When a woman travels, she likes to dream.
I’m sitting in Bobo’s, when in walks this slender traveller
in a white silk blouse and black pants. Not from here, not from
the suburbs, this is from somewhere else. I don’t know that, it’s
merely instinct, a strong feeling that whispers to me she’s been
travelling. Slender but not tall, and the slenderness
contradicted a bit by a hint of voluptuous breasts under the
silk. As she walks by, I watch her breasts bob, and I think of
the bobbing breasts of the women I’ve known.
She sits at the bar, alone, and after an interval long
enough to demonstrate I’m not too hungry, I wander over, make eye
contact, and say:
“You’re definitely new.”
She blushes, a faint pink rising. “Yes, I’ve never been here
before.”
“I’m Cat. Why don’t we say hello and talk?”
I have the bartender move my drink and I sit on the stool
beside hers. She tells me her name is Elena. She’s from Seattle.
Grunge town. Wet streets and fog from the Pacific. Travelling on
company business. All I care about is the shape of her breasts,
the movement of the white silk, the points of her nipples
occasionally revealed.
We talk. She tells me about the girl bars in Seattle. We
drink together. She’s drinking some exotic tequila concoction
through a pink straw. We go into the back room to dance. We get
sweaty. Does she want to get laid? I don’t ask that, I just say
the usual. Her forehead beaded with sweat, she says yes, going to
my place would be fine.
Since I don’t live far from Bobo’s, we walk. I tell her
about the city. The bar scene. The way the weather here is so
unpredictable, you never know what to wear. I take her hand and
she doesn’t mind it. I’m a good head taller than she is, and when
I lean to the side I imagine I can smell the Pacific in her hair.
Nothing at all happens until we’re inside my apartment and I
put a tape in the machine. Then there’s the expected awkwardness.
“Would you like a drink?”
“No, I think I’ve had enough.”
“How about some coffee?”
“Yes, that would be fine.”
No, never mind the coffee. I don’t want to make any coffee.
Instead, I take her in my arms and I kiss her, and after a moment
of stiff surprise, she liquefies and I know I’ve made the right
move.
Kisses are better than coffee.
And as I kiss her, I run my hands over her shoulders, her
back, and finally between us to get at the buttons of her white
silk blouse. She moans against my mouth as I undo the buttons one
by one and then slowly slide the blouse off her shoulders.
No bra. Breasts like tropical fruit, except I can’t imagine
any fruit that could make my heart pound this way. Her nipples
are perfect, the halos perfect circles, the tips extended, the
shape of her breasts tilting her nipples slightly upward to give
them a saucy appearance.
I stop kissing her and complete the removal of her blouse.
She blushes as I look at her breasts.
“Beauties,” I say.
She gives me a faint, flickering smile, her shoulders
pulling back a bit to emphasize her breasts.
“What gets you going?”
Her voice is weak. “I don’t know.”
She wants to be played. I know she wants to be played. I can
sense it as she sways slightly in front of me.
I touch her, grazing her breasts with my fingertips,
tickling the sides, the undersides, the tips, then gently taking
each nipple between a thumb and forefinger to pinch and test
their stiffness.
A woman with ripe breasts and stiff nipples is my undoing.
Vanquished, I drop my head to close my lips over the tip of her
left breast.
She moans. She holds my head as I suck her tits. I move from
one to the other, sucking, biting, pulling at the tips with my
teeth. As I make love to her breasts, my fingers work at the
snaps, pull and push to get the rest of her clothes removed. Her
pants and panties down to her knees. My hands sliding over her
buttocks, her fine ass, squeezing her, rolling the pillows. I
steal a glance down at the sloping belly, the dark little tuft.
With a final lick at one of her nipples, I straighten up.
“Come on, let’s get you to the bedroom.”
She laughs. “I can’t walk like this.”
“Yes, you’re right. So we’ll get you naked here.”
She leans one hand on my shoulder as I get her shoes off and
help her out of her pants and panties. I want to stand back and
look at her, but she says, “Kiss me.”
So I kiss her again, a deep penetrating kiss, my tongue
sliding everywhere in her mouth, my hands cupping and squeezing
her ass.
“You take my breath away,” she says.
“The bedroom.”
“Yes.”
Halfway there, I stop and kiss her again. I press her
against the wall. She wants it. I hold her face between my two
palms and push my tongue inside her mouth. She moans against my
lips. I slide my hands away from her face and down her back and
clutch her ass. She moans again and humps against me as I pull
the cheeks apart and press them together again.
She pulls her mouth off mine. “Please…”
“What?”
“Take me to bed.”
“I want to feel you first.”
“Yes.”
I slide my hand between us, the heel of my palm pressing
against her mound, one finger curling down and in to find her
wetness. She has a lush cunt, as tropical as her breasts, soaked
and pliant. I drop down, crouching, and push my face into the
slot to get a taste of her.
She moans. Her body trembles. She lifts one leg to give me
room to suck.
Just a taste. My tongue searches, pulling her juices into my
mouth, my nose filled with her essence.
When I rise again, her eyes are closed.
“Kiss me,” she says.
I kiss her and she tastes herself. Then we walk again, arm
in arm to the bedroom.
* * *
Later, after the lovemaking, as she lies in my arms in my
bed, I ask her what she expected when she walked into Bobo’s.
She murmurs and kisses my breast.
“I like to dream,” she says.