It was a Saturday afternoon and I had just finished meeting with a client at the St. Anthony Hotel in downtown San Antonio, Texas. It was a casual chat, so I was dressed in grey slacks and a grey tweed sports coat over a red polo shirt.
YhuuhyhggWe had met in the lounge of this Grande dame hotel which was built in 1923, and I was feeling very satisfied with the outcome of our discussion. The client, also satisfied, had just made apologies and had excused himself to attend a family gathering. I was finishing the last of my Marguerita, and thinking about how I should spend the rest of the beautiful autumn afternoon as I glanced around the room. I love these rich wood paneled bars that remind me of gentlemen’s clubs of bygone years, and though I’m a non-smoker, I can picture myself relaxing in the overstuffed chair with a cold drink and a fine cigar.
It had been about thirty minutes, and one more Marguerita, since my client’s departure when I caught sight of an attractive, dark-haired beauty walk in wearing a classic royal blue dress and matching stiletto heels. The cut of the dress was very conservative and I noted the absence of accessories which at first seemed odd, but on reflection I concluded was perfect for the look. She was also wearing sunglasses which she immediately removed as she entered the dimmer lighting of the lounge. Her dark eyes took in the room. In addition to myself there were perhaps another ten patrons either sitting at the L-shaped bar, or sitting, as I was, in one of the several conversation nooks that encircled it. From that moment on, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.
She walked sensuously in my direction, making brief eye contact, before turning and taking a seat at the bar. From my vantage point I had a clear view of her, but she would have to turn her head slightly to the left to see me. While this would have required little effort, she instead removed a small compact from her purse, and opened it to glance into the mirror. Seemingly unsatisfied with the image that greeted her, she then applied some lipstick to her full lips with a small brush. After another glance into the mirror, and a little smile, she put the compact and the lipstick away just as a well dressed gentleman approached and sat next to her.
I could see immediately they were strangers, since the conversation (which I could not hear), appeared to be a greeting of sort. I could see the man gesture toward the bartender, and then look back at the woman in a questioning way. I could see her shake her head and disappointment appeared on the man’s face. He said something else and returned to a chair on the other end of the bar. The bartender appeared and obviously took a drink order which turned out to be a glass of white wine, which she sipped. Nodding that the wine was acceptable, she took another sip as the bartender moved to serve another customer.
She looked around the room and again glanced in my direction, but other than a small hesitation when our eyes met, she showed no sign that she was looking for anyone in particular. Her dress had bunched up slightly when she had sat down, so that I could see not only her smooth well toned calves, but just a hint of the side of her soft thigh as well. I also noticed that she had crossed her legs and had allowed one of her stiletto heels to dangle deliciously. I watched her check her phone, and drink a little more wine.
She seemed unhurried and appeared to just be enjoying the taste of the wine and the soft music that was playing in the background. Then, glancing around the room again, she slid off the bar stool and started walking in the general direction of the rest rooms. I too, arose and headed in that direction as well. We intercepted each other as we reached the short hallway leading to the doors marked Ladies and Gentlemen (No signs saying Women and Men here).
As I came along side of her, she leaned slightly toward me and whispered.
“You’re staring at me.” Her voice, what I could hear of it, was low and very soft. A very feminine voice.
“I am,” I admitted. “I can’t take my eyes off you. You’ve enchanted me since you walked through that door.”
“It makes me a little uncomfortable,” she confided.
“Please,” I begged her, “don’t be. I’m not a stalker.”
She smiled. “Stop staring.”
“It’s something I can’t help. I appreciate a woman the way others appreciate art,” I told her. “You are a masterpiece. If I’m staring, it’s because I want to take in every element, every feature, each light, shadow and brush-stroke.”
“Most masterpieces I’ve seen are old and somewhat wrinkled,” she said her voice just above a whisper, but still soft and low, with a humorous tinge.
“That’s why you’re marvelous,” I said, smiling. “You’re obviously vibrant and very alive.”
“You are a flatterer,” she said, her dark eyes looking straight into mine.
“Not so,” I defended myself. “I speak only the truth.”
“Then, please,” she demanded with quiet urgency, “tell me the truth.”
“Your Mamak Escort eyes are dark and warm, yet sparkle with all the stars of a country night. Your hair forms the frame for your face, a face for the ages, the definition of classical beauty. Your voice is warm and low, like soft, sweet chocolate.”
