STORY 20-IT’S FOREPLAY

My fingers were just inches from the cleft of her ass as I held her against me in a hard hug. 

When I remembered to breathe, I was rewarded with the pressure of her chest against mine, and the elusive scent of her hair. Her hands were warm where they rested, at the small of my back and the blade of my shoulder. The fall of her hair tickled the top of my wrists. My finger traced a short curve against her waist, helplessly testing a long-ago threat.

As the hug went on, my head turned into hers, stubble rasping as my cheek rubbed against hers, and my hands were leaden, heavy with the need to slide down the fabric of her skirt, to cradle the ripeness of her curving buttocks. 

My hands slid up slightly as I inhaled against the swell of her breasts, and then down, pinkies pressed against her flesh through her skirt, again seeking but not finding the delicate line of delicate lace.

With heads bowed, the grip of our arms loosened, and we moved back, barely, enough to put my hands on her hips, enough to feel her temple against my jaw through auburn locks, enough to breathe again, yet not breaking the contact of her body against mine. 

Bending my head to rest against hers, unable yet to meet her eyes, I breathed the word in the dingy dark of the wood-paneled lounge.

"Hello."

The stillness of her lips shifted almost imperceptibly, brushing the corner of my mouth with lips half in a smile as she turned to face me, lifting her head.

"Hi," she answered softly, the smile shy.

 Her eyes drew in the light around her, leaving her face shadowed around molton brown dotted with flecks of amber. She looked up, held my gaze for just a moment and then rested her cheek against mine once more, allowing the gentle chatter of crystal and glass to ride the susurration of the conversations around us. We stood there, still, body to body, breathing against each other.

"I honestly didn't think you'd come," I told her, incapable of more than naked truth. The sounds of the place isolated us more than the silence between us, but it was sacred rather than sterile. My fingers curled slightly, pressing against her lower back.

"I didn't think I'd come either," she answered with a warm breath against my neck. Neither of us moved from where we stood in the sparsely filled lounge. I was too busy with the awareness of her to see if people were staring.

The shake of a silent laugh under my hands should have warned me before she continued, "Technically, though, I still haven't."

My startled bark of laughter shook us both.

"You're still a tight-ass sometimes," she said, the wicked edge of the moment before blunted to affection. She smiled at me. "You're looking pretty good, though."

"Sorry," I answered with as much rue as I could fake. "It's just a strain trying to be a gentleman."

Laughing, she leaned back in my grasp.

"It's wasted effort, kiddo," she declared with a laugh. 

"Gentlemen don't look for panty-lines."

I dipped my head sheepishly at being busted over my wandering fingers. "You noticed that, huh?"

"Mmm hmm," she smiled.

 "Well, you threatened something once," I said. "Involving... well... us ever actually meeting and a possible absence of panty lines."

Her smile faded.

"That was a long time ago," she said. "A lot of water under that bridge."

"I know," I acknowledged, offering the only apology for mishandled might- have-beens that I knew she would allow.

"Not quite so naive as I was," she added. "Nope," I agreed.

"I wasn't sure I could stand to finally meet you," she said, quieter. "I didn't think I'd come."

Neither of us spoke for a moment.

"Technically, though, you still haven't, remember?" I said to break the growing silence between us.

She choked on her laughter and old sorrow, but it was enough to fight off the chill of bad memories. She put her hand on my chest.

"Dinner. Just... Let's..." Her voice trailed as she tried to express something. I kissed her cheek and hugged her. As I relaxed my grip, she looked up at me, and smiled again, warm as the heat of her body against me.

"Dinner," she said, with certainty.

"I know. I didn't mean to go there," I said. "Dinner, old friends, no strings. That... other.. was crocodile hindbrain taking over."

"S'okay," she excused, and then asked with a shy grin, "You reacted that strongly to me?"

"Definitely," I answered. "You need to pick better pictures to send to your Internet boys. You're unbelievable, woman."

