One Night in Philadelphia

I just can't do the 750-word contest, but as I wrote it, it came out as though it should have been in the old 'One Night in XXX' story challenge.

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I knew it was trouble the first time Drew said, "I love you, Amanda" to me. What the fuck, he's not my husband, not even my lover, really, but just a fuck buddy.

We'd hooked up in the most politically incorrect way ever. I was walking past him in the halls of the building in which we worked when he said, "God, I'd like to fuck you." Maybe I should have been offended, but it just so happened that I was horny as Hell that morning, and I responded, almost without thinking, "Then why haven't you?"

He was dumbfounded, and later told me that he had just been thinking that upon seeing me, and didn't realize that he'd said it out loud. But, at the time, all I got back was a "Huh?"

"You said that you wanted to fuck me. OK, why, and why haven't you already done it?"

It was cute, really. I knew that I'd caught him off-guard, and I knew that other men thought the same about me. I'm taller than average at 5'10, and slender. I look a lot like Bridget Moynihan in Blue Bloods, and can rock the tailored blouse, pencil skirt and heels look, still classy without looking slutty. You know, the skirt a touch above the knee but still professional enough, bare legs instead of hose, but pants often enough that it didn't look like I was trying too hard. I knew that my looks helped with my career path, because men liked being around me. Still, I was married, and hadn't fucked my way up the career ladder; I hadn't fucked anyone at the office, even before Mickey and I got married.

So, why was Drew so appealing? Yeah, part of it was that I was horny; Mickey had been working on a project in Harrisburg, while I was at home in Philly. He was a construction foreman, and the state was erecting yet another seventeen-story office building in the state capital. Naturally, it was a union job, being Pennsylvania, and foremen who could get the job run well in a union environment were at a premium. The job was fast-tracked, which meant that Mickey was working six days a week; we only saw each other on Saturday evenings and Sundays. It was a Thursday when Drew made his comment, so I'd been without for four days, and I was hardly an old lady.

But it also helped that Drew was sexy on his own. Yeah, in my four-inch heels I was standing 6'2, which made me look taller than most guys -- and don't let anybody tell you differently; guys just love it when an attractive woman stands taller than them -- but Drew's eyes and mine were right at the same level. Even if he had thicker soles in his shoes, he still had to be at least six feet tall.

And his eyes were really dreamy, a clear sky blue, the kind of blue that didn't have the darker edge around then that so many light-colored eyes have, the kind of eyes that make women's panties fall off. He wasn't a body-builder type or anything, but just well built, as though he exercised and kept in shape but didn't lift or anything. He was, to put it bluntly, the kind of man who just looked like he knew how to fuck.

That's another thing you shouldn't get fooled about: women size up how good a lay guys look to be, and we do it quickly. It's been said that women know within the first thirty seconds whether they want to sleep with a guy, and that's true enough, but what it really means is they know within the first thirty seconds whether a guy looks like he'd be a good fuck.

"Why haven't I?" Drew was still trying to get over his surprise at my response; I could see it as he was searching for words. "Well, you're married, aren't you?" He looked down at my rather ostentatious wedding set. While my engagement ring was fairly typical, the wedding band itself was a wide one, with a soft, muted gold in the center surrounded by polished gold at the edges. No one would ever mistake it for anything other than what it actually was.

"Yes, I'm married, but if you're going to just come out and say that you want to fuck me, that must not bother you too much."

By this time, Drew had gathered his wits about him. "Well, Amanda -- that is your name, right? -- you just have this cool but still awesome look about you, you walk with confidence, you seem professional as Hell, and you just look like you can handle yourself. To me, that's just plain sexy."

"So, what about your wife or girlfriend?" I was putting the pressure on him, and giving him what I thought was a devious smile all the while.

"Nope, no wife and no girlfriend."

"A good-looking guy like you, and you don't have a girlfriend? How does that work?" I was fishing; I was definitely intrigued, and as I said, horny, but even saying that, I wasn't going to do anything with a player. It's one thing if a guy has had a few girlfriends, but something totally different if he's screwed a hundred other women.

"Ahhh, well, I was with this girl for about three years, but we broke up a month ago."

"Why'd you break up?"

