I should have hit it when I got the chance. Because now she’s sitting in front of me, ruining my lunch with her hotness. I could date every blonde in a two state radius, but she’d still be the one that got away. I could bang my ex girlfriend a million times and this one would still be the one who got away. Why did I say I’d have lunch with her? This is torture. Being friends is overrated. Now she’s smiling at me. Kill me now.
She got her hair cut. It looks nice. Flashback to six months ago in the front seat of my car. Seat reclined, skirt up, panties pulled down just a little. God, I was right in there. Up the shirt, under the bra, her nipples swelling to my touch, kissing her on her neck liked she likes it, her breathing quickening as her lips opened to me. A dream come true. Took a few dates to get down her pants, but once I did, I worked my fingers through all that slippery silk till I got her to let me put one in. She was getting off on it, too. She didn’t want me to do it at first, said it was gross, but I was so careful, moving real slow, stroking her, almost making it seem like a massage that just went a little lower, taking my cue from the arch of her back as her hips bucked, coming up to meet me. My hard-on damn near killed me, I was grinding against her leg, against the fabric of her skirt, and we both knew I was running out of time because of her curfew. I wanted to follow those fingers in there more than anything. I could see my hand against her pussy in the moonlight, feel her tight hole clenching around my fingers. Her hands were clutching my back and I was working on moving one of them onto my jeans. I mean, I thought I was pretty good.
I wonder if she planned it that way. What a tease. She’d be moaning, I’d be working her, hoping and praying that she’d eventually put her hand on my dick, and then she’d be like, “Oh, God. I gotta go. My dad’s waiting up.” We’d drive back to her house, she’d kiss me goodbye, I’d walk her to the front door and get back in my car that still smelled like her and what she’d let me do. For months now, when I see a girl in a nice outfit that really shows off what she’s got, I think about what it would have looked like on the one that got away. I can be walking through the mall, using my peripheral vision to figure out which girls are checking me out, and it’ll just piss me off again. The one that got away.
How much more time would it have taken? I could have gotten started early, right after the movie, talking about us, made her feel a little bad , telling her how much she meant to me, how right it was. I could have told her I thought I loved her instead of her waiting to say it to me. My parents were never out of town when I was dating her, that was the problem. The way we were, two fingers in her pussy, and then I could just slip it in. “ Oh God,” I would have whispered to her. “It’s so good, you’re so beautiful.” Kissing her neck, pretending to mistake the shocked look on her face for passion as I started to move inside her, her legs spreading, her skirt up, her shirt pulled up, my hand on her tit, the other one holding her so she thought I meant it. Sliding it deep inside, nailing her to the seat of the Celica. Looking into her eyes flashing blue at me by the glow of the streetlight as I took her over, slowly, but with purpose. “Oh God, I love you. I can’t help it.” I could have fucked her until the moment of truth, and then lost it inside her, blown my whole wad deep inside her cunt while she moaned underneath me. She wouldn’t have said anything to stop it. I could have handled the drama afterwards. Made her think it was her idea. Kept on for a few days, maybe a week, and then let it go. “It’s not you…It’s me.”
No, man, I’m too nice. She had to want it. She never wanted it like I wanted her.
She got her hair cut. It looks nice. Flashback to six months ago in the front seat of my car. Seat reclined, skirt up, panties pulled down just a little. God, I was right in there. Up the shirt, under the bra, her nipples swelling to my touch, kissing her on her neck liked she likes it, her breathing quickening as her lips opened to me. A dream come true. Took a few dates to get down her pants, but once I did, I worked my fingers through all that slippery silk till I got her to let me put one in. She was getting off on it, too. She didn’t want me to do it at first, said it was gross, but I was so careful, moving real slow, stroking her, almost making it seem like a massage that just went a little lower, taking my cue from the arch of her back as her hips bucked, coming up to meet me. My hard-on damn near killed me, I was grinding against her leg, against the fabric of her skirt, and we both knew I was running out of time because of her curfew. I wanted to follow those fingers in there more than anything. I could see my hand against her pussy in the moonlight, feel her tight hole clenching around my fingers. Her hands were clutching my back and I was working on moving one of them onto my jeans. I mean, I thought I was pretty good.
I wonder if she planned it that way. What a tease. She’d be moaning, I’d be working her, hoping and praying that she’d eventually put her hand on my dick, and then she’d be like, “Oh, God. I gotta go. My dad’s waiting up.” We’d drive back to her house, she’d kiss me goodbye, I’d walk her to the front door and get back in my car that still smelled like her and what she’d let me do. For months now, when I see a girl in a nice outfit that really shows off what she’s got, I think about what it would have looked like on the one that got away. I can be walking through the mall, using my peripheral vision to figure out which girls are checking me out, and it’ll just piss me off again. The one that got away.
How much more time would it have taken? I could have gotten started early, right after the movie, talking about us, made her feel a little bad , telling her how much she meant to me, how right it was. I could have told her I thought I loved her instead of her waiting to say it to me. My parents were never out of town when I was dating her, that was the problem. The way we were, two fingers in her pussy, and then I could just slip it in. “ Oh God,” I would have whispered to her. “It’s so good, you’re so beautiful.” Kissing her neck, pretending to mistake the shocked look on her face for passion as I started to move inside her, her legs spreading, her skirt up, her shirt pulled up, my hand on her tit, the other one holding her so she thought I meant it. Sliding it deep inside, nailing her to the seat of the Celica. Looking into her eyes flashing blue at me by the glow of the streetlight as I took her over, slowly, but with purpose. “Oh God, I love you. I can’t help it.” I could have fucked her until the moment of truth, and then lost it inside her, blown my whole wad deep inside her cunt while she moaned underneath me. She wouldn’t have said anything to stop it. I could have handled the drama afterwards. Made her think it was her idea. Kept on for a few days, maybe a week, and then let it go. “It’s not you…It’s me.”
No, man, I’m too nice. She had to want it. She never wanted it like I wanted her.
posted by The Barista at 2:14 AM
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