception.
I drove home, panties soaked in anticipation of the evening to come. Three hours was far too long to wait. As soon as I walked through my door the clothes came off. I carelessly tossed them aside as I a made a beeline for the shower, leaving a breadcrumb trail of my blouse, skirt, camisole, heels, bra and panties. The hot water calmed me, but only slightly. I realized that in order to keep from jumping Jack’s bones (“jumping Jack”… funny) I’d have to take more serious measures. So I masturbated. With the steaming spray beating a tattoo on my erect nipples I reached between my legs and quickly, efficiently made myself orgasm with the flicking of my right middle finger over the shaft of my clit.
After drying off, fixing my hair and applying makeup—with some encouragement via a flurry of text messages with Hyacinth—I snapped pictures of my boobs to share with you all. A quick glance at the clock told me I had to be out the door so I slipped into a denim pencil skirt and simple brown knit top. Camel colored wedge sandals completed the look. I was ready.
Traffic was lighter than expected so I arrived a few minutes early. I scanned the bar for a place to sit. Off to the left, somewhat secluded by a burgundy velvet drape, two wingback chairs and a sofa were tucked around a low table strewn with board games. As I settled into the dark green upholstered chair, a plaid skirted barmaid arrived to take my order. A vodka tonic would be arriving shortly. While waiting, I logged into WordPress on my phone to post the picture and had just hit “publish” when Jack strolled through the door.
He looked good. Jack is built like Dick Van Dyke—long, lean and lanky—and walks with a jaunty, confident, completely masculine swing in his step. He has sandy brown hair sprinkled with gray and trimmed in a classic crew cut. On Thursday his legs were encased in crisp khaki pants and he wore a blue shirt that intensified his October sky colored eyes.
I watched him pause just inside the door and look first to the right and then the left before spotting me. I stood as he came to me, and greeted him with a smile and a hug. His hand ran up and down my back with comfortable familiarity. You see, while I’m not emotionally at risk with Jack, I really like the man. We think a lot alike. We have similar senses of humor. We’re buddies. And at moment I was wondering what his cock tasted like.
We sat—Jack on the sofa, me curled up in the wingback—and once we both had drinks in hand, settled into one of our easy conversations to which I’ve become accustomed. Except this time there was an electric undercurrent to every word. I lasted for one round. When we each had fresh drinks I sipped the clear nectar from the skinny black straw and dove in, “So, that thing that happened in your office Tuesday… You haven’t mentioned it to anyone have you?”
“No,” he said, “Have you?”
“No, (blogging about it doesn’t count, right?) and I want to keep it that way.”
“Ok, no problem,” he said, his tone a little confused.
“It’s not that this (I gestured between the two of us) isn’t great fun,” I explained, “But I don’t want us to be the topic of office gossip. It’s disruptive, unprofessional and would be bad for both of our careers. Also, if and when this extra part of our friendship isn’t fun for either of us anymore I don’t want any drama. You tell me when you want to go back to just being buddies and I’ll do the same for you. Deal?”
He leaned back in the leather sofa and grinned at me before saying, “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman quite a direct as you. I like it.”
“That’s not all you’re going to like,” I taunted.
With the official This Is How This Is Going To Go Down talk over, I finally relaxed and we worked each other up verbally for a good hour before he asked the barmaid for the tab. As we exited into the dark night he leaned down and whispered in my ear, “I’m parked right beside you.”
“Good,” I growled.
His truck and my car waited at the far end of the parking lot, tucked behind some evergreen landscaping. Jack opened his passenger door for me and I hopped in, my skirt sliding up my thighs with the bounce. I watched his eyes rake over my body before he carefully shut the door. He walked around the back of the truck and climbed in the driver’s side. When his door clicked shut the interior lights went off, leaving us in almost total darkness. Then, slowly and deliberately he lifted the center console so that nothing separated us along the bench seat.
With that, we were instantly on each other. Our mouths met in a fury of passion so that it was less like a kiss and more like an attack. Guttural moans poured from both our throats—deep, long ones from him; short, gasping ones from me. He pulled me tightly against his chest, crushing my breasts against him. I tilted my chin back, inviting him to explore further. Jack’s hands crept up the outside of my shirt and stopped when each palm was centered on a nipple. I leaned against his hands, my breath coming raggedly between my
“Put your mouth on them, damn it!”
He reached in and pulled out one breast, then the other and fell on them like a parched man does an ice-cold glass of water. Back and forth he went, giving equal attention to them both, his strong tongue circling each nipple before he took one into his mouth to suck on it. Hard. I twisted on the seat and arched against his mouth, my head thrown back, oblivious to everything expect the nerve endings on my breasts that were firing rapid pulses of pleasure to every brain receptor I have.
And then I touched his cock. It was so easy, so natural… my right hand just reached out and grabbed it through his pants. The rigid spear strained at the constricting fabric and leapt in my fingers. In seconds I had his belt undone, pants unbuttoned and zipper unzipped. I reached in his boxers and brought it out into the dim light. Jack sat back and watched as my fingertips gently stroked up and down the length of his shaft. I looked into his eyes, grinned and raised an eyebrow before bowing my head and wrapping my lips around his thick, throbbing manhood.
Now, I would love to tell you that my tongue flicking around the pink helmet of his cock brought him to the brink in seconds and that after just a few minutes inside my expert mouth he was spurting sweet hot cum down the back of my throat. But that’s not what happened. Turns out Jack is a little ADD or OCD or ADHD… whichever one it is, anytime lights from a passing car glowed, he lost his focus. So much so that it got to be funny!
I lifted my head from his lap, my lips fuller than usual from pumping up and down on his distracted gentleman sausage, and started laughing.
“You’re not going to come are you?” I giggled.
“God I want to,” he gasped, “I never… You are… That was…”
“Find your words darling,” I teased, while tucking my breasts back inside my bra.
“Shit,” he sighed. “I’m not. And hell… Wow.”
“It’s all right,” I said, still chuckling, “I need to get home anyway.”
“It’s all those damn cars!”
“I know… I could tell.”
“I sure am.”
“You won’t be laughing when we aren’t making out in my truck like teenagers,” he grinned.
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
He leaned in and gave me a gentle kiss before tenderly caressing the side of my face and said, “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “You have sweet dreams.”
“Oh I will!” he laughed, “right after I get done cussing out my cock.”