"It was her family, mostly. She's Indian, and her family didn't appreciate her being with a white guy. They kept putting pressure on her, and finally it was too much. There wasn't going to be much of a future for us if her family disowned her."

That was good information. An Indian girl, three-year relationship, that meant he was probably pretty safe, if obviously feeling his own horns after no sex for a month.

"OK, Fonds on South 11th Street in East Passyunk, you know where it is?"

"I know where South 11th Street is, yeah."

"Dinner, seven tonight, and be on your "A" game; you only get one chance. And it's busy, so you need to go ahead and call for reservations." With that, I turned and walked away.

I knew that the way I'd handled it, Drew would have nothing but me on his mind all afternoon. Thing is, all I could think about was what the fuck I was doing. I was just totally turned on by what had happened, and had to head for the ladies' room to dry myself up a bit. I could feel my panties getting wet -- and I was only wearing a thong, not a full bikini -- and I got a little bit self-conscious, worried that someone might be able to smell my arousal. I dried my panties as well as I could with the hand dryer, and put an unceremonious pad made of toilet paper in them to keep them from getting soaked. With the cheap-ass TP that the custodial staff put in our bathrooms, it wasn't particularly comfortable.

The afternoon was difficult. I'm a staff accountant, good but not a CPA, and I had tons of work in front of me. It was for one of our bigger clients, an NYSE listed company, and quarterly reports were due in a week and a half, on Monday. I was working slower than normal, trying to concentrate while still fantasizing about getting just plain fucked.

That's all that I wanted, a simple, great fuck. I loved Mickey, and had no plans on dumping him, certainly not for a fellow staffer, but damn, I was horny. Hell, it's just sex, right, just a little fun on the side. Mickey won't be home until eight or so on Saturday night, so even if Drew turns out to be hung like Peter North, my puss won't be any different than normal by the time Mickey gets home.

It seemed like five would never get here, but finally it did, and I was more than ready to head out the door. By the time I got home, I could barely remember having driven it, until I parked in our single-car garage off the back alley. Mickey had poured a nice walkway from the garage up to our back deck, so I wouldn't have to worry about the uneven dirt and mud in what passed for our yard. Damn, Mickey was a great husband, always taking care of me!

I brushed my teeth, and fixed a quick drink to calm my nerves before jumping in the shower. We had the coolest shower in South Philly, with the exposed brick between our house and the next one, where Mickey had gotten the highest quality clear epoxy coating so that the shower water couldn't soak into the exposed brick and mortar. Rain-style dual showerheads, crystal clear glass walls, everything a girl could want in a high-end shower, Mickey had put in, mostly with his own hands. The only thing missing was a steam-shower capability, because Mickey was afraid that too much would escape the shower itself and eventually degrade the brick outside of the shower itself.

I almost spent too much time in the shower, but realized that time was passing a bit too quickly, and I still needed to get dressed. Fortunately, my hair is simple, short, almost boy-cut, and it doesn't take too long. I don't really need mascara, because I'm a brunette and my lashes are long and dark.. Just a hint of eye shadow, and some barely-there lip gloss, and my makeup will be done.

What to wear, what to wear? While I have some nice dinner and even clubbing outfits, I decided on office clothes. After all, Drew was attracted when that's what he saw me in, and it wasn't really a good idea to look like I was trying too hard, you know? A simple, silky cream-colored blouse, with three buttons left undone, left a tiny bit of skin showing to between my breasts, but I don't really have anything that could be called cleavage. The blouse wasn't too sheer, so I could have gone braless, but no, that wasn't the right thing to do. Instead, a simple black cotton bra and matching thong, all very much sexy without that trying-too-hard look.

And, as long as I'm being understated, some nice jeans rather than a skirt. I have a few pair that fit me really well, without looking like they were painted on. My one concession to really sexy was a pair of barely-there strappy black sandals, with a four-inch heel. I do have a pair with five-inch heels, but it's a three-block walk to Fond's, and even though the area is gentrifying, there are some places with poorer sidewalks.

The night was warm, and Fond has some outdoor tables, right on the sidewalk, though under maroon and gold and white canvas awnings. They're all small tables, for two people, and meant for couples, not groups. That meant that, despite the South Philly street noise, there were a lot of loud conversations . . . and that a woman wearing nice heels could cross her legs and kick a foot out in view of her man. It's just enough to get a man's heart going without being too blatant about things.