“You’re very good at this,” she said, her eyes dropping to my lips.
“Do you expect to find the indicator of truth where you’re looking?” I asked. “The eyes, remember, tell much more of truth or lies than the lips can ever speak.”
Her eyes flickered over my face, then back to make contact with my own.
“Your lips,” I continued, “hold the promise of softness and passion. Each little crevice begs to be explored, tested, tasted.”
“Oh, my!” she said, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “That sounds so very sensual.”
I nodded. “It is taking every iota of my self-control not to touch you,” I confided. “The contrast of skin to the dark of your dress screams to me for exploration. You’ve dressed very conservatively, but in a strange way you’re naked there; not exposed but inviting.”
“so what do you see?” she whispered.
“You are serious. Your passion is more eloquent. You are smoldering embers yearning to break into flame.”
“Tell me more,” she whispered.
“Not here. On the deck, through the patio. I’ll wait for you there.”
Her eyes shifted to mine, then quickly looked away. She smiled the Mona Lisa smile of a knowing woman.
With unhurried steps, I stopped at the bar and ordered two glasses of the wine she had been drinking and then wandered toward the French doors leading to the patio. Once outside, the air, which was warm, rested lightly on my skin. I could hear some music coming from the general direction of Riverwalk. Brass lanterns were carefully placed along the borders of the patio, then on either side of the three or four stairs leading to the patio, currently unoccupied. A large shrub, or small tree, was potted close to the French doors providing a small amount of cover for anyone wishing to lurk unobserved.
With no small effort I looked across the skyline of San Antonio, deliberately denying myself a healthy stare at those French doors. A tinge of doubt assailed me as I waited. Would she, the center of so much well-deserved attention, throw it over to join me in the shaded, partially private arena of this patio? My mind said she could not resist, but reason interjected excuse after excuse.
The slightest noise from the direction of the doors drew my attention. I watched transfixed as she emerged from the golden lights of the lounge into the sunlight of the patio. She looked neither left nor right, but strode purposefully toward the stairs. I watched appreciatively as her perfectly formed legs peeked through the small slit on her dress as she carefully negotiated the stairs.
She stopped momentarily at the top, her eyes searching. Once she’d spotted me, she came directly toward me, her heels beating a delicate but deliberate tap-tap-tap as she stepped carefully across the stone floor.
“This is very dangerous,” she said, taking the glass from me, and sipping its contents,
“Then why are you here,” I asked,
Her eyes flickered to the side, focusing out into the night. “Because,” she said. “Because there’s a ball of something throbbing away deep down in here.” She pressed her hand against her abdomen. “And I like it.”
“I’m certain you’ve been approached before. You are a beautiful woman. This should be nothing new to you.”
She nodded, the torchlight sparkling in her eyes. “Except that for now I made a choice.”
“Why this time?” I asked her.
She smiled. “So many reasons. So many circumstances. The time seems right. The will is there. What you’ve said. What I know.”
“What do you know? Do you know something I don’t?”
“Many things. I know many things you don’t.” Her eyes locked on mine. “I want you to touch me. Touch me here,” her chin indicating her shoulder, “here, where you said. Where I am unintentionally exposed to you.”
My hand stretched toward her shoulder gently grasping the soft velvety feel of her dress.. Her head fell in that direction and her cheek caressed my hand.
“Who would believe that a single touch in so innocent a place could cause such arousal,” she mused dreamily.
“It’s because you want it to be so.”
“That,” she whispered, turning her head and planting red mark on the base of my thumb with her lips, “is the truth. I want it to be.”
We exchanged names. She wanted to know if I was ever called “Gerald”, I replied, almost never, just “Gary.”
She was Maribeth. I wanted to know if she was Russian. She just laughed, and never answered the question. I didn’t care.
Speakers of the patio were playing the same soft music I had heard in the lounge
“Come on, Gerald,” Maribeth was saying to me. “Come dance with me.”
How could I refuse? The appeal of this woman Ofise Gelen Escort hadn’t declined onyye iota over the course of the hour. She was still elegantly alluring, and I thought to myself that I would have no qualms about being seen virtually anywhere with her
As Maribeth entered my embrace she seemed to melt into me. She kept no proper, discreet distance between us. She pressed herself into me, her arms snaking around my waist, her head burrowing into my shoulder. My own hands pressed into the smooth, soft fabric of her dress. I tried a few tentative steps in an effort to actually dance with her. She resisted.
