|White Thigh Above Stocking Top (standard:drama, 2141 words)|
|Author: Ian Hobson||Added: Jul 02 2004||Views/Reads: 22470/7964||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Inspired by Cowgirl 11's 'What is Sexy?'|
Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story another look. She sipped her drink. A smile seemed to be tugging at the corner of her mouth. 'Buy you another?' It was the overweight beer drinker from across the room. Dave hadn't noticed him approach the bar. 'Fuck off.' She hadn't even turned to look at the man. He reacted as though she'd slapped his face. The barman looked a little stunned as well. Dave put a hand to his mouth, to hide his amusement. 'Suit yourself.' The man hesitated, his face a mixture of shock, anger and indecision. The barman waited to take his order, but the man turned and walked out of the room, almost forgetting to retrieve the cigarette pack and lighter that he'd left at his table. All conversation had stopped but was quickly resumed. More customers arrived. Dave waited patiently for them to be served, then got up and walked over to the end of the bar, finishing his drink on the way. 'Same again, sir?' 'Please.' Dave pulled one of the stools a little closer to the bar and sat down. The brunet's glass was now half empty. 'And another one for the lady.' As the barman set Dave's whisky down in front of him, he looked more than a little alarmed. His expression seemed to say, 'Are you crazy?' 'Thank you. Whisky for me too, please.' The brunet smiled at Dave. The barman looked relieved. Dave took a note from his wallet and dropped it onto the bar. 'Have one yourself.' 'Thank you, sir.' Dave turned his attention back to the woman; she sure looked good in that little black dress. She downed the rest of her wine in one, and then looking at Dave, she tilted her head slightly and pushed her hair back over her shoulder with her right hand. 'Use some company?' 'Sure.' Dave gestured to the empty stool to his left. As the brunet changed seats, the barman moved her whisky along the bar, perhaps trying the keep his expression neutral; but one glance at Dave, betrayed his thoughts, 'You lucky bastard!' 'Hi, I'm Julia.' 'Lovely name... I'm Steve.' Dave liked to use another name on these occasions. Somehow it added to the enjoyment. He smiled at Julia, looking into her eyes and inhaling her perfume for the first time. 'Thank you, Steve,' she replied, returning his gaze and lifting her glass for a first taste of the whisky. 'In town for long?' 'Just for tonight. You?' 'Same.' Dave lifted his glass. 'Here's looking at you kid.' Julia laughed. 'I think I've heard that line before, somewhere.' 'Humphrey Bogart.' 'Casablanca.' 'One of my all-time favourites.' 'Mine too.' They sipped their drinks, with half-smiles and eye-to-eye contact. More people entered the room and noisily headed towards the bar, keeping the barman busy and drowning out BB King's Sweet Sixteen. 'You see yourself as a Humphrey Bogart, then?' 'No... more of a Bruce Willis.' Julia took another sip of her whisky, and smiled as she glanced at Dave's rapidly receding hairline; what little hair remained was cropped short. 'I can see a slight resemblance.' 'Thanks.' 'And I like a man of action.' Their conversation stalled for a while. Dave wondered what Julia's next move would be. Was she waiting for him to take the initiative? Was the 'man of action' line his cue to do so? Julia finished her whisky. 'This Scotch is very good.' 'You'd like another?' 'No, thanks.' Julia reached into her purse for something. 'I think I'll have an early night... See you around.' She dropped a key onto the stool as she left; the hotel's logo, and the words 'Room Eleven', clearly visible on the attached plastic tag. Dave took it and slipped it into his pocket, slowly finishing his whisky before following. The barman was still serving other customers, but he gave Dave a knowing look, as he left. *** Room eleven was on the first floor. Pauline reached the door just as the lift doors opened again. She new it would be... what did he call himself, Steve? Yes; she liked that name. She turned and watched as he walked the length of the corridor, reaching into his jacket pocket for the room-key; there was something about a man in a suit. Steve opened the door and stepped back, allowing Pauline to enter first. The room was just as she'd left it: the single table-lamp, switched on, its light reflected by the large mirror on one of two wardrobe doors; the double bed standing in a central position, with a well-framed impressionist print above the headboard; a dim light, just visible through the curtained window; the door to the en-suite bathroom slightly ajar. Once inside the room, Pauline transferred the Do Not Disturb sign to the outside of the door, then closed and locked it. 