Androshorts: The Arse man

Then Steve arrived, and he got a standing ovation. He wasn't wearing his corporate gear anymore, instead looking fine in jeans and a T-shirt that made his torso look fucking spectacular, certainly a view none of us had seen previously. He was presented with his card that we'd all signed, before the attack I might add, and his gift.

Of all things we'd given him a kindle, because when not on the shop floor he always had a book in his hands, and he went through them by the dozen and we all asked when he was going to join the rest of us in the twenty first century.

The area manager had bought a large cake and had ordered in pizza from the adjacent Pizza Hut and we ate our fill.

Time came to say goodbye for the last time, everyone kissed his cheek and he was his usual daft and cheeky self to the end.

Except for me.

"So Alex," he said as we stood in the car park, "Are you going to let me take you out dinner now we're no longer work colleagues?"

"I should take you out really, after all I do owe you for saving me in there." I nodded back over my shoulder to the back door of the branch.

"Let's argue about that nearer the time shall we?" he grinned, "Let me have your mobile number, shall we say tomorrow night? Half seven?"

"That would be lovely!" I blushed, "Nicky is with his Father for the weekend so I don't think there will be a problem not for a second."

I handed him my phone and he typed in his number and rang it. Within seconds we had each other's number.

"Shall we dress up?" he said, "I mean something posh rather than jeans and jumpers kind of thing."

"Oh yeah," I said, "I know just what to wear!" I kissed his cheek and stroked a hand down his chest, and took my leave. As I walked to my car, I peeked back over my shoulder and saw him, head down on one side, checking out my arse as I wiggled along, giggling and hugging myself in pleasure.

It was so cool that it was Tom's weekend to have Nicky, and on the dot of six I dropped him with Tom's parents who for once seemed genuinely concerned when they asked after me.

"I heard that Steve saved the day again?" said Tom's Dad. He worked for the same banking group as Tom and I and obviously knew him.

"Yes," I said, "it's really strange, during the robbery he was a totally different bloke."

"Frank tells me that he's an actor," said Tom's Mum.

"Yes," I said, "he pretended to have a stutter and a limp and got up really close to the robbers and as soon as they pushed me out of the way, he disarmed them both and had them on the floor in under two seconds. I know because the police timed it on the CCTV."

"He's into some weird martial art thing," said Tom looking at his Mum, "Queer as a coot of course," he chuckled. Frank and his wife chuckled as well.

There was a part of me that desperately wanted to say that I was being taken out to dinner by Steve and I would hopefully find out if he was as gay as everyone suspected. But the words stuck in my throat and much as I didn't want to let them get away with their flagrant homophobia or think that I agreed, I didn't want a return to the cold stares and stunted doorstep discussions that had been our relationship up until about eighteen months prior.

I knew Frank quite well through work and I think he actually quite liked me and I know that he did actually hold out a faint hope that Tom and I might rekindle our relationship. I knew however that Tom was in a relationship with Freya, an auditor from head office, and they were both focussed on their careers.

It was strange - Freya was amazingly focussed and had the tendency to discuss life's minutia to the nth degree, which I suppose was why she was a good auditor. While I like to think that once you got past my control freakishness, I was actually quite a free spirit compared to her.

Having met Freya a few times I think I knew how Tom could go from me to her. She was a classic skinny blonde gym attender with abs you could break rocks on and that thin face that made people think that she might have an eating disorder. BUT Freya knew she was would be the group's chief auditor within ten years and didn't harbour any thoughts of children or a family life until she'd got there.

The office scuttle also had it that she was a bit strange in the bedroom and liked things at bit dark and 'Gothic'. This had never been confirmed other than bathroom gossip from someone that had got pissed and slept with someone that had slept with her.

She seemed to like Nicky though and I know that she liked to play happy families with him on a Saturday afternoon; between two and half four exactly. No more, no less as she had to be back on the running machine treadmill thingy at the gym to burn off any of the fatty food she may have consumed while taking my baby boy out to their rather unimaginative lunch.

