Apologize for the length, but working on my general writing ability, and some short stories aren't going to be all that short.
A Girl, A Sketchbook, and Judging Ficus
Walking down with his friend through the dry park, the sound of the waves crescendo with each step, louder and louder. No hint of anger in their tumbles with the shore. “….there's a little corner spot on the bar, and don't worry if Manny doesn't seem to like you. He's just having difficulty keeping up with the new drinks so we put him off Friday front duty and over to the side. Plenty of space to work and eat though.” Mark added, “ he'll just seem a bit gruff.”
“Seriously no worries, it'll be good to get out of the sun and gets some words down about how the trips going. Should be doing it everyday. I really don't want to cut into your business at all either” As we opened the double glass doors of a stuccoed, modern looking building (well, maybe for the late 70s), Mark disappeared instantly, whisked away on his own deer path carved through the restaurant each day. I avoided the greeter, no reason to involve them in some apps and a beverage and headed for the ornate wooden bar. The view is stunning. I lost myself in it a moment, staring out at the jutting rocks, violent waves, and birds hunting unseen prey beneath the waves. Floor to Ceiling windows left nothing to the imagination of the view outside, the building straining itself to be invisible a midst the colors of the setting sun. “... and this is our wine, beer and cocktail list.” I gave a little start as I realized I was on my own autopilot, settling down into a cozy little seat just inside the corner Mark had indicated. Above my seat was a wooden mast head, cracked with age. The lines didn't' take away from the sensuousness of the figure. They contoured over every nook, mound, and muscle, guiding your eye over each private detail. Her elbows thrust up over her head as she grabbed her hair behind her head, gently, suggestively. face a wooden mask as encouraging and alienating as the Mona Lisa. “Decide on something sir?” He said, not making eye contact and leaning stiffly against the bar. Hurriedly I dashed through the cocktail list, forgetting Mark' advice almost immediately and ordered a favorite martini, the Negroni. People tend to love it or hate it. I've always found it to be bracing in its medicinal, but comforting with its semi-sweet finish. Almost like getting a gentle slap, and then a comforting feminine caress with each sip. “Would that be the ahdfsiafa Negroni or the liadsfai Negroni?” “Huh?” I said, not catching probably the two most important modifiers of his statement. “I think the slidfa is the better of the two” he suggested with a false enthusiasm. “That sounds great, my man” trying to sound as confident and sure of my decision considering I'm not sure what I had just ordered. It left me a little apprehensive with the classic order since its been balanced over years of practice. Not unlike the carved woman above my head. Inevitably my gaze wandered up as I was forced to open my sketchbook. Luckily the mirror of the bar offered a slightly less provocative view from the side, rather than my current view going straight up her navel. Being an artist has its advantages, as what I'm sure could have been mistaken for a creepy gaze turns to appreciation as people see whats put down on paper. Its harder with live people though, they tend to get uncomfortable with gazes, and despite my best attempts to hide my actions, I'm 100 percent sure they know what I'm doing. Soon, I'll work up the courage to show people my work after and give them copies as way of apology for my studious glances. The drink like everything else in this conversation appeared out of nowhere, and surprised again that this dark heavy set man managed to slide into view unnoticed. I took a sip as he looked on assessing my reaction to his take. Feeling his eyes boring into me, I picked up the fragile glass gingerly. Not bad. I don't know what was different about my order compared to the original. Nodded approvingly and went back to the drawing. “Would you like to order any food?” The question came pointedly as a disruption. Like a spectator coughing through a players backswing With a tinge of annoyance, I flipped through the booklet and settled on some spicy calamari. Should be light enough after the hot afternoon. He clapped the book shut with a grunt of satisfaction and pushed off the bar again. Shuffling on down to his post. I began to shade the area around her figure to highlight some of the brighter spots on her figure, pulling them out from the bright white page of my notebook. I always focus on the breast and the eyes. They've always been the hardest to get just right. A woman's chest is her own, definitive and unique. The weight, perkiness and size like a oddly accurate fingerprint identifying her as herself. The drawing itself passed as one of my better from the week, but nothing particularly revolutionary. Still it was like the drink, tasty, unexpected and I'm not sure how different from others but captivating in its own right “How is everything?” “Its perfect, boss.” I answered routinely, and looked up