Man, I was horny!

I'd jilled myself off in the shower, but all that did was take the edge off for maybe half an hour. I had thought that maybe, by doing that, I'd be less horny and keep the dinner under my control, and not be so desperate that I couldn't simply say no and break things off before I actually cheated on Mickey.

I arrived just when I wanted, 6:57, not late, but not so early that it looked desperate. Drew was already there, and he looked good. He was wearing khaki slacks and a summer-weight grey sportscoat, with a crisply ironed white shirt under it; he had a touch of casual by foregoing a tie. His shoes were clean and unscuffed. Whoever that Indian girl was, she must've taught him how to dress for a dinner date.

Fond was expensive, and they had oysters on the menu, but Drew was smart enough not to be that blatant. Thing is, I barely remember what I did have. I know it was good, as it always is, but really all that I can remember was Drew flirting and me flirting, and both of us trying to still be a bit subtle about it. After his initial, "God, I'd like to fuck you" greeting at work, it was a cool, collected way of doing things, but that was all that was needed.

Drew wasn't trying to seduce me; I think he knew that he didn't have to. This evening was going to end up in his bed unless he just plain blew it, and we both knew that. Really, he never even asked if I wanted to go to his place, he simply assumed, and after dinner was over -- no dessert, no sense getting over filled -- he walked me to his car, opened the passenger door for me as any gentleman would, then got in himself and started driving.

Across the Schuylkill into University City, and then a turn into a nice condo area, with underground parking, no less. When we got to his place, he opened the door, and then waited for me to step inside before doing so himself; everything he did was subtle, but meant to remind me that this was my choice.

The place was nicely, if sparsely furnished. There were a couple of places on the walls that looked like pictures, or something, had been hanging here before but were now gone. That told me: he had been telling the truth about a long-term girlfriend, and it looked as though she'd recently moved out. This was good to know, though a more analytical thought than I'd have expected from myself in that situation. Drew cracked a bottle of nice wine and poured a glass for me, but, let's face it, this wasn't going to be about wine or seduction; it was going to be about pure fucking. It took only seconds before I'd scoped out the layout, and, after just a couple of sips of the wine, I put down my glass, took him by the hand, and led him into his own bedroom. I looked him straight in those magnificent blue eyes of his, and whispered to him, with just enough volume for him to be able to hear, "Take what you want."

I had expected to be cool about this, but I wasn't: I could feel my hands trembling as Drew unbuttoned my blouse, smart enough to undo the cuffs first, before pushing it off of my shoulders. I had used a French tuck, which he'd pulled out to undo my last button, so my blouse fluttered to the richly carpeted floor. He looked at me, and then his lips went to my shoulders, gently kissing, and occasionally nipping at my neck, not hard, and not leaving any marks. My hands rose to the buttons on his shirt.

It was strange, really, seeing my medium trimmed nails unbuttoning a man's shirt, a man who wasn't Mickey. My nails were clear-coated and polished, reflecting the light that came in from the living room through the open door; we hadn't turned on the lights in his bedroom. His buttons came undone easily, and I took it slowly, though I was burning up inside. I, too, remembered to unbutton his shirt cuffs, and eventually, how long I still don't know, pushing his shirt off of his shoulders.

Drew look great without a shirt. His chest was well muscled, though not overly so, with definition, not size. He had dark hair on his chest, not as coarse as I expected, and not that much of it, just enough to let me know he was a man, not a boy. He reached around me, and deftly unhooked my bra.

There's just something about losing your bra in front of a man which is a line you've crossed. Without my blouse, I was still wearing as much on top as anyone could see on the beach, but when the bra is gone, it's a so much more intimate thing. My breasts are so small that they have hardly any sag to them, but my nipples, normally very pink puffy things that Mickey likes, now stood out firmly erect. My excitement was obvious.

Then Drew gently pushed me seated on his bed, before kneeling down to unbuckle my very carefully chosen sandals. He pulled them off of me, gently kissing the top of each foot, before rising to unbutton my jeans.

