[MF] Book Club

One of the odd lots in my life is that I’ve been a rebound guy. I’d like to think it’s not by reputation (perhaps it is), and more by demeanour.

The demeanour being that my foremost value in the bedroom is absolute discretion – and as I get on with age, it’s a value I find more and more people undertake.

Yes, I acknowledge the contradiction of noting it, before I openly illustrate an experience. Take that for what it is.

About a year ago I joined a book club on a friend’s suggestion – it’s a large group, and there are these monthly meetups, where only a small handful of group members actually make the meetups. I make an effort in going, as I need a little regularity of non-work, non-alcohol related extracurricular activity.

Vanessa runs the group, and she’s the dedicated type. Posting daily on the group’s Facebook page to keep the conversations rolling, that sort of thing. A valiant effort, as I find most of the group aren’t totally into the whole thing – results may vary, a lot of box ticking with New Year’s Resolutions, that sort of thing.

She actually suggested we have lunch not long after I joined the group online, prior to the first meetup. As we idly chatted, I couldn’t help but notice the way she was looking at me – that is, quite blatantly Fuck Me Eyes. To the point that when I went back to work, related the experience to some co-workers, who, via my descriptions, felt happy to confirm my thoughts. One of my co-workers (we’re a close bunch) even volunteered herself to eventually come to one of the book club meetups, just to legitimise my suspicion.

So, after a few meetups, where I confirmed with myself that she wasn’t giving other members this same Look, and more times of me relating the Look, my work colleague finally came along.

She absolutely agreed. She tells our fellow work buddies the following day, and everyone erupts in laughter, reporting “They’re totally Fuck Me Eyes, everyone”.

The Look is hard to express in written form – but let me try.

It’s not just the eyes, but this entire facial expression. Her dark eyes, contrary to expectation, are not wide eyed and hungry – but slitted and slightly closed, like someone peering through a keyhole in secret, and delighting in a visual unpeeling of the subject. Voyeuristic and fantastical at the same time. Her lips (perfectly applied lipstick, and just the right shade of red) form a slight pout, and the smile that she tries to hide is betrayed by the telltale tension on her cheeks. Hence, not a stare, not a glance, but a Look. Her body language echoes much the same, as her right hand unfailingly supports her chin whenever I talk, and her lithe body twists ever so subtly in my direction.

At times, she catches me looking back, and as cool as a front I think I may have, I’m sometimes caught off guard by her Look – and she knows these moments, and forms a half smile, and her eyes grow wide for only ever a fraction of a moment in acknowledgement.

I missed a few meetups because life got in the way. We connected on social media somewhere down the line, messaged back and forth here and there, but nothing more than simple pleasantries. I eventually got to one last month, and little had changed – still the same handful of people, and still the same Look.

Still the same caught glances.

She’s a stellar looking woman, Vanessa. Admittedly, not classically my type (I have odd leanings). The sort of well spoken, thoughtful, intensely intelligent, confident with the right touch of awkward. Slim, petite, impeccably dressed, a touch athletic … just the right amount of sass.

After the meetup finished, we stood around awhile, chattering and bantering. I ask her how things have been, and the immediate response was that she had broken up with her partner. This was a bit of a surprise to me, as thus far we really hadn’t even brushed only anything slightly personal in our interactions. I asked her how she was dealing, and she assured me she was okay.

Not even a breath later, she asked if I’d tried this new restaurant around the corner. I told her I hadn’t.

I knew what she was doing straight away.

We parted ways, and I was in a slight turmoil as to whether I should bite on the hook.

To be honest, I absolutely wanted to fuck her.

And so, the following day, I succumbed to my better self, and messaged her with “Hey, would love to try out the new joint. Dinner sometime?”. She replied straight away, and told me to set a date. I did.

And so, we met up. Our conversations went well, and the night flew by. No outward flirting, but the Look kept on embattling my sense of self. She mentioned her ex a few times, in fair non-chalance.

As she spoke, I thought about how much I’d love to see how those exquisitely red lips would look on my skin, and how those eyes would burn through me and savage my soul in-between sheets, and imagine how her voice would whisper the things she would do to me.

As dinner came to a close, there was no hesitation about not parting ways, and we strolled unspoken in the same path, on the same general direction as we walked a few blocks.

“I suppose we should do coffee then” – I offer in suggestion, not question.

“Let’s go to mine, I live pretty close”, she answers, just the right amount of pause, not hesitation.

We walk a short way as she leads us to her apartment, again, just chatter in our conversation, another casual mention of the ex. I let her linger in the thought that I might not be getting the hint at this point. I’m not sure why exactly. It kept me that little tense, and I guess I wanted keep her guessing a little too. Subtlety has its moments, and I was hoping that in short time, we could finally sweep subtlety to the side.

Just before she opens the door, I ask if she actually had coffee.

“I never said I did”, she says, before she turns around, and gives me one last Look. Her half smile becomes a full grin. She leads me into the hallway, and I close the door behind me.

She continues walking, and into her bedroom. I notice that she has full length mirrors along her wall long wardrobe. I take a few short steps, so I can be on the opposite side of the bed, but parallel to the mirror.

She burns into me with her Look. I begin by unbuttoning my shirt, as I return my look back at her. She looks back in a fiery non-chalance, and follows suit by shimmying her shirt off, as she grabs the bottom of her shirt with crossed arms, and her petite form is on full view. She purses her red lips as she looks me over.

She walks over to me, runs her sharp tongue across my left nipple, like a serpent licking the air. She keeps her Look locked onto me as she undoes my belt, then fumbles with the button on my pants, slides my zipper down with a firm tug of her small hands, and then traces the outline of my cock against my trunks. She grasps my cock for a moment, her eyes searing through me.

She guides my pants down my thighs, and once they’re down to my knees, she uses her foot to push them down past my calves. She does the same to my underwear, and I stand there bare – ready to be used, ready to please.

I find this lack of acknowledgement quite quickening to the heart, that we’re here as a byproduct of the polite and restrained interactions of the past year, that it’s a little different from the usual modern conveniences or blatant forward nature of the day. Fairly unspoken, but our eyes don’t lie.

She puts her hands on her bed as she turns around, letting her short skirt fall to the floor in the same motion. Our eyes catch in the reflection, and we hold the Look, unbroken. I pull aside her underwear, and I feel her pussy envelop my cock immediately, willfully, finally.

Her Look has me at absolute attention, and I fuck as her hard as she needs me to, until her eyes start to shut tight, absorbed entirely by whatever it is she’s been imagining about us, across from those meetup tables.

She snaps out of it, and her mouth is agape. We lock eyes in the mirror again, and we watch together as I fuck her from behind, my hands grasping her form tight – voyeurs to our own movement.

Entirely indulgent.

“Keep fucking me”, she whispers to our reflections.

And I don’t let go.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/b9c3ix/mf_book_club