to see Mark. I swear to god I need to learn to pay better attention to my surroundings. Mark gave a good chuckle understanding exactly what had happened in a moment. I'm sure few details slide past him on his own turf, after all his tips depend on it. “Its pretty quiet up front today actually if you want to watch the sunset. Just make sure to close out before you move.” I started collecting my things and traitorously asked for the check. Although I'm not sure if he looked at me in such a way, I knew that having his one customer poached from his Siberian counter felt a little that way. I left a rather large tip out of purely guilty compulsion, closed my sketchbook, downed my drink, and stood up. To be fair, I should have moved anyways, the bar on this side, was much nicer. Really the only difference was a cleaner view of the dark reflective water and glowing sky, it was clear why this was such a touristy spot. Odd being so quiet on a Friday night! I should be getting knocked around, jostling for a glimmer of the scenery. Even some of the tables were empty. Another appreciative glance and I decided to order a beer to go with my scenery. They always compliment each other nicely. Opening my book again distractedly, still staring out the window, I picked up my pen trying to convince myself to get some amount of actual work done. No luck. Surfers bobbed like a dense pocket of buoys, assessing their surroundings in silence. From this distance it looked like they never broke eye contact with the horizon, always looking for the new conquest, and yet happy waiting for it to come to them. Glancing back to the drink that magically appeared again, a girl and eye locked eyes for a moment. Far end of the bar, right next to where I sat only a few moments before. Breaking the gaze like I've done a million times caught in the act of intentional study, and again thinking like I've always had, I brought every detail to mind to try and preserve it as I sketched. Only instead of a pen I was holding my beer, and took a long draw of that. The contents of the bar became a great interest. I looked up and down each bottle of whiskey, bitters, vodka (blech), and fruity liquor they had in stock. Vodka has no personality, why do people even bother? Things with character leave impressions, memories, they're experiences. “... a weak attempt. He tried to fake it, but the goalie read that perfectly.” A couple of local teams were playing hockey, I enjoy the sport but never had much success in my younger days. And so like nearly everyone else in the states, I followed it enthusiastically, trying to make up for my own lack of skill. As it so happened she was sitting right below the icon of American society. I stole a quick glance thinking the transition unnoticeable. Nope. Caught. Fuck. I mentally punched myself a few times for not being subtler about it, and took another sip to comfort myself. Checking the memory of that glance, she was reading a rather large book, propped up against one of the bar menus, maybe halfway through it. Almost exactly halfway through it, the chances of that were odd. Brunette, bookish (appropriately) but certainly not dreary. A dark shirt hugged her curves, but masked by the light jacket she was wearing. Canvas? No leather... no... Don't look. You just did, I muttered to myself. If I did again, it would be a dead giveaway that I was studying her, although, I'm 100 percent she knows. But there's the dance, the protocol. Not too interested but a slow ramp. building right along with my need to talk to her. Mark came over to talk, although I have no idea what about. I tried to be interested but the loose ponytail kept grabbing my attention and I had to fend off the need to look over for the third time. He laughed about something I said and walked away, sliding a napkin across the bar for each of the guests that popped up in between us. Pretty sure I just got lucky. A couple of bros, I mentally sneered. I hate them. Self confident assholes that never leave me anyone interesting to talk to, and I'm pretty sure they'll poach the girl before I'd ever have a chance to not talk to her. Same old story. They ordered a couple of cognacs, neat. Cloyingly sweet without the ice I thought judingly. A Macallan 18, and after a small internal struggle the “local” brew: anchor steam. Drinks are telling. They wouldn't be interested in her. I perked up a bit at the though of that, satisfied in my read of the situation. I glanced over to make sure she was still there. Strike three. My heart skipped a beat, but she didn't break the gaze. I swear to god, she was a witch. I felt like I didn't have control of my own limbs, got up and walked over to the seat next to her. She didn't blink the entire way over. “Mind if I join you?” The voice sounded not my own, sure of itself. That's never the case... case... my beer, I forgot my beer. God Fucking Dammit. With my game that far off, I knew I was sunk and still already past the point of no return. She saw my eyes dart, and started laughing. “Looks like you forgot something important.” “Its not THAT important,” I lied, “well, fuck, ya it is.” I got up to her laughing heartily as I retreated