Ch. 03 Unexpected Weekend

Sunday midday

I smoked another half of a joint to deal with my hurt feelings. As my mind drifted, I started to think about John giving me lots of attention last night, and this morning - listening, asking questions. It felt good to have someone paying attention to me. I wanted more.

I was pretty sure John had been looking at me. I think he was looking at my butt? I do have a cute butt. And he's been so nice to me, so kind. He'd already seen my toenail polish. Everyone likes looking at a cute butt.

I had a mischievous idea. About getting his attention. I wanted to.

My impulse control was fading away again. I opened the dresser and pulled out a pair of Sarah's jeans. I stepped into them and pulled them up, doing that wiggle thing to get them over my hips. They were about the right size but were much tighter than mine, and in different places.

I looked great. My butt was shaped into sexy curves by the stretchy fabric, a crease underneath my cheeks where they met the back of my thighs.

But the front was all lumpy and my boxer briefs were bunched up and uncomfortable. I pulled off the jeans and slipped on a cute pair of her panties, deep purple cheeky panties with black lace trim, with a tiny satin bow at the front. I loved it. I loved the delicate fabric, a light elastic caress, and I loved the way they nestled between my cheeks and up underneath me, and the feel of the lace trim across my smooth, shaved butt.

I gently coaxed my little guy close to my body and pulled them up tight. The front was mostly smooth except for the head of my penis pressing low against the fabric. It was tiny, like a marble tucked inside the front panel where my thighs met.

I pulled the jeans back on and they fit so much better. I posed in the mirror, turning my hips and looking over my shoulder. I looked cute.

I reached into the drawer and took out one of Sarah's short, soft v-neck t-shirts and my white hoody, and stepped into my slip-on Vans. I looked in the mirror again. I used my fingers to brush my hair into a gentle sweep.

Looking again, I realized with horror that I never took off the lip gloss from last night! The whole time I was talking with John at breakfast! I desperately tried to wash it off but I couldn't get all of it. You could still see the shimmer if you looked closely.

John was waiting for me. I couldn't back out now. I readied myself to step out into the living room and I had a flood of new emotions. I quickly smoked half of a joint to calm my nerves.

I took a deep breath and walked into the living room. John was sitting on the couch, looking clean in a button shirt and loose jeans. Ready to go? Yeah, sure, I replied.

Sunday afternoon

John and I spent the afternoon together. We went to the vista overlook and then to the waterfront and the tourist shops. You know: the t-shirt place, the candy store with the saltwater taffy, the knick-knack store - those kinds of places.

It was fun. John was making little jokes, making me laugh like we were in on an amusing secret. I was pretty high and feeling giddy. Through the haze I heard my voice slightly lilting, a little softer and higher in my throat. Weird.

Every time I moved my attention was pulled into my body and I felt the silky and soft clothing, tight and aware of the gentle clinging of my jeans. The panties. I was carrying myself differently without realizing it, putting my weight on the balls of my feet, flexing my backside, taut down the back of my thighs, feeling the secret femininity under my clothes, on my smooth skin. I even found one or two excuses to bend over, arching my back and folding at my hips instead of my waist.

It was all kind of impulsive. All of this was just happening in the daze of my high. Like I was watching myself do these things. There was a secret thrill in imagining John looking at me, like he did this morning. Like Sarah when she teases me about guys checking me out.

Everything - the way I carried myself, my soft voice - was like some kind of instinct, something that was coaxed out of me by his attention, by his muscular arms, by stealing glances at the front of his jeans, by the intoxication of the masculine smell of his body.

Playful. Giggling? Playing with my hair. I was touching my neck. I felt attractive. Am I flirting?

Everything about me felt pleasantly submissive - and natural - while he was so manly and confident. I remembered how masterful he sounded on the phone yesterday afternoon. I remembered the photos. It's like his powerful presence was somehow bringing out the opposite in me. As if I responded to his strength and masculinity with a soft femininity. I just wanted him to like me.

My high was fading and I started having flashes of doubt and awareness, a kind of light paranoia as I came out of my dream state, reorienting to reality. Was this really happening or was this my imagination? What have I been doing? Was I really flirting or was it all in my head? This is crazy! Sarah will be here in a couple of hours!

I'm just high, that's all. I told myself I'm acting normal. Just act normal, I thought. John doesn't know I've been in a private fantasy. Still, a wave of embarrassment washed over me and I comforted myself knowing that I'd never see him again after tomorrow morning.

Just then, Sarah called and reality slammed back in, cold water completely killing my buzz. She said the airport is closed by the storm. She's going back to the hotel. She's really sorry, she says, pleadingly. Really, I am.

