Sunday, April 1, 2012

Brindi Again -- after the bike-ride.

I didn't tell you in the first part: Brindi does not drive. She walks, takes the trams, or bikes. Save the environment. No smoking. Off and on again vegetarian.

I called her at her office. Another Thursday. I ask, "Let's take a bike ride after work?" She says OK.

I put my bike in my Toyota. I drive to her flat. It is 6:30. She waits at the entrance. We peddle two streets toward the bike path along the shore.  We stop a few times to rest. My rest. She is fit. Not so much me. When we stop we talk.

I learn her father has made warnings about her life with the older man. So she asks me. I also think -- as I say -- he may not fit into the family and it is awkward among friends who may have little in common with him.  Maybe now exciting -- as she likes the attention and gifts -- but later when he is 60 or so and she is still in her 30s.... I shrug my head. She thinks.

We return to her flat. I call my partner...tell him, having dinner with my cousin.  My bike is returned to the Toyota. I help carry her bike up three flights. The bike is again behind the door.

The un-needed clock above her computer says 8:35. Evening shadows fall from surrounding buildings.

She turns. She reaches. With arms around my shoulders, she thanks me for help. And she kisses me on the lips.

I return the kiss.
Perhaps two or three minutes into more wet kissing, I lift a breast in my hand. It is hard. She wears an athletic bra. She presses her fingers between my legs. I open my legs. I try not to give in to impulse.

Brindi whispers, “Do you like that.” I answer, “Uh huh.” I press her hand down. I'm weakening.

Against the door we begin to rock, not side to side, but back and forth. 

Brindi takes her hand from between my legs. She says, “May I.”

Stepping back, she takes her shirt off and reaching behind removes her bra. She purses her lips as the bra is thrown – with a flourish -- onto the desk top.

I see shadows in the full light coming from a side window she is exceptionally fit. She drops the same shorts she wore that other Thursday. Kicks them under a chair.

As I watch, she bends to remove her athletic shoes. She wears no sock. She straightens, steps toward me and we resume kissing. My blouse is removed; she started with the lowest button. The padded bra I remove. It drops to the floor. She unbuttons my biking shorts. She reaches into my panties. As her hand again presses, she says, "I want to feel your bush,” adding, “And I want your hair in my teeth again.”

She remembers the first time. Since then, I have trimmed it, neat and tidy.

I say, "I want to be in your bed."

She does not reply. I take her hand in mine and lead her to the bed. It is not made from her sleep the night before. She sweeps the cover off. She sits on the edge. I stand in front. I allow her to slip my panties down. She brushes her fingers, circling my dark triangle.

I say, "My turn."  She remembers. She lays back. I pull her panties off. I throw them over my shoulder. She laughs. I see her lean, fit, long legs. I spread them. I'm reminded our legs spread so much wider than bloke's legs and the result ... so much more lovely. I kneel. I lick, I kiss. I know what to natural now.

An hour or so later, we are still moist, and sweaty, and taste of salt ... all so luscious.