back to my old seat, grabbed my beer, and to my own surprise, walked back. “Cheers” she lifted her glass. I inquired, “to what?” “Honesty.” She said as she took a decent sip, holding the olives back with a single finger. “Dirty martini?” She gave a quick snort and took a tiny winning sip from her beverage. “Doesn't really matter does it?” “Of course it does.” I insisted unintentionally defensive. “Drinks can tell a lot about a person.” “What do you want to know?” lifting an eyebrow. “Well... What are you reading for example? Books say more than a martini. Lot of words in em” “Some book. Its not very memorable despite its length.” My turn to raise an eyebrow, she seemed not to notice “kinda just goes on and on. It started awesome, but then didn't' know when to stop and try something new. Regardless though, I liked to finish it, endings are always a surprise, even if you see it coming.” A sip of beer seemed like a good point to ponder that. “What does the drink say about me?” She probed with a gentle nudge, insistent. I hate to say it, but simple human contact goes a long way, I felt a tiny flutter of response talking to her. “Take vodka. Flavorless, everyone drinks it for courage, they don't like the burn of whiskey and are too afraid to try something that they wouldn't like. So people stick to cosmos and cape codders, without every knowing what a good drink will do for you. Gin has crisp energy, whiskey has a biting intensity, even grappa comes away feeling like an adventure. But I guarantee, no matter what flavor you choose, find a good enough example and you can appreciate all styles of spirits. ” “What about martinis? or are you just a tough blue collar worker that still thinks bud is king?” Charming banter will never lose its appeal, and sass only adds to the fire. You say everything and nothing all at the same time. Its like fencing. Facing each other, waiting for an opening, you may not be moving and still so much is happening. Tension building muscles ready to pounce. All it takes is a spark and its off to the races. “Nooooo.... I love beer,” and took a sip, “but I prefer cocktails. More diversity and variations, and a lot yet to be discovered. I won't say no to bud, but sometimes my wallet does.” “You still haven't guessed my drink.” She said pointedly, kicking a foot under and leaning against the bar with her head cocked like a curious sphinx. “Dirty gin martini, dry.” “Vodka, shaken.” Damn. I snapped my fingers and pursed my lips in a half grin. Gambles still lose. She laughed a little, “vodka tells you nothing, its unassuming. It is what it is, but like a beer, I find it goes good with the sunset. I also just like olives” She picked one up and pulled it off the pick with her teeth, suggestive but not obviously slow. “I wish they went with beer.” as my eyes slowly looked over her crossed legs. The mental note read: tight jeans, strapped heels, not too open but good height. They covered the top with a large strip of leather, interwoven by the laces that locked the top and sole together in a sensual bondage. “I'm not sure they don't.” God that was a good lie I thought, nearly popping out of my pants. I leaned against the bar, a feeble and obvious attempt to close the gap between us as she turned to face me a little bit. The canvas jacket she wore had a military inspiration, functional but pretty. Form should follow function. Always and forever. When components fit neatly together you don't even have to wonder how they work or what they're for, its all so obvious in good design. She looked off to the side noting the sunset again, the nape of her neck clearly visible under the long bangs that crossed behind her ear. There are many things that I would deem hot in the world. Tight fitting jeans and a black shirt chiefly among them, but a smooth neck leading up into a pretty face, and brown hair. I kissed it. Quickly, gently... and then cringed as I braced for a good slap. Good banter is one thing but acting on it is something else especially in this day and age. Too forward is no fun, but as a million thoughts flew through my head: incoming drink, stinging pain, laughs from the bar, Mark embarrassed... she just ever so noticeably... curled into it defensively. I stammered the beginnings of an apology brusquely. “I... I.. I... didn't..?” Not sure that was English it was a slew of syllables hastily finished in my own awkwardness. And I was doing so good up until that point. “Down boy” She laughed, and Finished her vodka. A single olive danced in the bottom of her glass as she put it back down on the napkin. You could almost hear the whine as the pressure in the seams of my pants deflated dejectedly. It happens, it was a good run I placidly thought. “I don't know what to say, I don't do things like that, but didn't feel like I had any other option. You... looked perfect. I don't mean to be obvious but sometimes...” “... a drink is just a drink.” I just looked. Looked like a fool, but who could care. Lean and desperatelypretty, she gracefully stood up, leaving a 20 under her drink, maybe by means of apology for not ordering another. Swear to god, I slumped and rotated toward the bar, took a sip of my