First in a series about two married former lovers who reignite their passion online.
She looked at her watch as she got out of the taxi -- 3:12 p.m., over ten minutes late. ‘Damn that New York traffic. He’s such a hyper-sensitive, paranoid, demanding, perfectionist snob, he’ll probably take it personally.’
She tried to look into the window of the restaurant to see if he was already there, but it was so sunny out she could only see the reflection of the tight white button-down blouse she had finally settled on -- they had discussed her breasts so much online, she had to let him get at least a sense of what he’d been missing all these years, even though it was only going to be a quick friendly coffee and dessert together while he played temporary hooky from work. ‘Damn that New York lawyer job of his.' After a short debate, she decided one more button couldn’t hurt anything. Let him have a little more cleavage, it’s the least I could do for a miserable exhausted overworked sex-starved old friend.’
Then her eyes wandered down the window to the short plaid Catholic school girl skirt that she had bought just for the occasion. But until now she didn’t realize it was THAT short - halfway up her thighs. She suddenly felt like an idiot. ‘I can’t believe I’m actually wearing this thing -- he’d better get a kick out of it. But the white lace panties, that’s my own little secret he doesn’t need to know. God Christy, you’re such a good little prude -- what were you thinking?’
She had to admit, though, she was still proud of those legs he used to chow down on like a famished kid having fresh sweet tender corn on the cob – smooth skin, muscular calves, fleshy, shapely thighs. “Those Dorothy Hamill thighs,” he used to call them, worshipfully, hungrily.
She entered the restaurant, a small warm friendly local Italian place, long and narrow in that New York way. It smelled great, of fresh baked bread and garlic and sumptuous sauces. ‘One restaurant after another after another, each with such a relaxed easy confident charm. What a city.’ He wasn’t there yet, thank God, so at least she wouldn’t be starting off on the defensive.
“Ahh. May-uh I help you, young-uh lady?” So genuine, that smile. ‘How can they all be so rude and so friendly at the same time. What a fucking amazing city.’
“I’m just meeting a friend for some coffee and dessert,” she said. “I don’t think he’s here yet.”
“Ah, Mr. Finkleberg, no?”
“Yes, that’s right.” ‘How did I ever fall so madly for a guy named Finkleberg?’
“Then let-uh me show you to-uh your table, no?”
He led her to a cozy, narrow booth in the dark very back corner of the restaurant, the table covered by a classic long white table cloth. But the restaurant was almost empty and it was a glorious day.
“Can’t we sit closer to the front? This is my first time in New York in so long -- I’d love to be near the window.”
“Oh, uh, so sorry-uh, but Mr. Finkleberg, he like-uh the window too, but he say this-uh special table for-uh you today, no?” He gave a puzzled shrug. “I don’t know.”
“It’s fine…as long as Mr. Finkleberg’s happy.”
He placed two dessert menus on the table. “Some coffee, yes?”
“That’d be great, thanks.” He nodded, smiled warmly again and walked away. As he turned to go into the kitchen, there was Nate heading towards her, wearing a Yankees cap like he promised. But it looked kind of ridiculous with his “nice casual” work attire. At last, it was time for the hug - that first embrace they’d both been anticipating all these months.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, as he spread out his arms. He hugged her like he was hugging Mother Earth herself. And he was a lot stronger and more muscular than she remembered.
“Christy...” He didn’t as much say it as exhale it from the deepest reaches of his heart and soul and loins. Twenty years of built up “Christy” finally let loose all at once. And as he exhaled, she felt his breath on the back of her neck.
“Christy” again, just in a whisper this time that meant “Thank you Jesus for non-Jewish women.” Now she remembered why she fell for him - she was drawn to him by a relentless primal undertow that was useless to resist. ‘Just a quick platonic coffee and dessert -- that’s all you’re gonna get girl, so don’t even think about anything else.’
When the hug finally, sadly ended he stepped back and really looked at her for the first time. Face -- two seconds. Down to the breasts -- five seconds. ‘Still a complete pig after all these years. Unbelievable.’ And then further down.
“You bitch,” he said, laughing, looking at her skirt. “You broke the rules.” He may have been laughing, but she could see something else creeping into his eyes as he took in the luscious columns of flesh descending from her skirt. That same hungry, helpless look. He hadn’t changed a bit. And neither had his effect on her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Are you mad at me?”
“Furious. For this you need to be taken over my knee and spanked. Repeatedly.” He slowly took off his baseball cap, like he was doing a tantalizing strip tease, to reveal his bald glistening dome.
She covered her eyes. “No,” she said. “Anything but that. Please.”
She was joking around, but damn, he was handsome. Not in a universal way, but as if he had been designed especially for her, according to her particular specs, even down to the way his whole face crinkled up around his piercing, playful green eyes when he laughed. She had hoped it wouldn't be the same after all these years because he had rendered all other men virtually irrelevant - and that had infuriated her for him to so effortlessly wield such unfair power - but it was the same. He had even aged according to the way she would have dictated, like a juicy grade A tenderloin. How she had hoped otherwise.
