I arrive at your place, ambling nervously toward the door as I shrug my bag over my shoulder. Yes, we had met once before over drinks, but this was different. Drinks don't leave me with a sore ass. Second thoughts rush through my head. Will this be fun? Will she really do everything she said she would? And will she get as excited as she claims? This last thought gives my cock pause as it perks up and reminds me of your lusty voice as you recounted how you would like to spend the evening. More confident, I continue walking toward the door and pause briefly to listen before knocking.
So much preparation, planning, work on the venue and time spent on the costume. Elise and her best friend Thuy loved themed parties and would host one every chance they got. Last year's combined birthday bash was a gothic theme. The guests that came put in the effort and Elise and Thuy quickly realized that if a person was willing to dress up, they were willing to have fun. A "Hippy Barbeque" followed that summer, but it was time once again for the girls to celebrate their birthdays together. Thuy thought up the idea of a "Pimps n Hos" theme and ran it by Elise.
I sat in the lounge, swirling my gin & tonic, absently tapping a finger to the piped music. Nothing about this trip had lined up as it should have: a week in Florence, now on my second day in Rome, with nothing to show for it. My backers would not be pleased, but I was not concerned with their disapproval. I'm too much of a professional to place anything above my own standards.
It was about eleven o'clock on Saturday night when Brian pulled up just down the block from the tall brick building that included the apartment his girl friend, Rachel, shared with her young daughter. They turned to each other while unbuckling their seatbelts, both of them thinking of the good time they had at dinner and the concert and, especially, about the great time they expected to have in her bed. Not wanting to take anything for granted, he waited until she expressly suggested he come inside with her.
I blame the color of money.
No not green! I mean the movie Color of Money. Paul Newman before he became the king of salad dressing, Tom Cruise when he was still more...sane, I guess. And the still young, hot-as-hell Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, oh my god the ass on that woman. She was a fantasy of mine from the first time I saw that movie till...
It's been a week without sex. I've been horny all day but even after Gary gets home it is several hours before dinner is finished and the kids put to bed. Gary knows I want him - he can read the signs even when they are much subtler. But he teases for a few minutes, first saying he wants to watch TV and then yawning and saying he's tired. I pout, thrust out my tits, wiggle my bum, act a bit sluttish. He loves it. His eyes sparkle and there is a slight flush on his cheeks.
I stood in the crisp sunlight bursting through my window, my shades pulled back and inviting the morning inside. It was September; the first day of classes.
My parents had helped me move in to my residence room a week ago, giving me time to get acquainted with all the people that would be on my floor. I had made a good number of friends, many of which I already had invited me to spend the next weekend on a drinking splurge.
Chicago. The Windy City. I tried to look out the windows of my hotel room to calm my nerves but I was unfocused and flighty. The scenic lake in the distance couldn't hold my attention for more than a few seconds at a time.
Panic seized me. Again.
During the past hour my nervousness had escalated from apprehension to something bordering on terror.
Nicole and I had dated in college. It had been a very up and down relationship. We had both just gotten out of a relationship at the time and she in particular was reluctant to put her full effort into the relationship for fear of getting hurt. I, on the other hand, went into it with a full effort, which caused me to be the one who was hurt in the end.
Up until lunch time, Tori had not been having a good day. Both of her morning appointments were canceled, one by the buyer and one by a seller, and prospects for rescheduling either did not look good. It was days like this that made her want to scream, but there was nothing she could really do about it. As soon as she disconnected her cell phone from the last cancellation, Tori decided she needed a pick-me-up.