beer. The bubbly coolness settling the boiling in my stomach. A hand slipped inside my thigh, right along the inseam staying a safe distance away from what would have been a dead give away of how long a dry spell I've had. My eyes went wide like a Saturday morning cartoon as I put my beer down, skin prinkling, she leaned in next to my hear and I felt sweet, full lips whisper. “Come on.” Standing up made me feel a twinge of regret, only because of how her hand slipped away. Every touch was like a drug, my brain screaming to do anything to get another fix. I felt happily drunk, only a drink and a half in. Her hips swayed in the most hypnotic way out of my reach, and if it wasn't for the glare I got from the garcon, I wouldn't have remembered people were in the bar. We went down a staircase into the downstairs bar, a seriously more formal affair, and around a corner. Thank god the stairs were mostly invisible to the people eating dinner or they would sure have noticed the divining stick guiding me through unfamiliar territory. The windows continued down from the ceiling leaving nothing to the imagination, sun grazing the puffy clouds just above the horizon. I though we'd move towards the crowds but her smooth cool hand grabbed my wrist, and pulled me into a small corridor the waiters use. My brain couldn't process anything as suddenly she was kissing me. Hard. Smooth tongue and lips danced around mine naturally, effortlessly. I slipped a hand through her open jacket and wrapped my arm around her waist bringing her in as close as I could. No matter how hard I clung it felt like there was still miles between us, hands blindly moving up and down. Hips. Ribs, small of her back, up to the back of her neck and back down suggestively between her shoulder blades. I slipped my hand up and let it nestle comfortably into the layers of her hair. Her hips gyrated against mine with increasing ferocity. I pulled back for a slight moment letting cold air rush in as she opened her eyes. Green, with... flecks of blue and gold towards the center, but darker emerald at the edges. Kind of muted, but a myriad if you took the time to appreciate the deeper color. I looked down and noted with some disappointment that she wasn't wearing a v-neck. Her chest moved up and down in complementing rhythm to the rest of her body. Hands rubbed up my neck and slowly over my head. Nothing much up there to grab, I think she noted with some disappointment, my hairs always been a buzz cut. I playfully feinted with a kiss, and even though my eyes weren't open anymore, I knew there was an expectant smile. I nuzzled her chin up and slowly let my lips trace over the top of her neck, up under the jaw and then up to her ear. She giggled and let out a slight moan as I continued my adventures back down. Fuck clothes, fuck decency. I didn't care, and no amount of reprimanding could have made me. My hand wend straight inside her shirt hand tightly gripping her waist and pushed her hard against the wall. I heard a teacup settle in the waiters station just behind the drywall, and everything halted. I could feel her breath, next to my ear, chest heaving up and down. Hearts pumping rapidly. We must have frozen there for a minute blood coursing like a damned river, pushing my limbs to keep going. Poor attempts at stealthy gulps, waiting for anything to snap the tension. I slowly moved my head around the corner to sneak a glance as a waiter turned slowly and walked back to his designated patrol. Watching him go, waiting for the coast to be clear, her hand grabbed the belt, jeans, and some of my boxers fingers suggestively sliding just inside and pulled me back into the frey. Slowly I pulled her jacket down over mostly bare shoulders (turns out it was some kind of sleeveless tank), and pulled it down to her forearms. It stuck there, folds locking within themselves and refusing to budge past her thin wrists. She tried to help but my hand moved deliberately up her shirt, straight over her heaving stomach up to the base of her ribs and pushed her gradually but forcefully against the wall. She stopped struggling with the cuffs, waiting. We stopped kissing. I looked down her nose at the lips now red and raw. Front clasp. Total luck, it popped offering zero resistance. A deep draw of breath as my hand gently climbed the mound. Up over supple goosebump flesh, until perfect little nip moved under each of my fingers in turn. I don't think our lungs could hold any more air. Enjoying the moment, letting it pass in between each of my fingers, each finger assessing with its own gentle squeeze. As it settled in between my thumb and index, I pinched, harder than I meant to but keeping myself at bay required more strength of will than I could muster. She gasped and then moaned. Audibly licked her lips and bit her lip. I slowly rolled it in my fingers. Small sharp breaths. Struggling a little again with the jacket I pushed in with my hips pinning it with her against the wall. Another jingle from a cup but we couldn't be bothered with such nonsense. If we were found out so be it. I removed my hand from under her shirt and cradled her neck slowly going in for another kiss. Deep and