My answer definitely pleased her, as she shifted with self-conscious embarrassment.

"I'm nothing special," she protested, perhaps out of obligation.

I shrugged, and took a hand from her hips to gesture towards the booth I'd been seated at. Her turn to the table moved my hand to rest against her buttock. The contact was an accidental pleasure, and playfully I closed my grip on her. 

I felt the solidity of muscle under soft and silky padding. My hand was already falling to my side as she shook her head, grinning right back at me.

 In all, just a moment of time, barely noticeable to the passing patrons, and she was laughing as she swung her hips into the brown upholstery of the booth bench.

"Did you enjoy that?" she laughed, as she slid toward the middle.

"Possibly even more than you," I answered, adding, "and for the record, you're something of a tight-ass yourself."

I got her with that shot, and with her so fair as she was, the blush was a stark contrast, disappearing into the neckline of her denim shirt. I laughed, and she threw a beer-nut at me. 

She didn't speak for a while after that, and my laughter had stifled me, leaving us in a brief and amused quiet until a bow- tied waiter entered our isolation. 

I needed a moment to catch my breath, and composed myself as she'd sent the guy off with a request for a few more minutes.

"Drinks, then," I prompted her, as he left.

"Aye. Drinks," she answered, looking back at me with a smile. "Scotch for you, but what about me?"

"Actually, I'm something of a martini man, these days. As for you, I'm not sure. The last few times we chatted, you had taken up beer," I said.

 "Get me a Heineken," she confirmed, gesturing with her chin towards the waiter striding back towards us. I told him our order and he paused to scribble before walking away.

"So are you nervous?" she asked as the waiter left.

"Not even slightly, but kind of, you know?" I shook my head knowing that it wasn't much of an answer, and tried again.

"I wouldn't play grab-ass with a stranger," I told her. 

"You're just a dear friend I've never met before. I mean, I might not have been able to pick you out of a line-up, but then that problem wouldn't exist if you'd just sent me some nudes, like I asked you to! And then showed up naked."

She chuckled, shaking her head at me. "I take that back, you're not a tight- ass. You're incorrigible."

"I'm sorry, I'm still getting over the shock of the real-life you. You've been holding back on me, babe! I'm hurt," I cried, clutching at my chest. "I'm wounded. More importantly, I'm deprived!"

"You know, I gave you my terms for getting a nude," she said. "You just never took me up on what was a very fair offer."

"A gentleman does not mail a picture of his penis to a lady," I enunciated in a bad British accent. " Not even an immoral and lusty lady such as yourself."

"Give it up, you haven't been much of a gentleman in all the time I've known you," she laughed as a second hurled beer-nut bounced off the creases of the wounded look on my forehead.

"I'm glad you came. I really am," I said quietly, as her laughter faded.

"Me too, hon. Not being a lying bastard, I can admit that I was thoroughly nervous, and like I said, I wasn't sure I was going to... but... it's really weird how comfortable you are." I did my best stage leer.

"Baby-doll, you don't even know how comfortable I can be," I drawled, waggling my eyebrows.

"I liked you better when you were shy," she said, but smiling. "Now behave for at least a minute while the kid brings our drinks?"

I grinned at her, and she shook her head, and with a curious expression, our waiter placed our drinks on the table. 

He asked if we were ready to order, but neither of us had looked at the menu yet. She made a vague gesture as she tipped back the bottle.

"Just get us some bruschetta and the calamari for now so we can nibble and I'll flag you down if we need anything else," I told him. He confirmed the order and left.

CHAPTER 2

"You love calamari," she said as I turned back to her.

"Yes," I agreed, a little startled. She laughed and swigged more of her beer.

"I'm sorry, I should have just let you say it, shouldn't I? Any time calamari comes up in a conversation, you mention that you love it. I was just saving you the effort."

I shook my head, wincing, and reaching for my drink, said, "Old friends I've never met can really mess up my vibe."