Nicky told me that she would stare at his food in shock, and constantly ask him if he was going to eat his entire burger and did he really want all of that tiny packet of French fries. She baulked at the thought of him drinking Coke or Pepsi and insisted that Tom buy him milk, OJ or at the worst a milkshake.

Nicky didn't really like Freya.

I finished my coffee in the tiny cups they used and wished them well, repeating that I'd be back at four on Sunday to collect my son. I could see Tom's Mum biting back her desire to tell me 'not a minute later', but she held it back.

I went back to my car with that tiny burn I got whenever I leave my darling boy with anyone, especially for two days. Nicky quite liked it so I never made too much noise.

I started the car and thought about what to do for the rest of the evening. I'd buy some nice takeout on the way home that was for sure and thought about texting some of the girls and see who was out and about this evening.

I knew that at least two of my work mates didn't really like me going out with them. I have a collection of little black dresses with various amounts of thigh and cleavage on display. They are my all-time favourite 'going out' kit, which with my four inch heels are my ultimate fall back for nights on the town.

While none of them had actually said it to my face I knew from the looks and the half-jokey half pissed off 'it doesn't matter which club we go on to because all the blokes worth looking at will only be interested in Sexy Lexie the yummy mummy'.

I decided that I'd grab myself a good curry and head home and decide which of my LBD's I was going to treat Steve to the next night.

So Biryani in hand I went home and thought about the dress. To add to this I thought about the shoes and seeing as this was Steve I would really have to make an effort with the underwear seeing as it was 'our in-joke'.

I thought about what I had and what I could wear and I will confess that by the time I'd shut my front door and got into the kitchen I was starting to feel quite horny already.

What was I thinking!? I didn't know if Steve was even interested in me or my gender in general - other than his playful banter with the other ladies in the office and the female customers I didn't even know if he had even a passing fancy for my sex.

My sex; those two words and the concept that they threw into my brain had my groin tingling and I knew that I would be getting wet down there. As I plated up my curry my mind just kept going back to that lunchtime and Steve's fantastic torso in that tight T-shirt. The shirt itself had a funny comment about the zombie apocalypse but I could pretty much guarantee that only the two men would have actually read the words.

I finished my meal quite quickly, squirming slightly on my sofa as my unruly psyche kept going back to me, Steve and my sexy lacy underwear collection and which I might treat him with, and what his strange sexuality might mean for tomorrow night.

I couldn't focus on the TV and eventually gave up and went up to my bedroom and my bottom drawer that held 'the good stuff'.

I started to pull things out of the drawer and dresses out of the wardrobe and it was getting silly. I decided that rather than throwing stuff around and getting confused I should start from the bottom (as it were!) and work up!

I stripped down to my string knickers and looked at myself in the tall mirrors on my Ikea wardrobe doors. I was still pleased with how I looked - OK I had a bit of a ripple around my belly but I had Nicky because of it, my arse was still in great shape and if anything, pregnancy and the three months of breast feeding I'd done had improved my boobs and they were still firm and full.

Now ever since my Aunty Nicki introduced me to it for my prom, I'd had a thing about sexy underwear. I had drawers full of the stuff, compartmentalised into the boring plain tummy huggers a girl needs for when she's on, not only to hold pads in place but also just the slight compression over an achy stomach, down to the almost invisible strings - I even had a pearl one that did nothing but almost bring me to orgasm if I ran up or down stairs in it; and yes several pairs of crotchless panties.

Don't ask why; I wasn't in any kind of relationship where I could show them off, but on reflection I bought them for 'me'. I bought them to create a stir - a stir in me. The most important sex organ is the human brain and I worked hard to keep mine satisfied!

The bras I had in my collection did various things from lifting them high, squishing them together for a sexy cleavage or just shaping them nicely; I even had some that would squish them almost flat; I couldn't wear that torture device for more than a few hours mind, and to be honest I was minded to throw it away, but I kept it for wearing under particular pieces of clothing and some fancy dress costumes that never seemed to be come in the size 'big tits'.

Where there were matching bra and panty sets I always asked for the display hanger and they hung at the far end of my wardrobe along with my other favourites, my teddies, basques, bustiers and corsets and I tried to resist getting them all out and laying them on the bed.