passionate, no tongue in this, just lips pulling in and out slowly opening to let some air in before diving full into it again. That goddamn fucking shirt, why would she even bother wearing it? It serves no other purpose than blocking me! I thought, my primitive brain throbbing uncontrollably. My pants had never felt so constricting, suffocating. She pushed down with her perfectly shaped butt and leveraged the jacket off free at last. Outwitted I continued the kiss on auto pilot but in the blink of an eye her hand shot down the front of my pants and grabbed everything. No fiddle, no fumble, just a vice grip lock. As I gasped, it pulsed expectantly in her hand willing her to do something, anything. She pulled back a bit and slowly let her hand rub up and down over the fiddle head, curled up in its confinement, silently willing freedom with each pump. I felt teeth as I kissed her again, a strong knowing smile forming. Every once and again I felt the french nails sliding into some skin on either side. It was a nice break in the steady lust. A ping of self consciousness flashed before the nails of her other hand dung straight down my rips and latched onto my belt. She had a better grip than I did when her jacket was still on, and sat there at her mercy. She began to pull away from each kiss, the smile glued on her face, only taking time to fake another lunge. “You're not being fair.” I whispered loudly. “Alls fair she said” and bit my bottom lip hard to make her point. You'd never think teeth feel good, but nothing in this felt bad. A grunt met her efforts and she shook with silent wining laughter this time. In a flash I grabbed both her hips and spun her around against the wall, her mouth letting go with a slight pop and the metallic ting of what could only be some blood. Her right hand maintained its position, comfortably holding on like a experienced athlete; cradling, not gripping. Hands moved up pinching both her nipples this time. Tits fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. Big tits are so overrated, great to look at but when it comes down to foreplay, nothing beats an orange. Pulling up and down with vigor she straitened me out, the end beginning to leave obviously wet spots. Firm jeans pushed up and down, complimented by smooth open palmed strokes. I swear to god I was about to lose it. I kissed her neck and bit gently my hands carving out each contour, rib, to hip, up to spine and around front up into her pinned cleavage, each time I felt nipped, it bobbed obviously again. One arm wrapped around her ribs, as one hand crawled down the front of those subtle ribs. Down the fuzz the lined the top of her stomach. Over the slight dent of her belly, past the barrier of her buttoned jeans, her stomach and straight over the hot, wet pussy. Full palm echoing her own movements. One finger split her in two, teasing, probing and pushing closer. Deep breaths through full on pants. I stopped kissing, focusing only on exploring every wet curve. She stopped stroking and just tightened her grip enough to hold on, despite the pulsing protests. Gyrating in small circles around her clit until sharp short breaths filled the air, I slipped inside as a rush of hot juices flowed out into my palm, shuddering and groaning her knees pushed inward nearly locking my hand in place. I slowed to a crawl just moving the sensation through my fingers, dying to know what it tasted like. Gradually they opened again as I started up little circles. My other arm reached down looking to free my hand, I needed flexibility. I fumbled a few times trying to get the off angle to release, but instead she finally let go, unbuckled and wiggled free of her both denim and cotton in two or three expert butt movements. Fuck that butt felt warm and tight. Reaching back she undid my own maybe even ripping the button off, as I unknowingly sped up my gyrating I was freed with a simple flick of her wrist. For a moment we both stalled. Blood still pumping, but not moving. Reveling in the simple pleasure of flesh meeting flesh for the first time. Instinctively moving up and down. Snake probing for an entry. Reaching through her own legs, I felt her strong hand once again pull me straight between her thighs. Pressing me against her split lips, moving purposefully over my dick. Without warning, she pushed me straight up inside. In the whole world I had felt nothing like it, and probably never will. I nearly came right off the bat. At that point ever part of me was so pent up I was sure to explode and without warning. I bit her shoulder hard to stifle a long groan. I wasn't going to be able to hold it. One thrust. Fuck think of something else. Second thrust. I could feel everything welling up, third thrust. SHIT. I slipped out quickly, bent over double and gripping her arm hard for balance. Nope. Nope. Nope. Doooooooooon't Do it. Trying to coax myself down out of a frenzy. I could barely thing. Every hormone, instinct and muscled willed me to dive back into her. She slowly turned and looked at me. “Don't worry about it, its not a big deal.” “I haven't...