"Awww, Muffin, does your pussy hurt?"

Martini's are about as comfortable up the nose as anybody might expect. She was still laughing over a half emptied beer by the time I'd stopped spluttering enough to wipe the tears from my eyes.

"I can't believe you said that," I sniffled.

 "Sorry," she laughed. "I knew a guy who used to say that. To his brother! It always amuses me."

"Ah well, serve me right," I said, and then returned immediately. "Well, the drinks aren't hardly fresh, but a moment like this demands a toast."

"It's been a long time coming, hasn't it," she mused, considering her bottle.

"Well, m'dear, to unseen friends, and unknown lovers," I said and extended my glass. She clinked her bottle against it, and we both drank.

"Unknown lovers?" she repeated with a raised eyebrow, as I retrieved the olive from the now empty glass.

"Sure... the ones you don't know yet are the most mysterious," I said, while I signaled to the waiter.

"Interesting toast," she said without emotion, draining the last of her beer. The waiter arrived, and set our food on the table.

"Thank you," I answered to her, a little puzzled, but I just nodded at the nearly empty bottle. "That went fast. Another one?"

"No," she replied. "Get me a scotch."

"A scotch?" I confirmed, expecting her to change her mind. The waiter had a pen out, waiting.

"You've been going on about scotches for the last however many years. You and I are going to have a scotch.

"Okay," I said slowly. "How do you want yours?"

"I don't know. You order for both of us," she said. "It's not like I'm much of a fan, but it's something I've wanted to do with you."

 She watched me as I listened to the waiter's list of scotches. I gave him a few names for the good stuff.

"Oban for both of us. Rocks for her, and another neat, but poured over ice for me," I told him. He started off, but she stopped him.

"Wait. I want the same as him," she told him. "Make them both neat."

She looked at me, challenged in her eyes. I let the waiter go without stopping him again.

"The ice would have made it a little easier on you," I said.

She made a face, and replied, "I didn't want it easier. I wanted to have what you were having."

"Okay," I said.

"It's just something I've imagined," she explained again. "Okay," I repeated.

She looked at me, and then turned her attention to the calamari. I watched her chewing, over a slice of the bruschetta. She was squeezing lemon juice over the plate. We ate quietly, occasionally glancing at each other until our waiter dropped off the drinks.

I slid in closer to her as she picked up her drink. We were shoulder-to- shoulder, and thigh-to-thigh. 

The inaudible music emerged from the background noise with a fountain of piano and trumpets before disappearing again into the haze of people and plates.

She said: "I used to imagine sitting with you, like this."

Holding the heavy glass, I put my arm around her, and hugged her against me, careful not to jar her drink.

"You toast," I whispered.

 She thought for a while and then raised her glass between us, and whispered in turn, "To old friends and the future."

I clinked my glass against hers and took a gentle sip with my eyes closed, savoring that first burst of flavor and texture and sensation. The reverie was interrupted, though, as she shuddered against me, and started to cough.

"You okay?" I asked her, amused.

"Okay," she whispered hoarsely. "Forgot how strong this stuff is." "I did order you ice."

"Oh, bite me."

"Pick out something interesting, and maybe I just might," I told her. She laughed, made shooing gestures with her free hand, and cautiously took another sip of the drink.

"Warm," she said. I tightened the arm around her in a hug against my side, and patted her shoulder.

"It's good stuff," I assured her as she munched on more of the bruschetta. "Nice and strong, to put some hair on your chest!"

Her retort was unintelligible, and I laughed as she put down the pieces and reached for water to clear her mouth.

"I said, I don't *need* hair on my chest," she repeated.

"Why not? It'll make a man out of you!"

And then I was hardening against the hand between my legs, as warm lips pressed against my neck. Shivers spread like ripples through my body, and the breath I'd taken in surprise was trapped by my paralysis. And then, as fast as she'd turned, she returned to the bruschetta she had set down.

