She was a goddess. I thought so every time I saw her. Something of a “I’m not good enough to even think about her” level of beauty. What’s worse is, she didn’t even seem to know. She wore baggy clothes. She talked to anyone, everyone, at the gym. Friendly, smiling laughter with men three times her age. Her little fingers waves to everyone as he moved from machine to free-weights. Free-weights to machines.
Her skin was like cocoa. Just a rich, beautiful chocolate. Black, thick hair that tangled down to her shoulders. It knotted, sometimes. Sometimes it’s ends were split. Sometimes parts of it would swirl in little waves as though she had forgotten to brush it. Maybe she had. Her nose twitched as she laughed. Not that I ever made her laugh. I just noticed as peddled away on the stationary bike trying like hell to watch Tim Russert or whatever else was going on at CNBC. Even with the sound off and subtitles nixed. Even during infomercials. I didn’t want to seem like some letch, some pervert. Of course, when she did see me spying her, she just smiled, waved a little finger wave. I’d respond. That’s that.
I started fondly referring to her as “Carrot.” I didn’t know her ethnicity, she could have been Indian or half-black. I was far too shy to ask her name. So I called her Carrot. Why? She made me pedal harder. Just seeing her shot my BPM up a few points. Make me suddenly start sweating. Had all sorts of biological affects on me. None of which were pleasant.
Whenever I passed her by on the floor, as we didn’t do the same machines in our respective circuits, I’d just smile and bow my head. Look to the ground and pass her by. She’d flash me a pathetic smile. I don’t know if she ever watched me. Never turned around to see her. It’s just a simple matter of fact: Nerdy guys who wear glasses do not approach or look at amazing women. It’s really rule one of being a nerd. The primary rule.
So on this particular day I did a nice work out, nothing grand, nothing difficult. Just something to keep the insomnia away, make water taste better. I had a light shower, threw my overpriced workout garb into my locker and donned my swimsuit. I then trudged out into the wet area. Stiffness was already beginning to overtake my body. It always did until I loosened it up with heat.
I nodded to the few people who littered the pool, the benches, the Jacuzzi and slipped into the steam room. Two men, probably in their 50’s, were discussing the shortcomings of my generation. Something I still look forward to doing when I’m their age. I took off the glasses, folded them neatly, and got comfortable. One of the pair said the lack of morality was to blame. The other declared it was playground equipment that was too safe. They argued about why each other was right before asking me what I thought. “Lack of role models,” I said peeling my right eye open to look at them. Neither seem pleased and, with only minimal grunting, they left.
Then there was only the sound of the Jacuzzi running. A soft, rolling noise. White noise. Much like that of a fountain you can buy at any new age store. It caused my feet to sink into the heated tiles. My breath to become deep and slow and my body to become heavy with fatigue.
The temperature dropped from the two men leaving. It receded to the point where two giant jets started up suddenly, pouring superheated water vapor into the room. I was just across from them and so I felt the heat, the wetness, rise up my feet. Up my thighs to the crook of my knees. Then over them to my thighs, my stomach, my neck. Eventually I was enveloped in steam and loving it. I let out a slow sigh and then stretched as the tubes turned off.
I sat like that for…well, I don’t really know for how long. I may have even fallen asleep. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of the sealed down opening, someone stepping in and shutting it once more. I lazily turned my head to the door and smiled, not opening my eyes. I received a light and fluttery “hello” in return. Nice tenor tone. I smiled once more and said so in my tenor, wishing it were baritone, voice.
Then there were the wet, sticky sounds one makes, no matter how lithe or graceful, on a steam room floor. Magnified by echoes. She had the entire room to choose from, but seemed to pick a spot about a meter from me. Probably for the heat. As she lowered herself down to the second tier of seating she asked “you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Best seats in the house,” I replied blindly. She giggled in a not-so stupid way. I was determined not to make small talk and just let the heat come over me.
A few moments passed and the jets turned on from her entrance. A light blast, but hot and fresh none-the-less. I suppressed a moan. She didn’t. I could then hear her slouching against the back wall. She could be quiet, which was the most important thing in the steam room as far as I’m concerned. All was right with the world until I heard her slowly turn towards me and inquire “have I seen you somewhere before?”
