Coffee and Giggles

There were times when she knew a dirty fuck was in order. the dirty talk, dirtier whispers, fantasy fun time, fantasy fuck time...toys, lube, mirrors and hardness.
There were times when she knew a lingering, sexy...almost romantic and slow and intimate and tactile fuck was needed...almost too premeditated to be a fuck; deep intimacy and complete trust with shared capitulation and shared desire for something tangible.

Brigitte looked at Martin. What did he expect? What did he want? Inwardly, she sighed...she yearned too, but her desires and forwardness had been catalystic for many wrong moments. She knew men found her exciting and sexy...but also they ran a mile with her relaxed openess and directness.

If they demanded, she may not give.
If they were silent, she would not give.
She never found affluence or materialism a turn on.
She desired an intelligent sexual fulfillment.
She desired intelligent sex.
Eloquent and strong.
Imaginative and robust.
Reflective and sensual.
Foward and shared.

She knew she demanded so much.
She glanced up at him again as he swiped the door key.
catching her eye, he smiled, his arm around her without pretence...

He absorbed the look, the thoughts and the possibilities of many outcomes...yet he remained so focused on her. So calm. So intelligent.

She knew...as soon as the door opened, she knew she was safe and with someone she had a connection with. A sincere and human connection.

'You okay Brigitte,' he said...

'Mmmm yes. I am. Completely,' she answered. 'But...I may give a bad impression...it's just that...' she stopped again...finding it hard to believe what she was about to say.
'I just thought you should know...I've no knickers on! I had to take them off earlier today as the elastic pinged when I went to the loo.....'
She collapsed against the wall as he opened the door...she collapsed in waves of giggles and blushed and laughed more..
'I mean, I don't normally make a habit of it...' shrugging helplessly...knowing how aware Martin was of the double entendre...knowing that the man infront of her would enjoy the dirty fuck with as much passion as the lingering slow lovemaking when they would wake hours later.
She stepped inside.
Martin followed and the door shut slowly with a quiet click...

Falling silent, they both looked at the beautiful bed and Brigitte knew this was going to be a very sexy and dirty and exciting and passionate and sensitive time...for both of them...

She was missing her lovely lingerie..the warmth of a long slow wetness seeped to the top of her thighs...

She raised her head and they kissed...but a smiling kiss when you have to keep stopping and then smiling and then stopping...
She was out of breath...just from laughing and kissing...
Smiling more she stepped back and looked at him...his arms still around her.
Momentarily, she was serious. 'Martin, you okay with this? I mean really okay?'
No more playing. She needed his answer and she was not playing games with this. She needed trust and she needed reassurance.
Stilled by her tone, his eyes were steady and held her gaze. Quietly, 'Yes, I hope you don't mind, but yes I am. I feel I know you but I want to know you more and I want you to want this as much as I do. I cannot do this otherwise...it would hurt too much and--'

Brigitte still looked at him; still seriously;lift still gliding. 'I know,' she murmured.'I know.'

Nothing more was needed. Words superfluous. Silence comforting.

'Come here you,' he whispered...those words again...doors opening. The sixth floor beckoned...

Stepping out, he held her hand...warmly, tightly.

Leaning closely, almost touching her neck, smelling her parfum...'It's the last on the left...' he said so quietly...silent footsteps and warmth melting into the carpet.

For a moment, silence. Then, smiles. Then, laughter.

"Come here you...."

He stood up, took her hand and she followed suit.  Putting his coat on to ward off the cold outside, as she gathered her coat and bag, he led her to the door and then, gentleman that he was, held it open and beckoned her ahead of him.

"We're here", he gestured towards the street.
"Oh. Okay."
But as he turned to climb the steps, she tugged on his hand and pulled him back toward her.  A pause. A squeeze of the hand. An almost imperceptible lift off the head. Two bodies in subtle symmetry, closing the space between them.  A lifetime apart, hundreds of separate miles, millions of tiny decisions and now it all evaporated. Their lips met, brushed, parted.  They smiled. And kissed again.  