There isn't any fun left in her voice - the teasing and sexual anticipation is long gone. She sounded tired. She just wants to go home, she says. The earliest flight out Monday morning had a layover and wouldn't get her to the west coast until late, and then it would take another two hours to get to the coast. She wouldn't get here until maybe midnight. All that just to leave Tuesday morning, just a few hours later. It was a lot for such a short stay.

No, she said. I'm really, really sorry. When the airport reopens tomorrow morning, I'm just going to go home.

The sky had been threatening rain since yesterday morning and somehow it seemed like it just got darker. This hurt. I know it wasn't her fault but I've never felt so rejected before. I was looking forward to this so much and kept my hopes up at every turn. And now I felt stupid. The whole weekend had fallen apart. It felt like I'd been stood up.

John must have seen the disappointment in my face. What's up? He asked. I tell him, my voice quavering, on the edge of tears.

We walked a little further, not saying anything.

Hey, he says. Let me take you out to dinner. It's the least I can for you showing me around today.

Sunday evening

I was feeling disoriented. I convinced myself that all my little games, the teasing, the bending over to adjust my shoe, the 'flirting' was a silly game of imagination, a little fantasy in my head, and really I was just Sarah's pathetic boyfriend wearing her clothes, ridiculously flattering myself by pretending John found me attractive.

But was it ridiculous? Ever since we got downtown, John had been overly attentive and considerate, even lightly and gently guiding me around with a hand on my lower back. Like a girl. He kept making me giggle. He bought me ice cream.

By the time we were finished with the shops, I was more or less sobered up, bummed about Sarah but also disoriented because I was pretty sure I hadn't been imagining everything. John was opening doors for me and ushering me about like a gentleman. Saying nice things to me, complimenting me. Taking care of me. I was feeling so hurt and vulnerable, and John was being so kind to me. I felt that gratitude welling up in my chest again, so glad that I was with him. He was being so nice to me, so sweet.

He took me to one of the nicer places in town for dinner, a white tablecloth fish restaurant. We sat at a small table with a view. It was uncomfortable sitting across from him. I didn't want to look at him, afraid that he would be able to see all of the raw and confused emotions in my eyes.

Twilight seemed to fall fast, especially with the dark overcast clouds, and it was only when I was looking out the window through the gloom to the distant ocean, feeling sorry for myself, that I noticed the candlelight in the reflection of the glass. It felt cozy and warm. It felt like a safe place in an otherwise upsetting day.

We talked. I started to relax. More attention on me, listening with sincere interest. He was an excellent conversationalist. Charming. We were gazing into each other's eyes over the single flame in the middle of the table. When I got shy, conscious of having talked too much, he would tell me a little about himself. His eyes were sparkling in the candlelight. I couldn't look away. He was so handsome! I was playing with my hair, tucking it behind my ear. I was touching my neck again. He asked me a question. Did I just bite my lip?

I was feeling like this was all getting away from me. I was giddy and lightheaded, feeling like I was losing control of my little game. I nervously excused myself to use the restroom. As I got up and turned away, I saw his eyes drop and I knew - I really knew this time and knew I wasn't imagining it - that he was watching my backside as I walked away. I could feel it.

Subconsciously, instinctually, I shifted my weight again, to the balls of my feet, feeling the gentle flex down my legs, the slight arch of my lower back. I remembered looking in the mirror this morning. I knew I looked good. I felt the change in my posture and deliberately slowed my walk, relaxing my hips. It was an instant thrill! I felt cute knowing that he liked looking at me. I liked having this kind of attention.

As soon as I turned the corner coming back from the restroom, John and I made eye contact and he held my gaze as I walked through the dining room. I was watching him watch me. I couldn't stop myself from smiling. I looked at my feet and tried to hide my smile, dropping my eyes as I sat down, aware of how close we were across the little table.

What are you thinking about? He asked. My face flushed and got hot. Um, nothing, really? What about you?

I was just thinking about how much I've enjoyed spending the afternoon with you. I see why Sarah likes you.

Anyway, I already got the check, he said. It's the least I can do. Maybe it'll make up a little for Sarah's not coming.

There was a moment of sexual tension in the implied, quiet acknowledgement that we were going back to an empty condo. Alone. Just the two of us.

On the way out of the restaurant, John held the door open and had his hand on my lower back again, dropping it lower as I passed. Did he just touch my butt?

John opened the car door for me. Candlelit dinner, opening doors, gentle touches, cheering me up, making me laugh. He was making me feel special. He was making me feel wanted in all the ways that Sarah didn't.

Big heavy drops of rain spattered the windshield as we drove home. When we got to the condo, John parked the car and we looked at each other. No raincoats, no umbrella.

Are you ready? he said. Let's go!

We flung open the doors of the car and sprinted through the rain, giggling as we collided against the front door and he fumbled for the keys to unlock it. We tumbled into the foyer, laughing and shaking the rain out of our hair.