'Would you like another drink, Steve?' she asked. 'No thanks... Unless you want one.' 'No.' They stood for a moment, looking into each other's eyes; Pauline's heels almost bringing her up to Steve's height, but not quite. Outside, a distant siren wailed briefly. They embraced and kissed, but slowly and gently, as though to do otherwise might cause injury. Then Pauline broke away, dropped her purse onto a chair, and walked over to the mirrored wardrobe, where she stood looking at her own reflection. The little black dress wasn't new, but she had only worn it once before. She liked the way it flattered her figure and showed off shapely her legs. From the corner of her eye, she watched, as Steve walked towards her, slipping off his jacket and casually dropping it onto the chair. And as he stepped behind her, she closed her eyes and tilted her head to the right; feeling him push her hair aside and kiss the back of her neck. Then slowly he began to unfasten her dress, starting with the tiny hook at the top of the zipper, and finally slipping his fingers under the shoulder straps. As the straps slid away and the dress fell towards the floor, Pauline deftly stepped out of it and swept it up with her left hand. She looked at her own reflection once more: in the lamplight her skin looked more bronze than white, even against the black lacy underwear and stockings. Steve was kissing her neck again, his hands back on her shoulders, but beginning to explore further. Again she stepped away, this time back over to the chair, leaving Steve to kick off his shoes, as he turned to watch her. She lay the dress carefully on top of his jacket, then, after discarding her own shoes, she made a show of placing, first one foot and then the other, on a corner of the chair, to unfasten and peel off each of her stockings. As Steve made to follow her, Pauline wondered what he thought of her delaying and teasing tactics. But enough was enough. With a sudden, cat-like ferocity, she pushed Steve back over to the mirror, and then back against it, rapidly unfastening his shirt buttons, and ploughing furrows through his chest hair, with her long fingernails. Again, to the sound of a distant siren, their lips came together, but this time more forcefully and accompanied by mutual appreciative moans. Now the fingers of Steve's left hand, found and pinched together a double hook-and-eye fastener, causing straps to pull tighter before releasing their load, while his right hand found other more lucrative work. Meanwhile Pauline's hands were similarly employed, first tugging at leather, then steel, then at button and zipper. And as the ritual dance continued, clothing rained down on the carpeted floor, leaving an untidy trail that led towards the bed. And all else forgotten, the two became one, as well-rehearsed passions consumed them. *** Dave switched out the bathroom light and closed the door, before treading, barefoot and naked, across the room. 'Nice perfume,' he said, as he climbed back into bed with Pauline. Pauline yawned and stretched, lifting her arms above her head. 'Givenchy... I bought it this morning.' Dave fluffed his pillow and lay his head on it. 'You were a bit hard on that guy in the bar.' 'I didn't want him to ruin my evening.' Pauline turned onto her left side and wrapped an arm around Dave. 'Well, I think you ruined his.' Dave's left hand found a soft warm thigh. 'Perhaps I should have taken him to bed instead of you... Steve.' 'I don't think so... Julia.' Pauline nestled closer to Dave. 'Can we do this again soon? I mean... instead of waiting for our next wedding anniversary?' 'Okay... How about on your birthday, if we can get a babysitter again?' 'Shouldn't be a problem.' 'What shall we call ourselves, next time?' Dave's hand moved to Pauline's hip. 'How about... Humphrey and Ingrid?' Dave laughed, then moved away from Pauline a little, lifting the quilt and staring at her nakedness. 'Here's looking at you, kid.' Pauline laughed with him, and used her own eyes. 'Hey... didn't your mother tell you, it's rude to point?' Tweet
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