The more I looked the more turned on I became. My nipples stuck out proudly and tingled slightly, so I gave them a rub that soon became a bit of a sexy massage.

Confession time - I'd not had sex in over three years.

I was a good masturbator and had a couple of vibrators that I used once Nicky was in bed and asleep or on Saturday mornings when he was with Tom or staying over with Mum and Dad, which he did often.

My last shag had been a one night stand after a night out with the girls from work. Nicky was about eighteen months old and I'd split up with Tom almost a year before. I'd heard through the office that he was seeing someone and had seen the borderline glee that some of my colleagues were sharing the information with.

A couple of them suggested that it was time that I moved on and suggested that all the singleys go out that Friday 'on the pull'.

We did; I dressed in my standard LBD with an 'all in one' under it.

We started drinking at one of the girls' places and hit the town for about ten. We were soon descended upon by various groups of lads and by one in particular. This one guy, Richard, set his sights on me and did everything he could to woo me. I was flattered by him and he began to buy me drinks. We chatted, we danced, we laughed and I actually felt that this guy liked me.

We left the club and headed back to his place, his parents place actually and he stripped off, I stripped off, he put on a condom and we had sex.

It was nice being in someone's arms again and feeling that closeness after so long, but he came just as I was starting to get into it.

Before I knew it he was hustling me back into my clothes and trying to quietly get me out of the front door.

"Can I have your number?" I said.

"Err... yeah," he said without giving it to me.

"Well..."

"Oh, well..."

There was shout from upstairs and the hall light going on.

"Are you going to spend ALL night trying to get rid of your latest bird?" came the cross, sleep deprived male voice from upstairs. "At least you could have the decency of ordering the poor girl a taxi."

"Yeah taxi," he said nodding and shrugging his shoulders, "you go and wait by the curb and I'll call you one, bye." He all but pushed me out the door, it wasn't even one AM.

As I stood by curb feeling used and the initial pangs of guilt for my slutty behaviour, my phone bleeped and one of my mates texted me.

'Get you! The blokes we're with just had a text from Rich to say that he'd scored with you. Glad you got some girly!'

Shit. There I'd been, looking for romance and I'd naively ended up as some arsehole's trophy shag. I felt a tear in my eye as I reread the message and now those girlfriends of mine would think me some kind of a cheap slapper.

Well, revenge is sweet I thought as I flagged down a passing cab seeing no car had turned up for me after ten minutes and I was starting to get cold.

I texted her back from the back seat of a black cab.

'Don't be M8, he was shit. He had a really small cock that he couldn't get up. When he finally did he stuck it in me a few times and came, no charm, no 4play. Would have more of a turn on with an f'ing washing machine at least that would have been useful after. Tell the girls never to bother with this one, he's hung like a virgin Yorkshire terrier with a similar sexual prowess. Even his parents think he's a twat and I'm on my way home already LOL!'

I just knew that she'd read it out to the whole crowd. She did. It caused much hilarity and I knew that it would come back to haunt him - twat.

But I'd learned my lesson and decided I wouldn't go looking for love on a Friday night ever again.

But here I was, squeezing my firm and really sensitive boobs while staring into my wardrobe and trying to work out what I was going to wear for my date with a probably gay man. Was this going to be about sex? Why was I getting so turned on at all!

I knew from the stirring in my puss that if I didn't stop I end up flat on my back, my arse off of the bed in paroxysms of lust as I brought myself off. I still had work to do.

I focused on panties; I thought about it and figured that he was a massive fan of my arse so I should wear something that complimented it. I was already wearing a string so twisted and turned in the mirror checking out the view. No, nice but boring; everyone in my office wore them every day. I wanted sexy lacy clingy and figured on boy shorts. I went to the wardrobe and took out one of my favourite sets, high cut low rise virtually transparent black lace boy shorts, still brand new with the labels attached.

I went to take off my string panties but realised I'd be in danger of staining them so slipped them over.