His boldness had met the challenge.
She'd only used his name...but it had worked...she noted that.
Comfortable with the thought and knowledge of his eloquent intelligence, she knew that he was someone she would savour...and there was absolutely no way she would rush now.
She wanted him.
He knew .
But she would make him wait...
She would make her own body wait.
His mind however, well, she wanted that now!
'Off the radar Martin?' she mused, smiling with her words, 'whatever could you mean?'
He looked, enquiringly and tentatively. His eyes slightly flickered as she perceived the sharp jab of disappointment; perhaps the anticipation of disdain...he really did not know her. She was a rather sensitive soul.
She could not bear any ill feeling and settled back, relaxed and waiting for more of him.
'It's just that I rather would like to listen to you more...and talk more...and then listen again. I feel very comfortable with you. No rush...really.' Hoping he would understand, she fell silent...a sinking feeling that perhaps she had been too forward, too confident; so many just never managed her and she anticipated the feeling of disappointment.
Surprisingly, he leaned forward...taking her hand, 'Sorry, I do not want to offend...but you are, we have,...' he smiled sheepishly then, looked at the floor.
'Martin,' she said. He just looked; waited...'I believe you need to eat before you return?'
Still, he waited.
'So, let's have dinner, now! Take me to dinner! I am absolutely starving! It's along way back to the sea...'

He suddenly realised he'd been droning on. Well, to be precise, he suddenly felt the shudder that comes with hearing your own voice and felt the flush of self-consciousness that follows. He wondered whether Alan Rickman with his rich baritone ever got that, or James Mason. Every so often he wondered what it would be like to have a "come to bed" voice. But voice or no, he could, when the moment was right, and the woman was right, make them come to bed. It was his eyes he thought, not his voice. His eyes, hazel, showed his gentleness, his meandering mind, his playful passions. His eyes that took in so much and gave out so much more.

She was right. He knew she was right. His reverie only minutes earlier confirmed that. And she hadn't backed away when she caught his darting eyes. Quite the opposite in fact. She was now returning his glances, investigating, prying, imagining what lay beneath.

She sensed his discomfiture and moved the conversation to less distant topics, to areas closer to the here and now.

"You meeting someone here?"
"No, just taking some time to myself before heading back home"
"Where's that? Home I mean"
"Leeds. What about you?"
"Meeting or home?"
"Both. Either."
"No and by the sea. I mean I was intending to meet someone, but he cancelled, no I mean I cancelled him, oh whatever, you know what I mean." She laughed the rambling sentence off.
"So, footloose and fancy free for the rest of the day." It came out as a statement, but she instictively recognised it as an enquiry.
"Yes, we are."
That was assertive he thought. The use of "we". He leant towards her and in a lower voice said, "Well, we should make the most of our freedom. Our hours off the radar, so to speak."

Was there anything in life more affirming, more exciting, more energising than the flirt? Well, yes, maybe, but right now, no.

"Do you have a suggestion, Martin?" She'd used his name. It doesn't get more overt than that.

There are some things about getting older that are not to be recommended; aching limbs, falling asleep in the afternoon, forgetting what you entered a room for, but there are some things that are worth every ache, snore or absent mind. The insight, the understanding, the wisdom of all those accumulated years. As a teenager, he needed a girl to have her tongue in his mouth to be completely sure she fancied him (and even then he might tell himself she was just being friendly), but as a man past the Big Four O, he recognised the look or the subtle emphasis of a word. But use of your name, that was way past subtle these days.

"Erm, well, what about..." he paused, took a breath, his heart was racing...

She noticed he watched as she sipped.
She noticed he watched her face, her hands.
She noticed the gentle lingering looks along her legs and skirt and the slight hovering across her breasts, where she knew her her lacy bra just may peep, just a little.
Again, that dip, that slight lurch deep within her tummy , then deeper into the very essence of her womanliness and radiating downwards, quite literally, making her weak at the knees.
Still now, she looked back.
Noticing the gentle curve of his mouth,
Noticing the way he held his cup.
Noticing his tallness.
Noticing his confidence yet vulnerability; his silent permission for her just to look.
She noticed it all.

It took a forceful strength to not gaze too long at the place most hidden; the place she was already imagining, almost shamefully, guiltily.
How would he be?
How would he feel?
How much passion would he dare show?
How on earth could he ever know how much she had to give?

'You okay?' he asked, disturbing her reverie, making her stop and listen and focus...just on him...

'Look, you don't even know my name, I've been so rude,' he continued.
'It doesn't matter...really,' she replied, wondering in that fertile imagination of hers what his name would be...

'Martin,' he smiled. 'And you...you don't mind me asking?'
'No, oh no of course not...' she answered...happy and preparing for the usual scenario.
'Brigitte...French pronunciation...as in Bardot...'
'Oh'

She knew he'd actually got it...and that rather impressed her...her pretentious mother had so much to answer for!

He talked then.
He talked about the meeting that morning.
He talked about the dreaded journey home.
He talked about his daughter and smiled.
He talked about his love of Floyd and Dylan...
He stopped, just realising...she may not want to listen...

