Info
Subscribe: 
friend me on Facebook
follow me on Twitter
view my photos on Flickr
watch my videos on Qik
find me on Dopplr
join my MySpace
check my MyBlogLog
my Technorati profile
view my Tumblr
my Blogger profile
Blog RSS feed
Comments RSS feed
Recent posts
Bravery
Run
Talk
Wanted
FridayCities
Thanks
Meet
2.0
Rudeboy
Knickers
Places to shop and visit
My Top 10 Toys - Women
My Top 10 Toys - Men
My Top 10 Toys - Couples
Fleshlight UK
Condoms
Durex's Ora!
Monday, July 30, 2007
Bravery II
As she arrived at the table, she bent down and rested her hand on my shoulder. She was so close to me, her silky blonde locks grazed my face and I could smell the arousing, yet subtle, perfume of her skin. Her large breasts, tantalisingly, were just an inch from my face and I fought off the temptation to lift my hands and cup them gently.
“Hello again,” she breathed and leaned in closer so her ear was against my mouth. Electricity rippled through me. Didn’t she know what effect she was having on me? As if she read my mind, her hand, still resting on my shoulder, travelled smoothly to the nape of my neck; I could feel each of her fingers delicately pressed into my skin. I took this as a sign it was OK for me to touch her too: I rested my fingers on her hip and as I began to whisper in her ear, I lightly traced a small circle into the exposed flesh with my fingertips.
“You know before, when you said you would do anything for a cigarette?”
“Yes?”
“Well there is something I would like you to do.”
“What?”
“My friend: he likes you.”
She pulled back from me slightly and fixed her eyes on mine, searching my face for clues. “I thought you said he was your boyfriend?”
I shook my head. “No. We’re just friends – good friends.”
“Oh. I see.” She seemed relieved and she readjusted her position closer to me, once again allowing me a whiff of her delightful aroma.
“Yes. And, well, he thinks you’re really sexy.”
She giggled. “Oh really?!”
“Really. I do too: you are very sexy.”
“Well so are you.”
“Um, thanks… Would you kiss him?”
“Kiss him?”
“Yeah.”
“Just a kiss?”
“He’d really like that, yeah.”
“I don’t want to do anything else.”
“No, of course not. Just a kiss, that’s all.”
“Well…” She shifted back and hooked me with her smile. “If I get to kiss you too, then I will.”
“Of course, that goes without saying.”
The words came out my mouth before I even had the chance to think them. And a split second later, her lips were on mine and her fingertips were softly caressing my face. Time stopped and all I was aware of was the faint taste of mint from her mouth.
Fuck, I thought, I’m actually kissing her: it’s this easy. This is how you get to kiss a sexy girl: you just proposition them!
As her soft mouth pressed up against mine, my mind raced. What exactly did I want her to do? I mean, I knew what my objective was, but faced with it actually happening, I suddenly questioned why I wanted it to happen in the first place. That I fancied her there was no doubt, but why on earth was I proposing that she snog Blog Boy? Was it because he was my mate and I was doing him a favour? Was it because some part of me wanted to witness his pleasure? Or, perhaps, I wanted to turn him on for old times’ sake?
My conscience ached. I worried that I had taken advantage of her drunken state to fulfil my own wants. I also felt like I was objectifying her, for my and Blog Boy’s titillative enjoyment. With her kissing me too, I wondered if I was colluding in some way with society’s sexist expectation of women to ‘lez it up’ when in the presence of men: she and I putting on a performance to please Blog Boy. Was this who I have become? Another woman perpetuating the male gaze?
With these thoughts spinning around my head, she moved away from me and over to Blog Boy, planting a large, brief kiss on his bemused smile, whilst I watched, equally confused and aroused.
Suddenly she resumed her position in front of me and in one move, leant down to kiss me deeply again. All anxiety I had was immediately dispelled by the intense throbbing between my legs. This wasn’t about exploitation, or sexist objectification, or even, pleasuring Blog Boy. This was about me and her and how turned on I was, and at that moment, I didn’t give a fuck about anything else: I could have very happily kissed her all night.
But the kiss ended as it began: swiftly. Grinning at me, with a glint in her eye, the blonde woman turned and left our table. I found myself in a state of shock, looking over at Blog Boy, whose face clearly matched my own stunned expression.
“What just happened there?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
He laughed. “You just made a girl kiss me!”