"I'm much more fun as a girl," she said mildly. "Don't you think?"

Chapter 3

 I stared at her, breath sighing out as I remembered how to breathe. My neck tingles where the heat of her lips cooled.

"Too easy," she giggled, watching me through smiling eyes. "I broke you." "Um," I agreed. "Nuh."

"Drink up," she cooed, and gulped the last of the drink, shuddering again.

Discomfited by the sudden tightness in my pants, I fidgeted, trying to be subtle in spite of what happened. Finally, I thumped her with my shoulder, trying to stop her laughing.

"Knock it off!!"

"Oh come on, you're adorable when you're all shy and embarrassed," she cooed, still laughing. I shoved her again, tipping her sideways, and used my hands to straighten things out while she sat up and brushed bits of deep fried squid off the bench.

I was taking a victory sip of my scotch when she finished her clean up and lurched into me in retaliation. I fought to minimize the splash but still gold droplets ran down my chin.

"Dammit woman, that's good scotch you're wasting." I lurched into her again in mock anger, but she swung back into me before I could see if I'd spilled on my clothes. We were both laughing as the shoving match continued.

I tried to tip her, twisted to get both hands against her upper arm, for leverage, and she was putting most of her effort into bracing against the bench behind her to keep upright. I had started to make faces at her when she stopped, and so I froze.

I watched her watch me for a minute. Her eyebrow went up in an exasperated look, and she gestured downward with her chin.

 I looked between us for something that had spilled and saw nothing and glanced back at her in confusion. She pursed her lips and leaned a little away from me, and then back, allowing me to notice what I hadn't felt when I'd grabbed her.

"It's your fault, for spilling my scotch," I said, releasing the offended breast. "But I apologize anyway."

She snorted away the apology. I caught the waiter's eye and waved my tumbler in the air. I pointed to the tumbler and held up two fingers. He nodded smartly and headed off, earning himself a pretty good tip just for figuring out what I meant.

"Come here," she told me, "you're still wearing your last one."

"Your fault!!" I insisted.

"My fault, fine. Come here." She hooked her arm around me and tugged.

Gingerly I let her gather me against her side.

"What are you going to do?"

"Cleaning you up," she said, the last word cut short as her lips pressed against the underside of my chin.

"Ohhh," was all I replied, as she trailed kisses down my throat to the collar of my shirt. I felt the weight and heat of my sex as she serviced me and I wished she'd use her hand on me again.

"There," she said, straightening. "All better now." And then she began to slide away from me.

"Where are you going?" I asked her as she stood and straightened her clothing.

 "I'm going to the lady's room, if you must know. Some of that scotch hit me too."

"I could help you with that," I offered in a rasp.

"I just bet you could," she grinned. "But I'll be right back.

"

She caught me watching her walk away and then disappeared around the corner, leaving me sighing slowly.

"Wow," I said out loud. The warmth in my blood wasn't coming from the scotch. I tilted my glass to dump the last splash into my mouth, and probed for droplets left behind with my tongue until I saw our waiter returning. 

I munched on calamari while he collected our empty glasses, and sipped water to clear my palate. A few minutes later, she returned.

"Fall in?" I teased on my way to another sip.

"Ass," she replied, shimmying back to me in the booth. "You should be more polite. Gentleman, remember. Oh, right, what am I saying? Of course not."

"Listen, you," I started, waving my hand for emphasis. And then my hand slipped into her hair, and I pulled her startled face to mine, and kissed her. 

Her mouth moved against mine, some wisecrack no doubt, but I just kept kissing her, and then her lips were answering mine. Her hands came to rest on my chest as my tongue flickered against her upper lip pressed between mine. 

Her lips parted slightly, but I pushed no further, just softly kissing the outline of her mouth. A hint of alcohol flavored her breath as it mingled with mine.

