She caught my eye, a glimpse, a flash of red shimmering fabric, a bit of bare cinnamon-colored flesh, an enticing curve, and inviting motion.
Left my booth, my drink on the table, my friends in mid-conversation.
Moved, flowed through the crowd to the spot I last saw her, sniffed the air, searching for a scent, as special as she looks.
Rotated 360 degrees, closed my eyes, opened my ears.
Followed the smell, the vibrations, the whisper of her dress against warm flesh, instinct.
Found her strutting in my direction, head up, eyes bright, breasts proud, curves on parade.
Stepped in front of her.
She stopped, looked me in the eyes, not surprised.
“Go back, to a private place.” My emphatic direction.
“Why would I do that?” Her amused voice response.
“Your clit and tits, your asshole and your pussy want you to. They do.”
“So you say.” She’s not impressed with my testimony.
“Do you often hear voices?” A small smile from sweet mouth.
“Your clit wants my lips, tongue and teeth. Is crying for them.”
“Well, my clit is a well-known tease and my pussy lacks good judgment, something you and my pussy have in common, and my asshole belongs to daddy.” She smiles and starts to step around me.
“You’re already wet. Sweet wet. Hard nipples. Blushing under your chin.”
She takes one step past me, walks behind me, around me and back the way she came.
I follow her into the alcove.
Run my hands under her red gift wrapping. Pull down her panties. She pulls up her dress. Reveals the hairy mound of secrets with the cave of delight.
I sniff the delicious brew flowing now. She spreads her pussy lips. I kiss her open well of desire, a gentle, kiss a sweet greeting. She gasps and flows. I lick her up and over her clit, again and again until it is too delicious to resist.
Take her clit in my mouth, suck, nibble, wet my fingers in her joyous juice and stick my fingers up her asshole.
Just the preamble.
Over. Sated. Spent.
My face, fingers, dick covered in her juices.
I wipe her pussy with her panties, stuff them up her. Sopping wet I put them in my pocket.
Not a word.
I follow her out into the bar.
I chew on her wet lacy underwear all the way home.
She beats me home. Has paid the babysitter. Is waiting for me red dress and all.
Frederick K. Foote, Jr. was born in Sacramento, California and educated in Vienna, Virginia and northern California. He started writing short stories and poetry in 2013.
He has published over sixty stories and poems including literary, science fiction, fables and horror genres and a collections of his short stories, For the Sake of Soul, was published in October 2015 by Blue Nile Press. Another collection of short stories, Crossroads Encounters, is scheduled for publication in December 2015 by Choose the Sword Press.
To see a list of Frederick’s publications go to: https://fkfoote.wordpress.com/