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White Thigh Above Stocking Top (standard:drama, 2141 words)
Author: Ian HobsonAdded: Jul 02 2004Views/Reads: 22470/7964Story 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?' 


   


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