With a low moan, she pressed another kiss against mine and then pushed me away. I watched her and tried to ignore the thunder of my pulse, in my chest and my groin. She was breathing as hard as I was, her head bowed on her neck. Her hair left her face in shadow.

"I--" I started to explain myself, but she held out a hand to halt me. I subsided and waited as she drew one more deep breath and then looked up at me, her mouth still slightly open, as if she'd forgotten to close it. The tableau held for a long moment in which there was nothing else in that place but her and me.

I think she was about to say something, but that was when several of the servers arrived in our little corner of the place, singing their tuneless lungs off, and carrying a sparkler-skewered piece of cupcake. 

Protesting that they must have made a mistake, I turned to her in confusion, to find that she still wasn't meeting my eyes and was smiling as she drank.

I turned back to the chorus just as they arrived. The song ground to a halt, and a young lady cajoled me to stand up on my chair. 

Looking icy daggers at my Benedict Arnold, I stood up on my chair as the girl announced to the amused patrons of the lounge that today was my birthday. 

I tried to explain that it wasn't my birthday, and the girl nodded knowingly and shouted to the lounge that I was really shy about it so they wouldn't announce my age.

I started to climb down when the girl added, at volume, "'Cause today he just turned REALLY, REALLY OLD!!!"

She was looking at me with the pleased eyes of a cat with a mouse as the server offered me a hand to step down, handed me the cupcake, and startled me with a peck on the cheek before the crowd of them dispersed into the darkness. 

By the time I'd returned to my seat, she was laughing out loud.

The server offered me a hand to step down, and handed me a cupcake. The woman responsible for the madness was looking at me with the pleased eyes of a cat, as I took the offered cupcake in hand.

 And she started laughing at my startled expression when the little waitress pecked me on the cheek as they all dispersed into the darkness of the lounge.

"It isn't my birthday," I said.

"Nope," she agreed. "Not for a few months yet. But they don't do this for 'We've been great friends for five years and today is the first time we've met.' I thought the moment deserved something to make it memorable"

"I think we achieved something memorable just a little before they arrived," I said, quietly.

"That's quite true," she agreed. She sipped her scotch and then laughed some more. "Anyway, you should have seen the look on your face."

"Bite me."

"I would," she said, "but I'm not sure I'd remember to come up for air."

"You feel it too, huh?"

"Yeah," she admitted, almost ruefully and then stayed silent as she finished her drink.

"What'll you have now," I asked.

"I think," she said slowly, "that maybe I should call it a night."

"What? Now?" I asked, upset that I'd offended. "I'll behave, I promise. I didn't mean to push like that."

"Oh babe, I'd go to bed after you'd gone off-line and imagine kisses like that. And honestly, by any sane measure, I've been teasing you pretty badly. It isn't you. It's me. I wasn't sure I was going to come tonight, remember?"

Suddenly she laughed.

"Look at you, just biting down on your lip. Go ahead. Say it. You'll feel better."

 I shook my head, sober with the sudden end of our evening.

"You're sweet, you know that. As much in person as you ever were online."

"You're really going?" I asked sorrowfully. She slid outward along the curved bench. "We haven't even eaten."

She nodded and stood.

I slid out and hugged her tightly. Time passed.

"We'll meet again, babe," she breathed in my ear.

"You owe me a nude, Pigeon," I whispered in hers.

Laughing, she swept back out of my arms and swatted me in the shoulder.

"You are such a pig," she exclaimed. "But watch your mailbox. Who knows?"

She leaned in and kissed my cheek.

"Finish eating, and go back to your room."

"I'm done," I told her. "And I want to walk you to your car."

"I want to remember you here. It's nicely opulent. A beat-up Camry doesn't have the same charm."

"Are you sure? You don't have to go yet," I insisted.

"I have to go," she repeated. "But thank you. Thank you for not wanting me to."

I reached out and held her hand for a second. She smiled at me again, and turned away. I watched her until she left my view. And then I settled the bill and headed to the elevators.