“It’s not the dancing that’s important,” she whispered. “It’s being close.”
“Great,” I murmmered, “You are a terrible dancer.” Maribeth, to her credit simply said, “truth.”
We settled for a slow rocking motion only occasionally accented by a small step or two. “I love the power you possess,” she whispered. I asked her what she meant.
“You have the power of commitment, the internal power that comes from strength of character, self-confidence, and self-awareness. Your power exists as an element of your being rather than an accoutrement of your actions. It’s a power that commands respect instead of demanding it.”
“You’re good for my ego,” I smiled at her. Her face was serious.
“Its not empty flattery,” she told me. “I watched you this afternoon. I saw your self-confidence.” I held her tighter to my body.
“We’re alone,” she commented. “How appropriate.” She tilted her face toward me.
When our lips met for the first time it was like sinking into warm quicksilver. There was motion, like small waves in a warm pool, but I felt myself sinking deep into the warm, moist cushion of her lips. When I felt her tongue press flatly against my lips I literally groaned with the sensation. I opened my mouth and applied gentle suction to draw her into me. She allowed herself to be pulled,ftyy you y77ihj and my own tongue pressed against hers, yearning for the sensation of complete contact.
Twenty minutes later, after securing one of the Hotel DuPont’s Master Suites, I guided Maribeth to the central elevators, and then to the twelfth floor. She led me to the room. It was massive. At the center, against a wall, stood a king-sized bed with a maroon comforter. The dark-wood bureau stretched the full length of the opposing wall. I could see three doors in addition to the entrance. Two closets, I assumed, and a bath.
“There’s a spa,” Maribeth said after peeking into the bathroom, “I turned it on for later. It’s already running so it should be nice and warm.”
I smiled and nodded.
“And the tree?’ I asked, indicating what was apparently a banana tree along one wall. “We have a tree in our bedroom.”
Maribeth chuckled. “A hint of the jungle,” she said, “for those occasions when only wild abandon will suffice.”
We folded the comforter back to the foot, and then turned down the sheet and blanket. We met again at the foot of the bed. I took her in my arms and kissed her with all the warmth I could muster. In the process,
As Marubeth pushed my jacket off my shoulders I kissed her forehead, her temples, her cheeks and her neck. I shrugged out of my jacket and let it fall to the floor.
Whilw still watching me, she stepped back and reached behind her neck. She unsnapped or unhooked the neck of her dress then pulled it down in front revealing her breasts enclosed in a black push up bra. Her hands quickly unsnapped the lacy fabric, and her naked breasts softly fell on her chest. The nipples were slightly erect at the center of punk areolas. Her breasts were full, with only a very slight sag, wonderfully rounded and soft.
Each of us raced to remove the remainder of our clothing. I stripped off my polo shirt then attacked the buckle of my belt, at the same time shucking my shoes. I sat on the bed and yank off my black socks, then stood to unclasp my trousers.
Maribeth had slipped off her dress. She stood in black panties. She looked questioningly at me.
“All of it,” I said. “I want there to be nothing between us.” She slipped her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and slowly shimmied them down her legs. Her silky pubic hair was trimmed close and neatly framed the soft hint of her slit. Then, as if embarrassed by our nakedness, we clutched each others bodies to our own.
“I want this,” Maribeth said, holding me to her. “I want this so badly.”
“And I have wanted you since I laid eyes on you,” I confirmed.
She led me to the bed. She sat down, then scooted backwards. I followed her. My eyes were full of her glorious frame. I drank down the sight of her, then leaned in to kiss her again. Our joining this time was more urgent. Her arms wrapped around my neck and pulled me hard into her. As our tongues parried and thrust against each other, her hands traveled into my hair, not pulling, but simply tousling and caressing.
When Otele Gelen Escort we released, I gazed into her eyes. I could see the glowing embers of that inner fire waiting to be stoked into a full blaze. A small light in the corner allowed me the luxury of soaking in the view of her beauty. Her sensuality overwhelmed me, flooding our space with an aroma like warm rum.