I slowly nodded.
"And you!"
“Evidently…”
Blog Boy and I continued musing on the events of the evening and drinking our beers until closing time. Then we said our goodbyes and separated with a smile: the perfect way to end an evening with an ex-lover.
It wasn’t until I was on the night bus that a sudden, frustrated thought struck me: something more might have happened that night – but this time, not with Blog Boy. If only I didn’t have such shit Gaydar, perhaps I wouldn’t have been making my way home alone...
“Hello again,” she breathed and leaned in closer so her ear was against my mouth. Electricity rippled through me. Didn’t she know what effect she was having on me? As if she read my mind, her hand, still resting on my shoulder, travelled smoothly to the nape of my neck; I could feel each of her fingers delicately pressed into my skin. I took this as a sign it was OK for me to touch her too: I rested my fingers on her hip and as I began to whisper in her ear, I lightly traced a small circle into the exposed flesh with my fingertips.
“You know before, when you said you would do anything for a cigarette?”
“Yes?”
“Well there is something I would like you to do.”
“What?”
“My friend: he likes you.”
She pulled back from me slightly and fixed her eyes on mine, searching my face for clues. “I thought you said he was your boyfriend?”
I shook my head. “No. We’re just friends – good friends.”
“Oh. I see.” She seemed relieved and she readjusted her position closer to me, once again allowing me a whiff of her delightful aroma.
“Yes. And, well, he thinks you’re really sexy.”
She giggled. “Oh really?!”
“Really. I do too: you are very sexy.”
“Well so are you.”
“Um, thanks… Would you kiss him?”
“Kiss him?”
“Yeah.”
“Just a kiss?”
“He’d really like that, yeah.”
“I don’t want to do anything else.”
“No, of course not. Just a kiss, that’s all.”
“Well…” She shifted back and hooked me with her smile. “If I get to kiss you too, then I will.”
“Of course, that goes without saying.”
The words came out my mouth before I even had the chance to think them. And a split second later, her lips were on mine and her fingertips were softly caressing my face. Time stopped and all I was aware of was the faint taste of mint from her mouth.
Fuck, I thought, I’m actually kissing her: it’s this easy. This is how you get to kiss a sexy girl: you just proposition them!
As her soft mouth pressed up against mine, my mind raced. What exactly did I want her to do? I mean, I knew what my objective was, but faced with it actually happening, I suddenly questioned why I wanted it to happen in the first place. That I fancied her there was no doubt, but why on earth was I proposing that she snog Blog Boy? Was it because he was my mate and I was doing him a favour? Was it because some part of me wanted to witness his pleasure? Or, perhaps, I wanted to turn him on for old times’ sake?
My conscience ached. I worried that I had taken advantage of her drunken state to fulfil my own wants. I also felt like I was objectifying her, for my and Blog Boy’s titillative enjoyment. With her kissing me too, I wondered if I was colluding in some way with society’s sexist expectation of women to ‘lez it up’ when in the presence of men: she and I putting on a performance to please Blog Boy. Was this who I have become? Another woman perpetuating the male gaze?
With these thoughts spinning around my head, she moved away from me and over to Blog Boy, planting a large, brief kiss on his bemused smile, whilst I watched, equally confused and aroused.
Suddenly she resumed her position in front of me and in one move, leant down to kiss me deeply again. All anxiety I had was immediately dispelled by the intense throbbing between my legs. This wasn’t about exploitation, or sexist objectification, or even, pleasuring Blog Boy. This was about me and her and how turned on I was, and at that moment, I didn’t give a fuck about anything else: I could have very happily kissed her all night.
But the kiss ended as it began: swiftly. Grinning at me, with a glint in her eye, the blonde woman turned and left our table. I found myself in a state of shock, looking over at Blog Boy, whose face clearly matched my own stunned expression.
“What just happened there?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
He laughed. “You just made a girl kiss me!”
I slowly nodded.
"And you!"
“Evidently…”
Blog Boy and I continued musing on the events of the evening and drinking our beers until closing time. Then we said our goodbyes and separated with a smile: the perfect way to end an evening with an ex-lover.
It wasn’t until I was on the night bus that a sudden, frustrated thought struck me: something more might have happened that night – but this time, not with Blog Boy. If only I didn’t have such shit Gaydar, perhaps I wouldn’t have been making my way home alone...
Comments