I imagine sitting next to you in a restaurant. You look stunning in a sexy dress and stockings. My hand slowly, tantalizingly moves up the inside of your thigh as I whisper in your ear, “Are you wearing the thigh highs?” as if there were any doubt…
As my hand reaches the top of the sheer, smooth stocking, I feel the even softer flesh above. My fingers caress the inside of your thigh, my actions mostly hidden by the tablecloth. You squirm slightly, almost imperceptibly, in your seat, and I feel the warmth of your pussy radiating against the back of my hand. The look in your eyes is unmistakable as my fingers move to your panties and are instantly warmed by the moist heat seeping through the silky fabric.
After teasing you just a little bit, I place my hand on top of your leg as your own hand starts to rub the inside of my thigh. Your fingers then lightly squeeze and rub the crotch of my pants, feeling the growing hardness of my shaft underneath. I think at this point we’re both thinking the same thing- do we order, or leave a nice tip and excuse ourselves?
Story Notes:
I once submitted a written piece to a “Call for Stories” for a Nightlife column for a popular alternative weekly newspaper (print and online) in Tampa, FL. They published a supplemental blog within the digital version of the paper, for the spicier stuff that couldn’t appear in the print version, and for more in-depth nightlife coverage that couldn’t fit.
The column editor accepted and published my story, but she asked me to write a different beginning to the one I had given her. No problem.
I guess you never throw anything away, and I realized today that I had never published this original beginning.
The actual story has been lost to time.