I was about to put on my “too cool for school” act when I opened my balçova escort eyes and saw that Carrot was seated far too close for comport. Instead I hit my head against the wall as I tried to sit up straight. Wincing, sat up and offered her a huge, over the top smile, “oh, yes, we’ve been working out together for – and I don’t make working out together – I mean I was working out – not to say that you don’t work out – but that we’ve been working out – again, not together, just, we – as separate individuals – have both been working out here – this gym – for some time now.”
She just stared for awhile after that, nodded and smiled. “Hell of a monologue. Didn’t recognize you without your glasses.” She snickered a bit and offered her hand, “Rishma.”
“John.” I took it and shook it gingerly. She then squeezed my hand and leaned forward to look through the fog and into my eyes. My own pair widened and looked left to right, then into her eyes. My lord, they were lovely. Deep and brown and…deep. Very deep. Swallow you whole if you look too long. She squinted and then released my hand before giving me a slap on the thigh.
“You’re Bike Guy!” She said it a happy, jaunty tone.
“Am I?” I blinked in confusion.
“Yeah! Totally. Didn’t recognize you without your glasses. Oh, hope you don’t mind, I call you ‘Bike Guy’ because you’re always on the bike staring really, really hard at the news.” She shook her body at this to signify something. I do not know what.
“Sorry for hitting you by the way,” she said tilting her haid in a girlish way.
“Oh, it’s no problem, I’m used to it,” I said with only a mild stutter.
“What? Getting hit on the steam room?” She made a little “ooo” noise and then smiled brightly. “More to you than meets the eye. Speaking of which, you have really nice eyes.”
“Thanks,” I said breaking eye contact, “most people think I look better without the glasses.”
“Not I! You look nice with them on, John the Bike Guy.”
“Oh, thank you,” I muttered, unable to look her in the eyes still.
And that was that. I turned and looked to the wall unable to think of anything to say. I tried to. A thousand lines beginning with “so” or “are” or “I’m” but nothing came out. Couldn’t quite get the courage to say anything. I finally decided on the line of those devoid of skill and personality. “So what do you do?” And I was just about to say it, in fact I got so far as “So wha-” before the jets turned on again and the room was filled with hissing steam.
“What?” She asked as she inched closer.
“So what do you do!”
“Oh, I’m a student! I’m going to be a nurse! You?”
“Student. Going to teach English!”
“That’s,” she shouted just as the steam shut off “great!” She then giggled and gritted her teeth as the vapor settled. “Little loud there.”
“Just a bit,” I added.
“What’s your favorite play John the Bike Guy soon to be English Teacher?”
“Oh, err, well…you know, comedy wise, Henry IV Part One.”
“Which is so much better than part two.”
“Oh, it really is. Falstaff and Hotspur are both so richly comedic that…you have no idea what I’m talking about do you?” I felt suddenly very out of place. She just smiled warm and patted me on the thigh again.
“Yeah, not my thing. But I like to listen to you talk,” she said with a quick wink.
“Yes, well, people have come around for miles for the honor,” I stated sardonically.
“An orator, are we?”
“Yes. A feared orator who crushes his opponents with fierce logic and bores the rest with…fierce logic.” She giggled. I can’t tell you why.
“So,” she said after a moment of silence, “how many women have hit on you in here?”
“Let’s see…including you….one..ish.”
“You’re assuming I’m hitting on you!”
“We’ll you’ve hit me twice and you’re making idle conversation.”
“That is the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard! You’re completely unbalanced.”
“Completely. And it was worse than “Do you have a quarter? I want to call your mom and thank her.” “
“I’ve never heard that one,” she said slowly, “and I wish I never had.”
“It’s what I do. Present one with odd situations,” I said dryly as I realized her eyes were large and glowing and focused on mine, “and hope it causes enough confusion to escape. It is the way of my people.”
“Wise people.” Just…gorgeous eyes. Beautiful, full eyes.
“We are. Wise and meek.” This is when she slowly began to lean in towards me, eyes closing as she did. “More meek than wise, really. Wise enough to get meek. Still haven’t gotten the Earth, though, so we are thinking about meeking it up a notch.” Which is when her dark chocolate toned lips brushed the skin above and to the left of my mouth. She opened her eyes suddenly and laughed, sitting back.
“I was aiming for your mouth.”
“You missed.”
“Yes, well, you didn’t help much, now did you?”
