Texting While Ridingbydirtymindpureheart©
This is not a sex story in the sense of skin on skin action, but it IS erotic literature. Please read as much for style as a story and not just an "electronic piece of ass" ... and I hope you enjoy!
He could still taste the last drops of wine, a mid-grade pinot noir, on her unpainted lips -- a welcome after-effect of the lingering kiss with just a hint of tongue, two and a half seconds of the tip-- that she gave him before they parted for their separate cross-town buses. He could've taken the subway home; it would certainly have been a lot faster just to hop on the D train from 34th—but he wanted the freedom to text her if the mood struck; not an option from 75 feet below nearly 100 year old concrete, asphalt and steel.
>"So..." he started innocuously, "Nikki, did you really REALLY enjoy dinner?"
*"That was fantastic," she wrote back. "I especially enjoyed the veal parmesian."
>"You mean MY veal parmesian," he typed back with emphasis.
*"Not for long it wasn't. LOL."
>"Yeah, that's why I'm still hungry."
*"Hmmm...guess you should've ordered another one, JB. Or just eaten my dish."
>"Not big on scallops...but enjoy when you get home. Please."
He thought of saying something else he'd like to eat but thought better of it; it might be too soon, although they had touched hands and made eye contact all night and she had repeatedly, if not continuously, her summer dress in its muted shades of purple pulled up under the table, rubbed her bare leg against his calf, itself exposed because of the cargo shorts he wore. Instead, the right corner of his lips tugged upward in a secretive, satisfied smile. His thumbs paused a moment before they resumed their work of continuing this playful build-up to what he hoped would be the inevitable outcome. Instead, he added, "I'm glad you like. It's one of my favorite spots in NY for good Italian."
He skipped a line for emphasis.
>"You know, we didn't have dessert. You need to study for your boards...but I'm on vacation. I could still get off, turn around and pick some up to bring to you...feed you cheesecake and sips of mocha choca something while you read."
There was a longer pause than he expected and he started to wonder if he had already blown it, misread the whole thing and come across like a desperate stalker type, when he saw her name come back up on his phone's screen.
*"Cheesecake and coffee....mmmmm, you HAVE been paying attention." He could sense her dimpled grin forming as she held cradled the phone in her simply manicured, closely clipped fingertips, a professional necessity as a certified massage therapist.
>"Well, what was I supposed to do, pretend to listen while figuring out how to get into your pants?" he chuckled, paraphrasing and repeating one of the pet peeves she had shared perhaps two weeks before their date when they were still just colleagues talking in the break room of the health practice at which they were both employed, simultaneously and deliberately reminding her of one of the reasons she had agreed to go out with him in the first place; he had proven to always be fully engaged in whatever topics their conversations had covered, from applied physiology and kinesiology, to the fact that they were both named after famous writers for their first and middle names—Nikki Giovanni (Grant) and James Baldwin (Morris)--to favorite desserts.
*"Hm. In the immortal words of Bart Simpson, 'ah, touché'." He snorted a laugh, drawing a glance or two from fellow riders, who lost interest just as quickly, and then continued reading. "Soooo....b4 u get too far...I think that would be a good idea. Dessert, I mean. I would like that."
Without taking the time to text back yet, he immediately reached up to press the yellow strip that allowed him to request a stop, got off half a block later, and walked two and a half blocks to a restaurant he knew of on 25th and Sixth Avenue that sold marble cheesecake topped with fresh raspberries.
After paying $7.50 for two slices, he considered the quickest way to get to her apartment building at the same time she did, or to time it as close as possible, considering the head start she had on the bus to Harlem. He decided to walk back two blocks, take the N up to 34th Street and change to the 4 or 5. He knew there was a Starbucks about a block from her building because she had mentioned her nearly-daily habitual expense of grabbing a "tall" on her way to the bus. If they weren't open, he would just see what was on the way once he got off the train. Before descending to the subway, he remembered to return her text.
She had written again: "Are you still there?"
>"Sorry it took a minute to respond. Had to take care of something. Now...OK, done deal. On my way. :o)."
As he was headed down the steps, he saw that she had written back again.
*"Wait. I know I just said I would like it...and that is true...but I really should try to study 2nite. Did u already get it?"
>"Yup. Bag in hand." His shoulders sank as he leaned against the cool tile at the top of the subway staircase.
It took a while for a response to come back, but it did, it surprised him. "I feel bad...but...why don't you tell me what you would do with it if you were here. Feel free to get creative *wink.*"
He cocked his head to the right and looked at the screen. Did she really just say that?
