meeting mary…

We are sitting in the corner of the atrium at the museum.  The sun is kinda gorgeous shining down on the waves and curls of her thick, thick hair. Her hazel eyes have tiny flecks of green in them but that’s only when she looks towards the light.  She is the quintessential girl-next-door. She seems slightly confused, maybe a bit nervous and her fingers fiddle with her cup handle and the napkin.  Her hands are soft and fair.  Small.

She’s wearing a knee-length skirt and tall black boots but we both complain about how hot our legs are in this surprising warmth. A loose scarf frames the deliciously smooth edges of her momentous cleavage, and I am amazed she manages to go anywhere without having her clothes ripped off – she really does have a little ‘body that doesn’t stop.’

We make a bit of small talk; we talk about our mutual work and all the traveling I do. We elaborate on what we like about the city.  We find ourselves enjoying one another’s company in spite of the circumstances. She doesn’t have much time though; she’s on a proofing deadline for an article and a thesis submission.  At least that’s what I think she said.

I’m not fully listening because I too am nervous and I’m surprised how shy I suddenly feel. I reassure her that I’ve never done anything like this before and I don’t want to offend her or creep her out.  It’s just that you are special and I would like very much to give you something no one has before.

She says, “Wow. I’m not sure… I don’t think this has happened to me… well, not quite like this, anyway.”  We laugh a little louder than normal, nerves getting the best of us. She is curious to know who you are and I tell her that all I can say is that you are smart, funny, kind, and striking; I tell her you are wholly charming in unexpected ways.

But since you and she are well-acquainted, I’m reluctant to blurt your name out – if she declines then no one needs to feel awkward or mortified.  She nods; I’m trying to protect you and I think she understands this. Still, she isn’t sure what to think; she gazes at me very intently for a short time until her head tilts slightly and the questions begin.

She wants to know how we met, and how long we’ve been together.  She wants to know how deeply we care for one another, if we love, if we are exclusive.  I answer honestly but without elaboration, with a kind of discretion I’m sure you would appreciate.

She wants to know health facts.  She wants to know how I know about her, if this is something you’ve asked for – if you’ve asked me to come here to meet her.  I tell her I’m here of my own volition; you have no idea but that I’m meeting you after work.  I also admit that in our fantasy talk, her name has come up but up to this point, it’s only been that – talk. And I confess that my own curiosity has been piqued…

She cuts me off and says, “Tell me about … about you and him, I mean.  Tell me your…  favourite things. Be as honest as you want.” And by “honest” I can tell she means, “dirty.” We each take a sip of our drinks and look around.  I take a breath and…

I tell her about the way I feel when you smile at me.  I describe your hands, your smell, my smell on you and the way your jaw clenches when you thrust and feel yourself deep inside.

I describe your body and tell her how you don’t think you’re sexy which is part of what endears you to me. I describe the way your cock jumps to attention and we laugh a bit… not at you, but at how both our cheeks burn red when I say it.  I describe the look you give me:

when you can’t stop yourself from wanting me
when you can’t wait to touch me
when you watch me fuck myself
when you’re dying to fuck me

I tell her about the perfection of your beautiful shaft and how irresistibly smooth the curves of your head feel when wrapped snugly inside my tongue; I describe the slurp my tongue makes when it’s chocking your meaty cock, and when I make room for you deep in my mouth, and my warm, wet throat. I tell her how I writhe and moan when I feel any of your clever fingers in my cock-crazed cunt.

She swallows and says, “You’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?” And I laugh again.  I can feel my cheeks burning as I ask if she wants me to stop.  She shakes her head, her voice catching as she says, “No. Please, I want to hear more.”

I describe your mouth on me, how you love to go down, how you don’t have many preferences but you do have a slight weakness for pussy, smooth skin, and watching. I tell her how it feels when your strong hands grip my inner thighs and spread me wide.  How she would be amazed at how glorious you’d make her feel. 

She puts her hand out, almost touching mine and asks if I’ve ever been with a woman.  I shake my head and she smiles out of the side of her mouth.

She wonders what I’m most curious about and I admit it’s her breasts, and I wonder what her mouth would feel like on me. I confess a part of me wants to watch… no, to see you enjoy her.  She says, “You’d do this for him? “ I nod and she asks, “You don’t mind sharing him?” and I confess my uncertainty.  She nods again and says, “I don’t know if I could share someone if I cared that much about him, either… especially with someone I don’t know and well… you travel so much.”  And my breath catches slightly at hearing her say this.

Our time is nearly up and we both know it. Cheeks burning, eyes feverish from the surprising heat of our daytime encounter, we look at one another for what feels like forever.  Her lips purse just a bit before her head tilts a little and she smiles, like she’s just remembered a secret.

She writes an address on a napkin and says, “Can you meet me here later – before you have to meet him? I think it’d be fine… I’d like it if you could come over. Privacy, it’s more private. And maybe we can get to know one another before either of us decides anything.” I nod and she smiles broadly, “When you buzz, ask for Mary Molly and I’ll know it’s you.”

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4 Responses to “meeting mary…”

  1. Beatnik du Jour March 7, 2013 at 10:12 pm #

    I really enjoyed this – wishing I were he. I could be. Maybe I am. But the thought is so entertaining that I don’t think it would get any further than my hands in my pants :p

    • secretthots March 7, 2013 at 10:36 pm #

      🙂 My work here is done… or perhaps it’s just beginning?

      • Beatnik du Jour March 7, 2013 at 10:39 pm #

        Beginning I hope.

        • secretthots March 7, 2013 at 10:49 pm #


          “Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine and at last you create what you will.” – George Bernard Shaw

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