Serving the Guests

Photo © by The Dirty Gentleman for Quickies in New York

Photo © by The Dirty Gentleman for Quickies in New York

I like to meet her at the door when she gets home from work. Especially when there are guests over she doesn’t know about, and especially when she drops to her knees the second she walks under the transom. It’s a silly little game, making her beg for my cock with six pairs of listening ears a few feet away, but it’s the small things in life that make it all worthwhile.

The other night she didn’t hesitate for a moment, and her words were loud and clear enough for all to hear. Halfway through, I pulled her up, still in the foyer, and had her take her dress off. I like to think she forgot about work instantly, although in truth it might have taken the applause to really bring her to the present. She turned the corner as I moved to the kitchen, and my guests smiled and clapped as she blushed the nicest shade of red.

The rest of the evening was inevitable from that point on, and we slipped into a lazy ease that felt so very much like summer. After passing out drinks, she moved the coffee table out of the way and knelt on the floor as the rest of us talked about our days and our weekends to come. As we sipped our cocktails, I waved her to an old friend with a flick of my fingers, and we all leaned back to watch her lift a dress and open her mouth against wet sin. The talking continued, but of course we let the pauses grow longer to make room for the lovely sighs of joy coming from the girl on the couch.

After one orgams, she moved back to the center of the room, and the mild conversation continued until I asked her to take the man next to me into her mouth. He toasted me with real affection as she pulled him hard and straining from his pants and took him all the way into her throat with one big breath. The breeze through the window did little to cool us down, but in truth there was no reason to be bothered by the heat. What use is summer if you can’t let go?

An hour later one of the newer couples in the room made use of both her ends as we slipped drunkenly into the couch pillows and watched. He fucked her slowly from behind as she pulled an open mouth between her thighs along with curious fingers and a languid tongue. Their drinks rested neatly on her back eliciting laughs with each small spill.

Later in the evening she knelt next to me, her own drink finally making its way to her lips as I pet her hair and whispered kind words into her ear. My guests let their hands slid under slips and inside undone pants without much effort at all, and the evening passed like all evenings should: with a glorious slowing of sweaty limbs and unbroken hearts. The music danced, the gin drifted, and the lips and faces of friends grew content with simple pleasures.

When we finally found ourselves alone it was to a big soft bed and linen sheets that did little to stifle the heat. We kissed and we whispered words of praise and delight. We touched faces and shoulders in the growing darkness, and when the bells chimed four they found us drifting in and out of sleep as we floated gently in a daze of sweetened dreams.

Morals Far and Few

Her bikini was so small that it took me five minutes to realize I knew her. But when she turned around, smiled at me, and took the empty chair next to me by the pool, it all came rushing back in an instant.

“I haven’t seen you since high school,” she said, pulling her sunglasses down.

“Who let you up here?” I asked. She had always been a difficult student, and I teased her to no end about it. Old habits die hard.

“Me? I’m more surprised they let lecherous old men like you up here with all these pretty young things. Don’t they have a bouncer anymore?”

The rooftop deck was less exclusive than it was hard to find, but that didn’t mean she was wrong. She fit in far better than I did, although I suppose I was part of the charm. What’s the point of discovering a swimming pool on the roof if you can’t bump into writers and artists with morals few and far between?

“I seem to recall you had a fondness for lecherous old men like me,” I said, wondering how much had changed. Eight years is a long time, especially for a girl like her.

“And I seem to recall you didn’t mind a short skirt and knee high socks. Although I suppose this bathing suit doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

I looked her up and down without hiding a thing because the game came back without any effort at all. We had a boundary we both pushed against, and while it grew blurrier the closer we got to graduation, there was still a line I hadn’t crossed. It wasn’t much of one, but it was a line all the same.

“I wonder if I would have done it,” she said, closing her eyes. “I mean, if you had actually followed through with my blatant offers, I wonder how I would have reacted. It’s so easy now to picture myself doing it all, but at the time I think I was still content with the fantasy.”

“I’m glad you never asked me outright,” I said, and it was the truth. Hints were one thing, but if she had undressed or told me to take her, I’m not sure what I would have done.

“I can’t remember how many times I came thinking about you.”

“I stopped counting a long time ago,” I said, turning to face her. She sat up and leaned closer to me so our heads were practically touching.

“It’s not as hot now, is it?” She asked, one hand on my cheek. “I mean, the thought of you fucking me right now. The image of you pulling me into the bathroom, sliding this bikini to one side, and just fucking me until the guilt goes away just isn’t as hot as it was when I was your student.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s completely without appeal,” I whispered, sliding one hand down her shoulder as I toyed with the thin blue strap. “In fact, I can think of five reasons we shouldn’t fuck right now, and none of them have to do with my tenure.”

“One of us has a ring on,” she whispered.

“And one of us has a date waiting at the bar,” I said, my hand slipping down to her hip.

“Neither of us has a condom,” she said, her lips against my ear.

“Both of us fall in love too quickly.”

“On the other hand, there’s a lock on the bathroom door and eight years is a long time to wait.”

“You make a good point,” I said, standing up and pulling her with me. “It’s a very long time to wait.”

“You know what will be longer?” She asked, looking up at me with a grin I remembered far too clearly.

“What’s that?”

“The two minutes you have to wait before following me.”

And she was not wrong.