“I didn’t know what I was supposed to-” which is when those chocolate toned lips I mentioned earlier pressed against mine. Suddenly the BPM ratings that I had on the bike were dwarfed. My knees raised and my thighs tensed up as I felt my body become lighter. Softly, I kissed back into it before leaning back and shaking my head in disbelief. I’m positive that despite my best efforts, I was still smiling.
She just smiled back and looked to the ceiling and kicked her feet in the air, swinging them girlishly. Little kicks at the height of the movement. She turned her eyes back to me and said in a non-chalant tone “just trying to make it a one.”
“Hmm?” I replied in a daze.
“You said oneish. I wanted to get rid of the ish. I’m anti-ish.” She declared with a nod of her head.
“So it would seem.”
“Plus you’re kind of cute. In a ‘I’m so unapproachable, look at me, I watch Jeopardy every night” kind of way.” She said with a wrinkled nose, still nodding.
“I don’t watch it every night!” I protested. She just stared me down. “I don’t watch Saturday’s. They’re repeats.” She cackled and kicked her legs up, holding them in mid air before placing her feet down on the floor and tilting her head as he looked me over.
“What’s your deal?” She asked in a serious moment with a furrowed brow.
“What?” I asked stupidly
“What’s wrong with you?” She repeated.
“That’s a…very, very long list.”
“Ha, ha, very funny.”
“I actually thing it would be quicker to say what’s right with me.” I said frankly, nodding a few times.
“And that is?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you self-deprecating or are you just happy to see me?” She said in a spritey tone before jumping off her seat and grabbing the hose mounted on the wall. Rishma aimed it at the tiles and turned on the hose, washing down a generous portion. She then cocked her head in an instruction. I didn’t seem to get it. “Move over, hot stuff.”
“It’s cold. I like it here.” To which she sprayed me with the hose and smiled sweetly, tilting her head once more.
“Not so cold anymore, is it?”
“But this is my spot,” I whined. She just aimed the hose at me in response. I was told that I’d never negotiate with terrorists, but, you know, it was cold.
So I galumphed on over the seat she sprayed off and she carefully did up the hose before sprinting over and settling down. A wet flop as she shook her hair like a starlet from the 30’s. Then a rather unexpected crook of her left leg over my right. I looked at the lengthy, muscular leg. My eyes ran up the purple toenail polish to the bend of her knee. Trailed up the jostling muscles in her inner thigh. Then up to the carefully tailor patch of dark green. Up that one piece suit to the cut at her neck where her beautiful cleavage popped out. Did I mention her eyes could swallow you whole? How about the fact that her raven-like hair looked better damp and spread out against the side of her face.
I kissed her. Kissed her like I needed nothing more in all my life. My left hand wrapped around the back of her neck, grasping it and pulling her in. My right arm wrapped around the low her back and pulled he tightly as I could against me. She reciprocated by pulling me with her thigh and moving both her hands to back of my head.
Our tongues danced like that for a good, long, slow minute. Her tongue would retreat, mine would massage the inside of her mouth. Then she would massage it with soft, gentle strokes, left, right, left, right. A little circle, then another, then another. I moaned without consideration. She moaned back, the echoes building inside my mouth. I felt my cock, inhibited, rouse up and push against the side of her leg, then press into it.
“I’ll go with happy to see me,” she said in a throat, low tone as she broke the kiss. Her eyes looked into mine once more. First the left, then the right, then the left again. “I’m not this kind of girl,” she said in a softer whisper before she kissed me again. It was a much more needy kiss. Much less about the hunger. I don’t know what it was really about. I just know that I kissed her back with the same tempo, no tongue. Just two lonely people.
Through the kiss I felt her hand slide down over my thigh, over my stomach and down my suit. I felt the water that had pooled at the ridge drip away. Her hand, that wonderful soft skin, moved against the base of my cock. I moaned into the kiss and felt exposed. I opened my eyes to find hers looking to me. She paused, for a second, and then grasped me at the base. “You shave” she muttered as I felt her hand carefully encompass me. Her fingers enclosed around my shaft and she moved her hands, without any tension, an inch forward, an inch back. She repeated this a few times before tightening, then closed her fist slightly each time. I broke the kiss to just look at her. I did my damnest not to look at her hand.
The hot water made excellent lubricant. Her hand began to slide all the way up to the tip before sliding back down to the base. She laughed, “foreskin and shaven. My aren’t we a contra-dick-sion?” Another little laugh while she continued to move up and down. A soft wanking motion. I leaned my head against the hot titles and closed my eyes. She laughed against and did a rapid fire little wank. “Hey! This isn’t for my benefit you know. The least you could do is pay attention.”