>"Well alrighty then. Let me see. I take that as a challenge!" He turned and headed back up the few steps to the sidewalk and walked half a block to a 24 hour diner he knew of; one of a few establishments still left from when his parents took him into mid-town on weekends and holidays from their apartment in "Alphabet City" on the Lower East Side down on Avenue D and 8th Street. They had moved further up with better jobs after he left for college, but he had lived through and seen first-hand the worst of his old neighborhood's days—he witnessed the crack and heroin epidemic take over the lives of a lot of his friends' parents, as well as some of his cousins, which made him decide to get away as soon as he could, which he did through early admission on full scholarship to Cornell University. The irony was not lost on him that as a professional physical therapist, he now lived back on the Lower East Side as a "trending neighborhood" that was still considered affordable to yuppies and hipsters with jog strollers and pure-bred dogs rescued from kennels.
>"...and after I feed you the third bite," he continued the narrative he had started after he ordered a bacon-turkey club sandwich and fries, "I leave a smudge of cheesecake on your perfect lips and lean in to nibble it off."
*"I feel my earlobes get warm when you do that—my first sign of arousal—and decide to take it to another level. I reach for the fork, break off another piece of cheesecake, lean back in kitchen chair and drop it down the front of my dress, telling you to come and get it."
>"I get up and do what I've wanted to do for weeks—months--but was afraid of coming across as too forward or single-minded---and peel one strap of your dress from your shoulder, then pause and cup the side of your breast gently from the side. Just a touch. Then I pull down the other strap and slowly expose the lavender bra you wore 2nite. I know I would just look at u for about 6 seconds to take u in, and then exhale. I move you, chair and all, away from the table so I can do what I need/want to do. I get on my knees, parting your legs while bunching up your dress, and lean in to nibble the crumbly, slightly sticky and moist dessert from btwn ur perfectly uplifted breasts and inhale ur perfume all at the same time. I know at this point I feel a twitch below my belt."
After hitting send, he exhaled, hardly believing this exchange was taking place.
*"I put my hand under your chin and lift your face to taste the cake off of your lips and tongue," she added, obviously not home yet, or if she was, certainly not studying, "then stand up to let my dress fall to the ground, feeling hungry for something besides cheesecake."
>"And what's that?"
*"Stop being impatient! Lol. I hit send before I finished what I was trying to say."
*"As I was saying, I am hungry for something besides cheesecake all of the sudden. I grab you gently by your shirt and make you stand up then undo the buttons, exposing your...what do you have under there?"
>"Tank undershirt...so-called wife-beater, but I really don't like the name."
*"...Exposing your well-defined chest which stretches your undershirt nicely. I put one hand on your chest and use my other hand to pull the bottom of your undershirt out of your boxers (I'm assuming)."
>"Boxer-briefs, to be precise. Carry on."
*"So I pull the bottom of your undershirt out of your boxer-briefs (smile). There is a pause as we both realize what's happening. I step in six inches closer and press myself to you. I whisper, actually breathe into your ear, 'it's OK. I want this...it's been too long' (which it has, grumble grumble, but I guess I was waiting for the right guy. I like it to be meaningful even if I'm not totally in love.) Is that too much information?"
>"Not at all. It's GOOD information. But please don't lose your train of thought."
He hit said and then said "thanks" to his waitress, who had just placed the white ceramic plate in front of him. It occurred to him that he had probably eaten off this same plate at some point in his life, considering how many times he had eaten there.
*"Right. So I breathe into your ear and let you know what's good, then take your hands and bring them behind me to unhook my 36DD from Victoria's Secret. (I know you were wondering so I figured I'd just put it out there). Instead of letting it fall to the floor, you reach over and place it gently on the chair I had been sitting in, then reach down, pick up my dress, and place it there as well (it seems like something u wd do, which is why we're having this 'conversation'... I like that I have that impression about you."
>"I'm really glad u feel that way. So after I've taken care of your dress...and your undress...I say 'it's your turn' and pull at the bottom of my t-shirt and you complete the task of pulling it over my head, then reach for the belt on my shorts. Once those are off too, I put my clothes on top of yours—I'm kind of a neat freak but not totally crazy wit' it—and put my hands on your smooth, brown shoulders, run them down your arms, your back, across your backside—which I am imagining is only partially covered by matching lavender lace boy-cut shorts, rest my hands on your hips and then intertwine my fingers in yours as your press your chest into mine."