I picked out a point on her face, the outside corner of her eye and aimed my lips there. I kissed her softly for a second or two, pulling back and selecting a new site. As my lips traveled down her warm, firm body, various reactions emanated from my new lover.
At first, I heard a gentle sigh, a sign of relaxation, perhaps of surrender to the moment. When I kissed the join between her neck and shoulder, there was a sharper intake of breath, a tightening of her grip on me, and a general shift of her body position. While my lips traveled across to her shoulder, my hand caressed her waist and slid effortlessly down to the top of her hip. Her own hand covered mine.
“These are the shoulders,” I told her softly, “that have been hidden to me.” I kissed one softly, my finger tracing the outline, then the ridge of the collarbone underneath her resilient, smooth flesh.
“You know what shoulders are?” I asked her, as I continued to caress the rounded area.
“What?” she whispered, with obvious anticipation.
“They’re indicators, sign-posts, portents of these,” I said, my hand cupping the curve of her breast from underneath. Maribeth pushed her breast into my hand, arching her back with another sharp gasp as my fingers slid across the erect tissue of her nipple.
I bent my head down and planted a warm kiss on the dark skin. My tongue teased the tiny nub gently, moistening it, then lapping up the moisture. She groaned.
“I can’t believe this,” she whispered.
“Already?” I asked.
“I think so. It felt like it. Just a little one.”
“You may have as many as you like,” I told her. “Your pleasure is mine.”
“But how?” she asked. “I mean, it’s never been so easy before.”
“Because you want them,” I assured her. “It’s all in the mind, dear one. It’s because you will it to happen.”
“More,” she said. “I want some more.”
I was happy to oblige. My lips left her breast and skidded slowly down her torso. I kissed each of her ribs, then dragged across the top of her flat belly. My tongue circled the exterior of her navel. She pressed her hips upward. I closed my lips around the circle I’d made, then pushed my tongue deep into her navel. My hand, resting on her hip, felt the twitch and thrust as she pushed against me. She moaned lowly as my tongue flicked and probed at her belly.
“Goddam you,” she growled. “You can’t do this.”
“What?” I asked, pulling back for a moment.
“You can’t make me come tonguing my navel,” she said.
“I can,” I answered, “and I will.” I resumed my probing of the delicate depression, flicking, sucking and swabbing the area with my tongue.
Maribeth groaned again, making an “nnnnhhh” sound as she fought either for or against the sensation. She shook her head from side to side, her hand clasping in my hair. her hips thrust upward three or four times, causing her to grunt with the exertion. I felt her body tense under mine, the muscles of her belly becoming taut.
“Oh, goddam you!” she grunted. “You’re a bastard!”
I smiled. “Me?” I asked innocently.
“Please,” she begged. “I am aching down there. Please!”
“Down here?” I asked, then slid my tongue deep into her slit, encountering an amazing amount of damp, slick juices.
“Yes, there!” she almost screamed, her hips rising again to force my tongue into her.
I backed away, quickly.
“Not yet,” I said firmly, reveling in my control. “There’s so much more of you to enjoy first.”
“What? Where?” she asked plaintively. “Please! Do me there.”
“One more time,” I assented, “then on to new territory.” I dipped my tongue back into her steaming center, flicked two or three times at the entrance to her vagina, then pulled away. “Now roll over, my darling,” I ordered her.
Maribeth froze. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Trust me,” I said as softly as I could. “I promise I won’t do anything that will hurt you. I swear it.”
She didn’t exactly melt, but I could sense a decision being made within her. She rolled herself over onto her belly. I knelt beside her, then straddled her left leg, my right leg between her and pressing gently on her sex. I leaned over and planted several soft kisses on her shoulder blades. She seemed to shrug, then placed her hands under her head.
I put my hands on her shoulders and began a gentle rubbing motions. It wasn’t deep or powerful enough to be a massage. It was simply a caress over her shoulders and down her back.
“That’s nice,” she whispered.
When I exchanged the caress of my palms for the gentle scratching of my nails, Maribeth gasped at the sensation.
“Oh, dear!” she said.
“It’s all right,” I told her softly. “You see?” I resumed the palm-open caressing of her back.
For each four or five strokes of the open-handed caress I’d throw in a single light scraping of her skin. Each time I scraped, Maribeth would sharply inhale and twitch. I alternated the strokes in the same pattern for several minutes.