I hadn't worn a belt. I certainly didn't need one, and it was good that there wasn't one in the way. Drew slowly unzipped them, and then, bracing my hands on the bed, I lifted up my hips to let him pull my jeans and thong off of me. I could see the smile on his face, not only as he saw me bare, but could detect the scent of my arousal. Drew pulled my jeans and panties off of my right leg first, and them my left, taking in the sight of me, running his fingertips down my smooth to the touch legs.

I had shaved my legs in the shower earlier, and trimmed my bikini line, but there was no way I could have shaved my pussy bare: Mickey would have instantly noticed and had questions. For a moment I was worried -- what if Drew expected me bald, the way so many girls are these days -- but I needn't have been concerned; he bent down to kiss my pussy, then lightly parted my hair with his tongue and began softly eating me.

I was in absolute heaven! One thing was certain: this man knew how to eat pussy! From long, slow licks to darting probes with his tongue, his hands caressing my hips, then under my butt, then to the insides of my thighs, Drew was varied, sometimes gentle and sometimes firm, but never giving a hint of a pattern I could anticipate; every second was new and surprising.

Thing is, there weren't that many seconds of it. I could feel it rising within me quickly, with "Oh my God"s and "Holy fuck"s escaping my lips.

In a way, it was weird. Mickey had always said that I had a pretty pussy, with no inner lips dangling down outside. I don't know why that thought crossed my mind, but I was hoping that Drew thought my pussy was pretty, too.

Then his right middle finger was inside me, curling and unfurling, stroking my G-spot, and that was it, I lost it, coming with a rush and a gush, my legs clamping tightly, so tightly I wondered if I had hurt his hand or his face.

"Enough, enough," I managed to gasp out, needing to come down some from my climax, too sensitive for further stimulation. "I have to rest for a second."

Drew didn't say a word, but simply climbed up on the bed, beckoning me to follow him. His face was crossed by the sweetest of smiles, not cocky, not arrogant, but not overdone. It was a smile happiness, of controlled happiness, a smile that you can only see on a man the first time you make love with him. He was fully naked, so he must've been multitasking while he ate me, pulling off the rest of his clothes at the time. His cock was sticking straight out, looking as hard as a man can get.

It wasn't a huge cock, but it was nicely sized. Maybe seven inches, and circumcised, straight, not curved, and appropriately thick without being a beer can. This was a cock a girl could like!

After the tongue-lashing Drew had given me, I thought I owed him the same, as soon as I recovered from what he had done to me, but tat didn't happen. Instead, Drew rolled onto his back, and whispered, "Ride me."

God, that turned me on so much! Drew was doing what I told him, to take what he wanted. I rose onto my right knee, then, throwing my left leg over him, settled down to take his cock deeply within me. I reached down to grasp it, and then guide it inside of me. I was so turned on and so wet that it slid right into me easily, all the way to the base in one slow easy motion.

With my hands on his chest to support myself, I rose again, than came back down, slowly at first, then building up speed, and it wasn't long before I was rising and slamming back down as fast and as hard as I could. Another climax was building inside of me, fast and hard, and then it hit me. I slammed down hard, trying to force Mickey as deeply as I could.

No, wait, not Mickey, but Drew! Shit!

A wave of guilt was rising in me, but it didn't have time to really take hold. Once I had climaxed, Drew took charge again, and rolled me over, staying inside of me the entire time. And then he started moving, again slowly at first, before picking up speed and strength and slamming down into me, hard. Maybe Drew had thought he was going to make love to me, but he wasn't; he was just plain fucking me.

It was a bit of a struggle, really. My poor pussy was loving this, but she was feeling a bit abused, too. Drew pounded and pounded away, and another orgasm was rising in me, though a bit slower this time. I guess that Drew could see it, and I could see the strain in his face, sweat forming on his brow. I guess it couldn't have been timed better, but just as a drop of his sweat fell from his face and hit me, I came again.

I couldn't help it. I went from my legs wrapped around him to tightly together, between his, like I was trying to strangle his cock or something. My hips rose up hard, pressing against him for all I was worth, my legs tensed out straight between his, making a bow of my body with my shoulders and feet against the bed and my hips up high. That was when Drew came inside of me, but I barely knew it, I was so tensed up in my own climax.