Even though they were virtually transparent and my black string could be seen, I twisted and saw how they caressed my arse. Fuck they looked good. There was a matching bra that I put over my tits and clipped. It was a balcony that while holding me in place quite wonderfully it was also designed to be discrete.

I was looking good and wasn't even dressed! The next big decision was tights or stockings and suspenders, hold-ups or shaved bare legs.

Who was I kidding, this was Steve so it was going to be stockings with suspenders. I had a hot looking lace suspender belt that would match my bra and panties so I put that on.

Stockings; sheer black, back-seamed with lace at the top. There was a pair in my drawer still in the packet and those I'd save for tomorrow, but put on a pair that had been worn, washed and put away.

I stood and struck a pose looking at myself like some kind of underwear model and resisted the temptation get one of those mirror selfies but forced myself to put down my phone before I got a photo that I knew I'd never be able to show anyone or delete. The thought of such a photo ending up on the web and embarrassing me at work or worse my parents was awful so that was that.

Finally I started on the dress. It was going to be a little black dress, no question and I slid the mirrored door back so I could see them all. I pulled on the first which had a scooped neckline and thick shoulder straps. It hung straight down with a bit of a curve over my full hips and while I liked it, there wasn't that punch, that immediate hit that I wanted to knock his eyes out with.

Next it was an elasticated one that looked great but showed every line of my undies and while I experimented with it, again, it wasn't the one. I'd worn it before but just with panty hose, and I needed real underwear for this night.

Next was my wrap over mini dress, and while it looked fantastic and the plunging neckline was perfect, the slash at the front would show my stocking tops and suspender straps when I sat down or, probably, when I walked!

Finally there was another black stretchy dress, with thin straps that covered my bra straps that reached down to enough of a cleavage. The dress material was ruched and it clung to me and didn't show any lines. I fussed with the cleavage until I got it how I wanted it. Finally I slipped into my strappy black heels that might bring closer to his impressive 6'4".

This I did take a photo and gave my hair a shake. The look was brilliant and I decided that I'd get it set into that kind of fly away style rather than my usual piled up classic look I'd practiced over the years. I checked my hair dresser on line and saw that she had a spare appointment between two and four and booked myself in.

I looked hot and I knew it. I desperately hoped we were going somewhere nice that I could show this off and not his local pub or something like that.

I stripped out of my ensemble and hung it up ready for the next night. As each layer came off I felt sexier and sexier until finally I sat in just my stockings and suspenders and original black string.

My nipples were so hard and so aroused that I had to stroke them and a few moments later I was falling back on my bed and squeezing and mauling my boobs like they weren't mine. Much as I tried to fight off the desire my hand slid down between my legs and I squeezed my entire pubic region and felt the thrill of anticipation. I raised my legs and pulled off my panties leaving me in just my stockings and suspenders and fell back again, my left hand back to squeezing and mauling my tits while my right brushed through my labia finding the swollen dampness that was there.

I stroked across feeling the wet warm drag of excited pussy lips on my palm and pushed my long middle finger deep into me and pumped it as hard as I could enjoy a tiny thrill each time I did.

As my wrist and elbow tired I stopped the breast massage and swapped hands using my tired right hand to hold my pussy lips apart while my left played with my opening. Finally it trailed slowly up and found my clitty hiding in its flesh folds and I began to rub.

Harder and harder I stroked pushing my groin off of the bed and reaching up with my vagina as if my overdue orgasm was closer to the ceiling. I nearly got there and I knew that if I really wanted to get there it was time to dig out my electronic friends. I had a clitoral stimulator and it was hidden in my still open panties drawer. I grabbed it and threw myself back down sliding it down to nestle against my centre as my spare hand spread my labia and clitoral hood. I gasped a loud 'aaah' knowing there was no one else in the place to hear and enjoyed the sudden and wonderful sensations hitting me where I needed them most.

I felt that tremor that told me I was on my way and I pushed down with my feet and up with my hips and down hard with my vibe, and I came hard.

"Christ!" I growled, flinging my head from right to left on my mattress and went for my new favourite thing the multiple orgasm. I'd not being doing them that long or that often.