(pant)... I … just (pant)... got too.... (pant) close.” Closing my fist tight to try and distract my brain. I wanted to punch the wall and barely managed to stop my fist. Unless you're a guy, you'll never know how hard it is to mentally will yourself not to finish when its that close. You'd give anything to just let go, emptying yourself under there's nothing left for round 2. She held my head against her stomach as I bent over, heaving. As I breathed deeply, the reptilian brain kicked in and I had to taste her. I started kissing her stomach, wiggling out of her shoes, and wrested off her jeans and licked straight up her center. Tangy, sweet, intoxicating. I tested every inch, reacquainting me with what I had just explored minutes ago. I felt the rise and fall of her stomach, holding as I explored some new little before sucking gently. A shudder., slowly building rhythm, moving up and down, around and around, dizzy with her scent and drunk with her taste. I lifted her leg over my shoulder and spread her wide with my fingers. Tongue darting in and out. She grabbed her tits hard, twisting, writhing. Reached up with my free hand, and slipped two fingers inside, shallow at first, testing. Then deep. Over and over, my hand moved in and out, faster and faster. Her chest heaved up and down threatening to buck my concentration. Suddenly a hand grabbed the back of my head with such ferocity, I'm sure that they would leave cuts. Buried me as deep as I would go. She screamed for a brief instance. Well... yelped. Catching it and forcing herself to swallow the noise, she shuddered violently, freshly flowing juices I greedily lapped up. Asymmetrical and violent spasms lasted for a long while, taking in breaths where I could. Her leg dismounted and she pulled me. My hand stayed put, the wet warmth begging me to stay, and kissed me hard. Dirty, I liked it. She returned to stroking me not so slowly anymore, as if trying to stir me again. I needed no coaxing, I didn't think I'd live long again even at this rate. Steered me to the adjacent wall, the light of the fading sun lighting of the left side of her face, and guided me down. No sooner than my butt touch cold tile, than she had already straddled me. Just rubbing me up and down, in between us both. A glistening bead of nectar danced at the tip. Deliberately she curled her hair back over her ear with one hand, bent down and licked it off with just the very tip of her tongue. Making me shiver violently. And before I could think anything else. I was inside her again. Fingers clawed my back as I held onto hers, returning mark for mark. She didn't even hesitate and went into a full on grind. The dam was there again, waters pushing against it with an insurmountable tide. This couldn't last long. I hated myself, after all this, and its going to happen quickly again. She felt fucking incredible, wishing it would last for ever. “I can't... inside.” mustering every effort I had left. Her hands tore at my neck and head. Tits hypnotically bouncing with quick jerks each time she landed. I just grabbed her around her waist, thinking I might choke the breath out of her by accident. No longer able to move vertically she continued to grind, holding me in place. Hips moving in agonizing circles. If we weren't locked so perfectly, I'm pretty sure we would have stained the entire nook. I came. Hard. It was the most dizzying sensation I'd ever met, as if the life was being drained straight out of me. Slowly her hips came to a halt. Her breath hot on my neck, my arms wrapped around her. Pulled herself off, a sensation I'll never describe as welcome, and to our great surprise, I was hard as a rock. I just stared dumbly before giving her that silent question of: 'round 2?' “We should head off, before they lock us in here” I could only nod numbly. She climbed back into her pants, and began lacing up the sandaled heels, as I sat there, evening out my heart rate. My cock still twitching in ecstasy. She looked at it, smiling. I smiled back with a huff of a chuckle, realizing how silly I looked. And in one go her mouth wen straight to the base. Warm and wet, as delightful as the rest of her. I scrambled out of pure shock and pulled her up. Casually with a slight giggle, she merely stated “Lets close up and get out of here.” She arose, wiggled her jacket back on and headed up the stairs, a clip clip with each fall of the short heels. It was oddly difficult to stuff myself back in, I'm not overly large... Think it was more out of reluctance than logistics, but I limped up the stairs faster than I've ever jogged. Her book sat unfinished on the ground next to me and the plants judging gaze. I picked it up and chased after her As discrete as we were, obscured by a corner, hallway and tropical arrangement, people know. People always know. Who could care, it was going to be a long night. Plenty of time to get into trouble yet. I didn't even think of my sketchbook, still on the bar as we ran out into the night and hailed a cab. Authors Notes: Would love feedback, I need to vary adjectives some, and remove a lot of the I, but this was a straight shot writing. So edits coming as I polish it out.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/3s6dmc/anonymous_hookup_at_a_restaurant_str8mf