She still looked, watched every movement, listened to every word, every emotion. She not only listened. She absorbed him. Everything from him she absorbed.
She waited.
She waited for more.

His laughter was wonderful....so special and we slowly stopped as he looked at me so carefully and delicately...but missing nothing. His warmness and kindness travelled around my face and then lower, I knew where the gaze was headed...and I didn't mind...not at all.
I knew my cleavage was there but subtle, the lace from the Elle set so comfortable against my skin...
the gaze went beyond my boots...to my legs, thighs my curves..

Lurching deep and silently I experienced the sudden plunge of desire and want...

As she smiled, as he smiled, as the giggles tumbled out, the waves of laughter washed away the nervousness he had felt and he forgot himself. And he became himself a little more. The person he liked. The self consciousness dissipated. He'd felt so masterful (quite unlike him) when he'd walked off taking the coffee order for granted. And he felt so right when she accepted the latte with more, so much more, than good grace.

He composed himself, leant back in the chair and studied her with a slower, but less intrusive gaze. She had a strong air about her. A woman who knew what she wanted and what she liked. But she also had gentle eyes which betrayed a more mischievous energy. She carried herself with confidence, but in such a way that there was a hint of vulnerability. She looked like a woman who loved passionately and could be loved, passionately. His mind wandered further. He could not help but notice the lace of her bra and the hint of cleavage beneath her blouse. He took in the shape of her breasts. He scanned the curve of her hips and in a split second in his mind's eye she was bent over the table before them, skirt around her waist and he was holding her hips as he drove his cock into her. She caught his eye and he returned to reality with a jolt. Had he reddened? Had his pupils dilated? Had he given his thoughts away? From a latte to penetration in less than three seconds. A record perhaps? Was he capable of looking at any attractive woman and not mentally bedding her in moments? Probably not. Did it matter? Only when they didn't feel the same thing. And mostly they didn't

Absolutely, utterly, completely embarrassed...
Oh God Oh God...don't stop talking, please don't....He's smiling, and he's looking...hope to goodness I have no lipstick on my teeth...and my mascara, oh I rushed this morning...

She shifted slightly, restlessly...but a tiny movement under his gaze and still looked at him steadily, wishing he would say more, watching the smile which had now broadened and yet was so gentle, almost afraid.

'I'm so sorry, please I am. I did not mean to disturb you. I was ...erm, well I was just waiting for someone. A friend, a girlfriend...I mean.. and..'
Those last words, just a tad too quick perhaps. Oh this was such a lovely moment, such a lovely set of eyes and a beautiful mouth, just waiting for me to continue and I was going to ruin it...

He smiled again, sensing my discomfort, 'Really, really, it's no bother to me at all. You can wait here and you really look like you could do with a coffee...I'm getting another anyway, so please...I'll bring one over for you.'
Knowing my objection was imminent...and particularly strong , he stood immediately and walked without a backwards glance to the counter, leaving me mid 'No thankyou .'
He had just completely taken my words and thrown them away. A man had actually done that to me and...and not even waited for a look, not even made a glance...
Part of me began to simmer with his assumption and control, yet there was more to this than an act of masculine forthrightness...as I remembered his eyes and the way he was looking and the shielded timidity of his expression.
Flipping open my hand mirror, I did a quick check...just in case...would have to do, was not expecting this meeting with such an intriguing man and I realised my heart was pounding so hard...it was inconceivable people could not see it through my top; it felt like it was bursting out of my bra! This was ridiculous.
Stop being such a fool you stupid girl ...’ realising I had muttered aloud I attempted a sophisticated and dignified poise before his return. Lowering the mirror, how wrong could I be.
'Hope you don't mind latte,' he said, politely, leaning over as he placed it on the table; his jacket just brushing delicately along the hem of my skirt; that smile dancing lightly once again at the corners of his mouth.
'I love latte, thank you. It's my favourite coffee.' I knew I was smiling and the warmth of my blushes began to recede, yet the crazy heart action hammering my ribcage was really beginning to alarm me. I could not reach for the coffee...I could not trust myself to pick it up without revealing my lack of composure; without falling into a giggling outburst.
He knew. He was waiting. I still held the gaze until finally I could bear it no longer and my smiles began to move as the giggles tumbled out, realising for one of the first times in my life I felt ridiculously happy, yet was unable to say why. Sitting infront of this man, this stranger who still watched attentively, feeling so certain of his understanding as his smiles began to mirror mine and the pair of us, causing several looks of disapproval, gently giggled our way through our latte, settling comfortably ...