The first time she gave me a note it caught me totally by surprise.
Walked past me in the hallway, no eye contact or anything, just that dark blue skirt with the little turquoise flower things on it, that one she wears a lot.
Form-fitting around her waist and her hips, wrapped so tightly around her shapely ass. I guarantee you every man within thirty feet of her notices her butt when she wears that skirt.
So anyway, just as we pass each other in the crowded hallway, I feel her cram a small wad of paper in my hand. I would have said something to her, but she caught me so completely by surprise.
She never stopped, didn't look at me, never even slowed at all, just kept right on walking.
I stopped, though.
Really, I was so surprised that my mind just kind of went blank for a second.
I stopped, stepped back and leaned on the wall while people noisily hurried by, all talking and laughing.
Stepped back, looked into my opening hand and saw the crumpled white paper.
Looked down the hallway too, in the direction she had gone, but there was no sign of her.
So I unfolded the paper. Slowly.
Opened it just until I could read her handwriting.
"I'm wet."
I stared at it for about three seconds then wadded it up again real quick and squeezed it tight in my fist. Afraid somebody might see it, or something silly like that I guess.
That's all I could think about for the rest of the day. Must have looked at that paper fifty times wondering what the hell she gave it to me for.
I'd seen her dozens of times (enough to notice that skirt and her ass) walking in the hallway or maybe the parking garage, or sometimes on the street during lunch, but hell, we didn't know each other.
Had never even said hi or anything.
I'll give her credit for one thing, though.
That is the most effective come-on I've ever experienced.
And I've experienced more than a few 'cause I'm what you might call extremely middle-aged.
Okay, I'm fifty-three, AND women often give me the great compliment: "You really know how to treat a woman." And most importantly, they also say, I have a brain. But enough about me.
Anyway, it occurred to me that if a man gave a note like that to a woman, she'd call a cop and show him the sick note the creep gave her that said, "I'm hard," and he'd be charged with being a pervert, or whatever they charge you with these days.
I'm not sure what it says about men in general that most of us (surely) would accept that kind of a come-on and not think the woman was dangerous, or even creepy. Hope springs eternal, I guess.
Especially when it involves an ass like hers.
So naturally, I start watching for this chick everyday.
And finally--seemed like a month, but it was just four days later--there she comes again.
No eye-contact. Nothing on her face to indicate that she's even aware of me.
My heart is pounding in my chest as we pass. Our arms brush against each other in the crowd and I press my crumpled note into her hand (a note I'd had ready for three days).
Now my heart is pounding so hard I'm wondering if I'm having a panic attack! But I keep walking, no looking back.
My note? My lurid handwriting said, "I want a taste," and now I'm dying to know what effect it had on her.
Sexual harassment! Fuck fuck fuck, she's gonna report me, I KNOW it!
Calm down, goofball, take a deep breath.
She started this whole thing, remember?
Just chill.
So . . . .
So what do I think is gonna happen next? She's gonna run up to me and say breathlessly, "Baby, let's get a room, I've GOT to fuck you right NOW!"?
Nnnnnot likely.
Damn, my heart is still pounding.
I HATE games!
Why couldn't she just smile and say, "Hi, my name is whatever and I'd like to buy you a drink sometime."?
Warm, moist, breathy lips whispered in my mind's ear, "Because she finds the 'game' sexually exciting, ass-hole. She's attracted to you, and she doesn't just want it, she wants it to be sexy. She wants it to be sexy and fun. She gets off teasing you. And she wants it to last."
So we made it last. God, did we make it last.
Taking turns passing notes became a ritual, usually two or three times a week. Hell, it was the first thing I thought of when I woke up every morning.
"I'm wet." (she said)
"I want a taste." (I said)
"I want a taste too....I want your cock."
"Eat me out, Baby. Gag on my long thick rod."
"Hold my head tight and force me to swallow, you bastard."
"I want to see some of it land on your beautiful face."
"Lick it off me....Now kiss me....Give it to me on my tongue."
"Stroke my head while I suck your nipples."
"Kiss your way down my stomach....Feel my hands pushing your head to go lower."
"Fuck, I know what you want, slut."
"I'm SO wet....Get your mouth between my thighs....Eat my creamy wet cunt."
"My hands under your ass, lifting you....Tongue-fucking you....Fucking you deep and hard....Your naked feet bouncing in the air."
"SHIT"
"Pinch your nipples, Baby....Twist them HARD....Feel me licking your clit so fast....My tongue just barely touching you."
"Shit Baby! Oh shit! Make me cum! Oh God!"
"Feeling you twitch and watching you twist on the sheets....Hearing you moan while you grind your pussy into my face."
"I want your cock in me....I want it in me so bad....Oh Baby screw me now while my pussy feels so fucking good!"
"Jesus, just watching the head slip between your swollen lips when I push....Pushing my hard cock all the way into your warm wet pussy....God, Baby, fuck me....fuck my big prick."
"Grab me and flip me over....I'm gonna ride you, fucker....Feel my fingers scratching and pulling hard at your nipples while I roughly slide up and down your hard cock....Watch my tits bouncing over you while I slam my ass into you again and again....Fuck!"
"FUCK"
"FUCK you, Baby....FUCK you, FUCK you, FUCK YOU"
I'm telling you, this woman was a mental wildcat. Some nights, re-reading the entire sequence of notes would leave me literally holding my breath. Either that or gasping for breath after I jerked my cock to a spurting climax.
I always wondered if she was moaning herself to a pussy-tightening orgasm at the same time.
We never spoke. The last time I saw her was in the hallway, the day she pressed her final note into my well-practiced receiving hand.
This last message was not a fantasy like all the others. Something new.
"Go into the Men's room, I'll go into the Ladies'. Cum with me, Baby, cum HARD with me, right now I'm so wet for you. Then I'll see you back here in the hallway."
She had continued walking past me, as always, and was now fifteen feet away, leaning casually against the brick wall by the entrance to the Ladies' room.
I stared at her, she raised her questioning eyebrows with a half-smile, head tilted just so.
I couldn't help but smile back. I turned and walked toward the Men's room on the other side of the hall. One brief glance over my shoulder, and I saw her entering the Ladies'.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I can't remember EVER shooting a load like the one I did that day.
Mercifully, I was in there alone and could at least groan and groan and groan and pant quietly. God, what a rush!
I took my time and enjoyed every last fucking sensation of such a once-in-a-lifetime jack-off. Holy shit my mind was on fire.
When I re-entered the hallway, she was standing by the brick wall again. Oh did she ever smile at me.
Rolled her eyes and let her head fall back, mouth opening in mock-ecstasy. Then she looked at me with her real face and smiled a most beautiful smile full of humor and secrets.
After a moment she turned and began walking. Three or four steps, then looked my way one last time, wiggling her feminine fingers at me in a discreet farewell wave.
I am left with the notes--hers in her handwriting, and the copies I wrote of mine.
My God, what in hell was it that gave her the urge and the balls to cram that first note into my startled hand?
Sometimes I still wonder if she planned for things to go on as long as they did, or if she was just a social daredevil who mostly wanted to scare the shit out of me and maybe see how I would respond.
I don't know. But I'll wonder about it for the rest of my life.
What I do know is that in this technology-dominated age, I got visceral thrills from holding simple scraps of paper. Knowing she had touched them, held them, written on them with her own hand words and ideas that drove me to the edge of a fucking emotional and sexual cliff, and then dragged me back so she could do it to me over and over again.
And she does, again and again.
Still does.
I have the notes.
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older-wiser
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