We met in high school. Both geeky, but she was brash and outgoing and I was shy. And in a small Bible Belt town, admitting to lust of any kind was nearly forbidden, but more so because we were both girls. She didn’t care though.
And those blue eyes would stare me down, piercing into my soul, and I felt like I was melting under her gaze. She undressed me with those eyes, while sitting in class, hanging out at the mall, alone or in a group of people. And I wanted her. I wanted to kiss her lips that were full and soft and inviting. I wanted to run my fingers through her burgundy hair, shorter in the back than the front and to hold her close. I never did though. And neither did she.
The two of us reconnected recently; she’s back in town after having married and moved away, only to divorce and come back, and I never left, preferring instead to devote my skills to saving the local ecology. We’re both older and maybe wiser, her hair is deep purple instead of burgundy, and we no longer have that teenage litheness that seems to disappear some time in your mid-twenties, but some things never change. Her eyes are still an icy blue and she still looks at me as if I’m good enough to eat.
She openly flirts with me over coffee and this becomes our pattern, at least once a week. Each time she pushes a bit farther, flirts a little more. Finally, one night as well leave the coffee shop she pulls me into the alley. She’s taller than I am, and larger, but I’m not afraid of her. She’ll stop if I ask her to. But when she pins me lightly to the brick wall and simply look at her, waiting, and my tongue flicks across my lips. Those eyes meet mine and she leans into me, her lips warm and full and pressed to mine. The feeling isn’t one I can describe, but only be washed away by the intensity of it. Her hands started on my shoulders and suddenly she’s holding onto me, our bodies melding together. I feel her thigh slide between my legs and insistently grind against her trying not to moan at the overwhelming sensations this woman I have loved in many a dream is awakening in me.
Those lips, those beautiful lips trail down along the side of my neck, nibbling at my collarbone, one hand holding me close, the other reaching up to fondle my breasts over my clothes. I can’t stifle the moan that escapes as the wetness soaks my panties and through to the leg of her jeans. I feel heat settling both in my pussy and in my cheeks and I know my face must be the color of a ripe tomato.
She sees this, kisses me again, gently this time and holds onto me, silent reassurance that it is OK. And tonight, instead of going home alone I will go home with my blue eyed temptress.