Repost, because tags.
Her hand was in my lap, stroking me through my slacks. One of my hands held the wheel steady while the other had a firm grip on the inside of her thigh. My mind was split between what her hand and mine were doing and driving as carefully as possible.
Emily and I were on the way home from a date. I had on the only suit I owned. Something I’d purchased years ago for a wedding or a funeral. I couldn’t even remember anymore. It was charcoal gray, slacks and a blazer. My shirt was a button down, navy blue and open at the collar just below my beard.
She was much more put together. She wore a short, sleeveless, black dress. Tight, it hugged the curves of her body. High-necked, just a hint of cleavage peeked out where the black of her dress ended and her soft pale skin began. Beneath her dress, her legs were wrapped in black stockings, stripes running up the thigh. Black Doc Martens and her purple hair were the final punk rock touches to the outfit. Her makeup, as always, was dramatic and bold, eyeliner and dark red lipstick.