*"Backside. U are too cute. I just know you wanted to say BOOTY but were scared it would mess u up. But I appreciate you trying to be careful :). BTW I have on regular ol' cotton...it's getting close to THAT time so I had to be careful...anyway, TMI. Back to our regularly scheduled program: I feel the tingle in my hands as you put yours in mine and remove all the space between us by freeing my hands so I can wrap my arms around your back and grab the back of your head while we kiss deeply, tongues dancing with each other—did I just write that? After what seems like a really long time, but who's counting, I pull back to breathe and then kiss your neck, your chest, your abs—I really hope you have visible abs, but for right now you do—and then tug on your boxer briefs My eyes meet yours and I push down."
"Damn," he thought, "all of this from some cheesecake? How did that happen?"
>"Before you continue, I gotta stop and let you know—since I hope, really really hope that you'll find out the truth anyway at some point—that as a brotha, I don't live exactly live up to the usual hype. I only have about 5 ¾ , maybe six inches on a good day...hope I'm not ruining the moment." He could hardly believe what hehad just written, but it was the all-around truth.
*"Not to worry. Big is nice, I can't lie, but it's not a deal maker or breaker. Besides, six inches...is still a mouthful. GodIcantbelieveIjustsaidthat." Before he had a chance to think and respond, she continued: "So I push down on your underwear and put my hand on your hard manhood, which has been pushing against the fabric, and my stomach, for a while. I give a light squeeze and tug before pulling your drawers all the way off and watch you involuntarily bite your bottom lip. I lead you to my two-seater sofa and push you into sitting down, then grab hold of your erection again and kiss your stomach, the tops and insides of your thighs, and then place my mouth over the head of your 5 ¾ inches trying to get you to six."
After taking a long sip of his lemonade, he read and had to forcibly close his mouth. He motioned for the check.
>"Well, I certainly would get to whatever my full length is with all that." What direction should he take this? He looked down at the bag of dessert and got an idea. "However, with all due respect, I stop you after one, OK, two, maybe three bobs of your beautiful face. You ask me if anything is wrong and I tell you it's perfect but I want to go first. I ask you to go get a towel and you look at me sideways but come back with one the size of New Jersey (you just strike me as the type to have big fluffy towels) and I instruct you to lay down on it after I spread it on the floor, then I go get the cheesecake and the room-temp coffee from the table."
He accidentally hit send and before he could complete the thought, she responded:
*"Oooh, I think I like where this is headed."
>"Be quiet and let me do the talking now!"
*"Mmmmm, taking charge. Love it."
>"Ahem. I break off a piece of cheesecake with the fork and place it on your stomach and lick around it, then nibble it off of you with no hands. I notice that you have a slightly concave area on your soft stomach and pour some of the coffee on your navel and slurp it up. I take more of the cheesecake, part your legs, and crumble it on your inner thighs and nibble it off, then work my way with my tongue toward your warm center. I decide to not be too gentle about the matter, reach up and pull your cotton panties off quickly with both hands, take one of the raspberries at the cleft of your labia, eat it quickly and find your clit so that your juices mix with the taste of the berry, and then proceed to go ahead and plunge my tongue all the way inside you. I hear you gasp as your hips twitch toward me."
He stopped typing, hit Send, left a couple of bills for the tip, and left the booth. The evening air of the summer had cooled but he was so warm inside that he noticed but it didn't affect him.
>"I wrap my arms around your thighs and hold you in place while I alternate between your clit and trying to lick you dry until you arch your back and I hear you groan from somewhere deep inside and your legs shake at the same time they are squeezing my head and finally I hear you exhale loudly and your thighs relax. I notice you put your hand over your face and then lift your head up to look at me and you put your hand on the back of my head, and stoke gently. I know better than to talk yet and instead very gently lick as much of what you have released from the inside of your legs as I can and wipe the rest from my mouth with the corner of your towel, then dry you off and let you enjoy the moment since it's been so long."
It was a full two and half minutes before she sent a response.
*"Sorry it took so long to respond. I had to read that 3x (emphasis on the XXX). I had to make a decision."
>"Which is what?"
*"Are you home yet?"
*"Still wanna help me study?"
45 minutes later, he was out of the subway and walking toward a ninety year old three-story walk up just off of 128th street. He sent a quick message; "I'm almost there," and then depressed the buzzer button marked "GRANT." When the door opened, he took in the same woman he had left not too long ago, hair in a ponytail, wrapped in a thin yellow cotton robe. He lifted up the two-handled paper bag to show her:
"I brought dessert. Sorry I didn't bring coffee; Starbucks down the block was closed."
She stepped aside to let him in, and, almost airily, excused him. "That's OK, I think I'm good with just providing the cream." She reached out and pushed the door to her apartment shut. They both smiled.