“I got my hot Vietnamese hairdresser to cut it especially short just for you,” he said. “So I’d look even balder than I am.”
“She did a great job, but spare me the details about the shampoo.”
“I would never tell you what goes on between us when my head’s hanging backwards over the sink. Very personal.” He scooted into the side of the booth facing out to the rest of the restaurant and the sidewalk through the window beyond.
“Hey, I want to look out,“ she said. “I don’t get to see New York every day like you do.”
“Sorry, I get claustrophobic looking at the wall.” She laughed, but was a little annoyed that he reserved the worst table in the whole restaurant, then had the gall to take the better seat.
“Fine,” she said as she sat down, the backs of her bare thighs pressing against the cool plastic of the booth. She had forgotten how high a short skirt hikes up when you sit down. She pulled it down the best she could, but began to feel strangely vulnerable as her inner thighs kept rubbing against one another.
Then she heard something odd going on under the table. “Are you taking off your shoes?” she asked.
“Yeah, I hate these things,” he said, while reaching down under the booth towards his feet. “Remind me of work. I take them off whenever I can.”
“Your socks remind you of work too?”
“Yeah, them too. Don’t worry, I washed my feet this morning.” Then he placed his bare feet on her black patent leather shoes.
“You’re not really playing footsy with me, are you?”
“It’s just so good to see you, that’s all. We can’t really hold hands, somebody might see us.” He started rubbing her ankles through her thin white bobby socks. She was incredulous.
“Okay wise guy, that’s en…”
“I love your breasts. I forgot how perfect they are.” He was staring right at them, taking them in -- that desperate drooling puppy dog look again. She was irritated, but still glad she gave him that extra button. ‘I guess he deserves it, poor guy.’ He went up her right calf with his foot.
“Nate, seriously…you have to stop this.” He was going up and down on her calf, higher and higher each time.
“I’m sorry, it’s just been so long since I felt your perfect white shiksa skin. Just a little more…please Christy? Then I’ll stop, I promise. Yum…” He gazed right into her eyes through to her soul, that ‘I want you so bad it’s unbearable’ look that used to drive her mad with lust for him. Against her will, she could feel her heart begin to beat faster, and her nipples begin to harden and her pussy begin to moisten.
“You’re so bad,” she said.
“What are you wearing under that skirt anyway?”
“That’s for me to know and you to…” Whoops, wrong cliché at the wrong time. They both laughed, but then he realized what she was saying.
“You didn’t…” he said, the genuine ache in his voice palpable. She was having coffee and dessert with the horniest man alive.
“Nate, it was a stupid idea. I’m sorry. Try not think about it.”
“That’s impossible.” He was going higher. She clamped on his foot as hard as she could like a vice with both of her bare knees.
“Stop it, Nate!” she hissed. “Now!”
“I’m sorry, Christy,” he said, wriggling his foot, inching it higher and higher. “You have no idea how terrible I feel about this.”
“I mean it! This isn’t funny any more!” But her will was weakening, as were her knees.
“Christy, you know how much I love your thighs. I miss them so much. All these years without those Dorothy Hamill thighs. Can’t I just touch them once? Just one time? It would mean so much to me. Then I promise. I’ll stop.”
“You’re so bad.” Her legs spread ever so slightly and he moved on up.
He started rubbing her right thigh up and down from just above her knees, going higher and higher each time. “Nate…this is…I…just don’t think…don’t think…oh…” Her legs kept spreading further and further apart, and she was in big trouble before she knew it.
“Tell me where you went today, Christy,” he said.
“Come on…tell me where you went. You can do it.”
“I went…oh…to the Statue…ooh…”
“Of Liberty…the Statue of Liberty, Christy?”
“Yes.” His big toe brushed just ever so slightly against her moist white lace panties. “Oh…God…”
“And what else?”
“Nate, please…you can’t just…” Another slight brush. “Oh…”
“What’s wrong, Christy, do you want me to stop?”
“But you’re breathing so fast and your magnificent hardening nipples are poking through your shirt and you’re getting so wet and you’re starting to say ‘oh’ and ‘ooh’ a lot.”
“I know…oh…but we…ooh…”
“I think you just might be a little bit…aroused, Christy. I think that might be the problem. What do you think?”
“Oh…” He began to trace the line of her panties with his toe, up and down. First on the right, then on the left, then back on the right, then the left, each time getting closer and closer to that most precious, most sweet, most sacred spot in all of the cosmos. Her juices were flowing down her thighs. Then he hooked his toe under the band on the side of her now soaking wet panties and began to pull them down. She lifted herself to help him and before long they were down around one ankle. She couldn’t think straight any more, but instinctually leaned back in the booth and spread those Dorothy Hamill thighs wide to give him ultimate access and leverage.
