About a week after we started hooking up again, I took Courtney out for drinks. She was wearing an open back maroon dress that emphasized her distracting assets, the lack of stitch lines demonstrating what threads she was missing. Black strappy heels hugged her ankles and calves, clicking as we walked to the table. She wanted my full attention, and she definitely had it.
We started with small talk, catching up on things we had missed in each other’s lives. Classes taken, hearts broken, hobbies and interests forsaken; the usual topics for friends that hadn’t spoken in some time. That’s what I liked about her; she had a personality I could get along with. Our relationship was not pure sex.
But her foot rubbing my leg kept my mind on sex.
The restaurant was dim. Dark enough that it was hard for others to see what she was doing to me. It was impossible to see my body’s response. Courtney let her foot travel up my leg, and smirked when she felt its response. I countered by rubbing my nails up the side and back of her thigh.