Crimson Crossing – Stories in Erotica

Café

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Same Café, same time, different days. I sat on the last set of bench tables against the wall. I liked to sit on the same table – the third table from the main entrance to the Café. I felt it provided the best location to people watch. The sun coming through the windows behind me was memorable. The light rays came from up high, down to the floor in quite the acute angle. Anyone entering the shop had to walk through the sun rays. It really felt as if divinity looked down upon us, blessing each person who walked in.

I normally carried a paper pad to write random thoughts for nightly entries in my diary. For a long time they all started with the same thoughts. “There she was, sitting directly across from my table, smiling, flirting with me from the distance.” I’d ramble on about her for quite a few paragraphs before changing the subject.

The last sentence for tonights entry read: “Tomorrow I will speak to her.”. It was my way to workup the courage…

April 14th of today’s year

I wrote not a thing on my handy paper pad while at the Café. All there was written was today’s date followed by empty paper.

I couldn’t keep my eyes away from her. She walked in still dressed in exercise attire. Sort of lose, yet figure hugging white in colour sweat pants. These weren’t the thick type, they were those cotton sweat pants light in texture. A red spandex fitted mid drift shirt exposing her stomach. There was little left of me to imagine. The sweat pants revealed the contour of her figure that were hidden by clothing every other day I had seen her.

On the way to her usual table I saw all of her back. Sweat pants tracing inward informing the onlooker that underneath was covered by a very, very tiny garment. The light-textured sweat pants weren’t as kind as I selfishly desired. I had to imagine that her under garment was red in colour matching her shirt. I watched her gluteal muscles carry her from the door all the way to the table. She looked as delightful from the rear as she did from a profile view. Thoughts of guitars and old coca-cola bottles came to mind.

She sat looking my way as customary, placing an over-sized carry on bag to her left. She leaned against the column to her right, and yawned. She saw me smile. I motioned if she was sleepy. She shook her head in disagreement, then rubbed her belly indicating that she was hungry. The workout must have depleted all of her energy. I already knew what she was going to order…

The distance between our tables was close enough where details in her persona were visible rather than disguised by the distance. The field of vision was such that I could see below the table top down just below where her sweat pants ended.

The flirting began as usual, i’d smile, she’d respond. She’d trace her lips with her index finger and flicker it in my direction. I’d catch it, kiss it, and return it to her. This time, however, instead of just kissing my return kiss, she perked up her lips, traced them with my kiss, opened her mouth slightly, then allowed my kiss to travel downward from her lips, to the chin, between her bust down her belly leading up to her navel. There my kiss remained, her hand fondling her navel, smearing my kiss throughout it. She’d bite her lower lip informing me that my kiss was enticing her to want more from it. Whether it was to our advantage that just a few other customers were present is my mystery.

Dear diary, I don’t know if she was aroused by the idea of having me watch what she did with my kiss, or that others possibly witnessed her pleasure. But, what I’m about to reveal with this entry still has me aroused. I want you to keep it safe so that I can read it over and again when I want to think of her.

She wasn’t sitting as a lady would – legs together rejecting the advances from casual gazers. She was sitting such that it invited me to admire the work of mother nature present in her. She wasn’t the type where abundance in one area meant a lack of another. No, she was the type that was crafted properly. Plentiful was apparent by the contour marked on the front of her sweat pants. There was plenty to admire, plenty to dream about, plenty to long.

Not long after entertaining my kiss on her navel, she brought her index finger north bound, inserted it in her mouth, then winked at me. She looked into my eyes slowly lowering her finger past her navel all the way down to the white sweat pants. She ran her index finger from the side of her right thigh up and about to the point where her two thighs met. The shifting of the sweat pants side to side, up and down made me sweat. My short attention span didn’t falter, it remained fixated on that index finger. I knew that my kiss was there traveling places I wanted to see.

Her eyes never pulled away from me, it was if they were tied to me, preventing me from fleeing, as if only… This is where I was going to stay, watching her massage my kiss through a world foreign to me. She opened her hand, pushed it all the way down; I lost sight of her fingers, when they suddenly reappeared, middle finger traveling right on the seam of the sweats, pushed in just so deeper than the two at its side; the index and the ring finger running along adjacent tracing a suppleness that made this grown man beg. They took a pause and began to draw circles on the sweat pants. I couldn’t figure out how to sit down. I’d shift to my left, to my right, slouch, sat up erect, leaned forward, at times lifted my butt from the bench seat trying to come closer to her.

Then it happened, she used her left hand to raise the waist band of the sweat pants, allowing the right hand to enter. The movement of her hand was visible against the white fabric. It go north, south, east and west, more often than not centered in one location, not motionless, but motion filled. I could only wonder what my kiss was going through, what it was feeling, what it was tasting, what it thought of her actions… She bit her lip one more time, then ran her tongue, first against her upper lip, then the lower. Her hand stopped moving, and withdrew from her pants. She returned following the same path taken earlier on the way down. I could see traces of moisture left against the skin of her stomach.

When the right hand arrived at her mouth, she circled her lips and with her index finger signaled “no, no”. As if telling me that the journey of my kiss would be incomplete. She kissed her index and flicker towards me, sending a scent, a taste and traces of her in my direction. At least so was my desire for my kiss to be joined with that company. I too wanted to taste her intimacy. She stood up, never having ordered anything to eat, and headed towards the door. I couldn’t look at her eyes, I was bound to her lower body, the area that I believed to have indirectly enjoyed. I grabbed my kiss just flickered in return, and as she walked out the door, tossed it back her way, calling out to her to keep it and complete the journey at home.

Dear diary, that Café, I’ll never leave. I told you I’d speak to her today.

Author: jibarican

https://crimsoncrossing.wordpress.com

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