He brought his foot back up and started teasing all around the one place she so desperately needed it to go. He had always known just how to touch her, and what to say, to make her crazy. This had infuriated her also, that he could hold such an erotic spell over her. Not that she couldn’t and didn't return the favor in kind, but still, the mutual obsession, the utter loss of control, the complete abandon, had been disorienting, even frightening. And now...
“You’re a naughty little girl, aren’t you, Christy.”
“Oh but I think you are Christy -- a very very naughty little girl. Don’t you think so?” Her body was shaking.
“Do you want more, Christy?”
“Are you sure?”
“Then say, ‘Please sir, I want some more.’” His toes began to play gently with the moistened hair around her pussy.
“Oh…don’t…don’t...make me say that…oh..”
“You have to say it. We’re in New York, we should have some musical theater.”
“O..kay… Please sir..oh…I want some more…oh…”
“All right then, Christy, here you go,” he said, as he placed the ball of his foot directly on her warm soaking wet quivering pussy.
“Oh…oh God…Nate…oh…” He began to rub her warm wet pussy softly up and down with his foot, massaging it with his toes.
“Do you want me to stop now, Christy? I will. I’d do anything for you, you know that.” He began to apply more pressure and his big toe began to brush against her clitoris ever so slightly, back and forth.
“You want me to stop?”
“No… I…oh…I meant…yes, I know you’d do anyth…” She began to convulse, there was no turning back now. “Nate…ooh…what am I…oh…gonna do...we’re in a rest…ooh a ooh a restaurant…oh..” Her beautiful breasts heaved with each gasp, her fully erect nipples straining against her sheer bra and tight blouse, and he was enraptured by them, like he was witnessing Shangri La itself unfolding before him.
“Don’t worry, Christy. This is New York. Nobody cares. Let it go now, Christy, let it go for West High, like you used to in that hot little powder blue uniform. Here we go Tiger team, here we go! Here we go Tiger team, here we go!”
It had always been his sense of humor, first and foremost. And so it was as it had always been -- that last goofy joke put her over the top and it was like a volcano erupting inside her, with hot lava flowing out its smoldering mouth -- and the need to stifle her screams only making it more unbearably intense as it went on and on and on and….
“Here’s-uh your coffee. Have-uh we decided on a dessert?”
“I think we need a little more time, eh Christy? Christy? Christy?”
After she finally stopped shuddering, tied her bathrobe and gathered herself, she typed, “Not bad for a first shot. You should try fiction more often.”
“Thanks, I’ll think about it,” he typed back. “Why did it take you so long to get through it? You’re the fastest reader in history.”
“I had to get Taylor back in bed. He had a nightmare.”
“Poor kid. Did the story affect you?”
“Yeah, it was really funny. I laughed a lot.”
“Thanks. But… you know….”
“You mean, in THAT way?”
“It was just a story, Nate.” ‘Yeah, just a story,’ she thought, her breathing still not fully regulated. ‘Jim’s so loving and attentive. How could one silly story from a thoroughly maddening man I haven’t seen in 20 years give me the most amazingly intense orgasm in… well… in 20 years?’
“Ok,” he typed. “It didn’t make you wet even a little bit?”
“It was just a story. Why is it so damned important to make me wet all the time?” she typed, as she once more began to get wet. For some reason, all he had to ever do was send her the word “wet” and it was like he turned on a spigot. This infuriated her.
“Because I’m obsessed with making you wet. Absolutely and completely obsessed. Making your glorious pussy, which I worship more than life itself, sloppy soaking wet is the only thing I ever think or care about anymore.”
“I guess that answers that.” She had leaned back and was slowly, rhythmically swiveling and thrusting her hips and squeezing and unsqueezing her increasingly lubricated bare upper thighs against one another. She let out a little moan.
“Not even a little bit?” he typed.
“Maybe a little bit.” ‘Please not again,’ she thought, as the inevitability of yet another go-round settled upon her. ‘It’s so late, I’ve got a presentation in the morning, Jim probably wonders why I’m not in bed yet and I’m so sore from all this.’ But there was no use fighting it. She looked over to make sure the door of her study was still latched and then once more untied her robe, letting both sides slip away, slumped down in her office chair, spread her legs and arched her hips. “Does that make you happy?”
“It makes me start to get hard again, is what it makes me...”
“Oh yeah? That’s a shame. What should we do about that?” She was once more working herself good.
“Christy... Oh God...”
“How hard are you now?"
“Are you throbbing?” She was once more convulsing.
“I want you so bad, Christy. Oh Jesus… I can’t take it anymore.”
It was a couple of minutes before she could type anything else. After she once more finally stopped shuddering, tied her bathrobe and gathered herself, she typed, “Just two more weeks… I’ll be all yours for one whole night.”
“I don’t know if I can wait that long. It’s unbearable.”
“Try writing me another story, ok?”
“Will it make you wet?”
“Please don’t write that word again tonight. I’m serious.”