“Well I already know how to do that.” I said in a post canary cattish tone.
“Lift up your legs,” she demanded as she pulled her hand out of my swimsuit. I obliged and put my hands against the tier to push myself up. Between the deck press and the back wall, I could actually hold myself up with my arms. Slick surface included. I was all proud of myself and grinned like a little boy before I remembered the much more important matter of the hot woman who seemed to take interest in my saucy bits.
She just ripped them off me and tossed them aside. They made a wet thud at the hit the wall. I could swear I heard them slide down. Either way I wasn’t really paying attention. I was much more interested in Rishma looked up and down my body as I eased myself back to terra firma. She tilted her head and, in a faux little girl tone said, “Mister, can I suck your wollypop?” She laughed devilishly at this and pouted out her lower lip as though it were all a game. “Does have your dick sucked by a little girl disgust you?”
“Yes.” I said dryly.
“Does it turn you on?” She asked, tilting her head from left to right to left again.
“Yes. That’s actually what disgusts me.” She howled at this before kneeling on the lower tier and putting her hands on each of my thighs.
“My, my, Bike Guy. You’ve got some mighty meaty thighs,” she said in a sing song sort of way.
That’s when she gripped my thighs and began to massage them, inch by inch, moving up and down. She bowed her head down and rubbed her now soaking locks against my stomach, scrubbing me like a sponge. She then moved a lock of hair around the base of my shaft. She really seemed to like that area. She grabbed her hair and wrapped it around my cock and then began to wank me off once again. The sensation of the hot, wetness was incredible. She laughed as I moaned and tilted my head back. Then she released her hair and lowed her head.
Her mouth was cool compared the climate. Just as she sealed her lips around the crown the jets turned on again. She squealed at the heat that was now spraying her bottom. Then she moved her tongue around the tip of me. Made the french kiss massage seem like an amateurs. Her tongue stroked up and down my shaft as he head held the tip of me inside her. I moaned once again, just relishing it. I put my hands behind my head and leaned back even further.
She took me in deeper then. Her tongue stopped it’s massage as the jets ceased. She pushed down, down, down. Further than I have ever been taken in before. I felt her stop, her throat tightening around me. A light, guttural whimper as she backed up half an inch. Then she pushed down again. She stopped and made the noise once more as she slid up me. She tightened her lips, muttered something and pushed down until I felt her nose press into my stomach. Oh, it was the greatest sensation. Just the feeling of her mouth stuck around her, her throat wrapping against me, made my cock swell. She gurgled once more and slide off, hitting me in the knee. “It’s hard enough with this monster! Don’t go making it any larger.”
“It’s not that big,” I said in a dreamy tone.
“I know. I’m just trying to make you feel better about yourself. It’s actually quite small.” My eyes opened up instantly. She just winked at me as she moved her hands to my thighs once more.
She pushed my cock up with the back of her head and, without the aide of fingers, held my penis up while she licked my balls. Savage, hard licks before she swallowed one, sucked it and released. Then, for good measure, she did the other. I was moaning in a steady rhythm now.
Her tongue then slid in-between my balls and she shook her head from left to right. Her tongue played up and down, sloppily, all over my sac. I began to pump at midair, parts of me getting tangled up in her hair. I moaned again and said “I don’t think you should continue.”
“I think I should. I want it,” she said, all jokes, all entendre, all girlish cackles aside. Her eyes, locked on mine. Did I mention they could swallow you whole? Did I mention she could do the same with her mouth?
She pulled my foreskin down. I winced, as I was so aroused. So fully erect. She tucked the skin gingerly beneath the corona and then blew against the tip of my now hypersensitive tip. Then, a woman on a mission, she sucked it in harshly. I moaned loudly as she moved her hand around my base once more began to wank desperately. He mouth tightened around the tip as she bobbed her head, causing friction just from that little strip.
He raven locks danced, being slung to and for by the rapid movement of her neck. Her hand tightened, her lips tightened and her pace increased. I moaned, I thrust my hip. I curled my toes. I felt pressure building, my body tightening. Then I felt her other hand come up against my sac to rub, caress, pinch and even pull my balls. I began to snort rapidly, guttural, strange sounds coming out of my nose and mouth. I growled loudly. To which I felt her giggle, however slight.