Birthday Girl [MF]

I met Catherine ten years ago – she was slinging drinks at a cocktail bar, the bestie of a girl I was seeing for all of two months. We hung out as a trio a few times way back forever ago, and Catherine was super fun to be with as we went about finding sweet beaches and chasing sunsets for that summer.

Eventually that girl and I treaded our own paths, but I kept in contact with Catherine through the years. Times being what they are, most of the connection was perfunctory on our social media, but occasionally we’d run into each other out and about on the town, sharing a drink, talking about days gone by, and always intending to go find some sunsets to watch sometime.

Except, we were both pretty bad at making that happen.

Same old story.

Busy lives.

Ships passing in the night.

The fog of modern living.

As many of us can kind of relate, there was a time two years ago when uncertainty hit us all in strange ways. The want for a sense of connection. The desire to feel something else. The throb of dread that things have forever changed. We all dealt with it in different ways.

Catherine, took this time period with her own flair. I watched her begin to embrace a fit and healthy lifestyle, as opposed to resting on the beautiful laurels of our youth. She absolutely played up being a gym junkie thirst trap, and more power to her, because, well it was paying off.

I’d occasionally send her a message to tease and encourage in the same sentence. Stop it. You’re too much. But don’t stop it because you’re looking amazing.

She would respond in kind every time, forever suggesting that *we need to hang out soon please*. And then life gets in the way – and before you know it, two years had passed.

A couple of weeks ago, after what I assumed was a short hiatus from the socials, she started posting more workout reels and pics.

I couldn’t help myself.

I messaged her.

“You’re still the worst” – it said.

“Well, what are you doing next weekend? Let’s make good on this *finally*” – she responds, immediately.

“Is this a flexible morals kind of thing?” – I reply. Confident, but cheeky.

“I really need a flexible morals kind of night”.

I guarantee you my heart started racing at that reply. I guess it bears to explain that with my cohort of folk, there is this certain way of speaking to each other, almost a constant game of wits and flirtations. There is this manner of almost, well, business when it comes to talking to each other, forged by years and years of … I’m not even sure I can do justice explaining it.

Perpetual tension?

Open minded and intelligent folk with a bent for experience, and with the confidence to explore it?

Something like that.

“PS. It’s my birthday next week. Let’s make it extra fun pls” – she doubles up on the message sending.

“Leave it with me. Friday.” – I assure her.

She sends a love heart or two or three back.

I organise for us to visit this great restaurant that’s been around for years and I hadn’t had a chance to revisit since ‘the before days’. I call up the cocktail bar she used to work at, and make sure we have a nice spot for the evening.

And as the days pass, she starts sending me direct pics and videos of her all-too-early in the morning gym sessions.

To be honest, it’s a nice thing to wake up to.

Catherine knows what she’s doing – and I like that.

She doesn’t ask me what I have planned for her, because I know she’s into surprises.

I like that too.

When Friday rolls around, I pick her up. She is dressed impeccably – a dress that hugs tight to her taut and toned self, a shade of blue that commands attention, her hair framed in a deeply enchanting manner, and heels made to show off legs carved every sunrise.

I’m sure I bite my lip at the sight of her.

I can’t imagine another human being reacting otherwise.

I drive her to a nice sunset spot, a little cooler filled with a few small bottles that we can stir up picnic negronis for ourselves. I offer to put them together, but she snatches the bottles from my hands as she returns to cocktail bartender mode. It’s been years since she was muddling and shaking drinks, but she absolutely still has the knack.

We toast to her birthday, and as the gin and liquers swirl in our glasses, a sunset in our hands mirroring the sunset in our eyes, she kisses me on the corner of my lips and whispers “Thank you”.

She sips her drink, places a hand on my hip, and then kisses my lips.

I return the kiss.

My heart skips a beat, I’m sure of it – and our lips our locked.

I have to say, ten years of tension really is something.

She tastes sweet.

The thought of two adults making out at a lookout is perfectly comical, and we both laugh at the sight we must be, in-between kisses that grow heavier, as our pheromones weave through each other, and she begins to smell deeply intoxicating.

I try and ignore the time passing, trying to really revel in the moment whilst fully being aware that this is the first stop for an evening ahead.

“Fuck, I don’t really want to go to dinner anymore, you know..” she forms the words between breaths “…but also, I’m pretty hungry”.

“Let’s go before we get a little too sidetracked?”.

She nods, and we watch sunset become twilight before we make our way to the restaurant.

We compose ourselves, and catch up on the finer details of the last ten years, all of its trials and tribulations, the heartaches and mistakes made along the way. She sparkles throughout the whole evening. The dress is killer, but Catherine’s being in its entirety is truly devastating.

She stretches her legs out underneath the long white tablecovers, and digs her toes into my legs. I play with her hands and run my fingers along her arms, teasing her skin ever so lightly.

She steals a kiss when she can.

I bite her fingers in moments I don’t think anyone is glancing her way.

After dinner, our arms now loose and playful, a sure sign of a tipsy and amorous two, we stop by her old cocktail bar and sink a couple of drinks.

A few of the staff members recognise her, and I whisper to them that it’s her birthday, so they quickly concoct a birthday cocktail, and they come to our corner of the bar, complete with a sparkler for full embarrassing effect.
Ea
The bar stops to sing her Happy Birthday.

She is a perfect snapshot of happiness.

“Um, let’s get out of here soon” she says as the sparklers dwindle.

“Your call, Birthday Girl”.

“Now, please. And to mine.” She says in a tone that’s half commanding and half pleading.

We take a taxi to hers.

We’re shameless in the back of the taxi, what more can I say? I quietly tip the driver healthily for his troubles.

As we stumble through her door, she stops for a moment, looks me dead straight in the eye and says

“All I really need now is for you to fuck me every which way you can tonight”.

It’s not a question.

I make sure to do just that.

I tell her I want to fuck her while she still has her dress on, and she tells me that she’d been hoping the same all night.

We fuck ourselves into exhaustion. A sweaty mess by 6am. Entangled until sunrise. We taste every inch of each other and savour each drop.

I am her workout this morning.

Her pussy is delicious.

Happy Birthday to you, Catherine.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ydvcie/birthday_girl_mf