Seductive Erotica
"The Kiss-1988," a Vanilla sex story by Jennifer Aarons
“What the hell are we doing here?” he says, lighting his cigarette, and then mine. Again, I am at the café. It is a Saturday night, and some local band is playing covers. It’s humid. Beads of sweat trickle down the back of my neck, and in between my breasts. I feel randy, so I let my fingers rest lightly on Mark’s. He eyes me and reaches over and softly brushes the hair from my face. I want to kiss him right there. I want to lean in and just kiss him.
Beth is across the room chatting with some co-worker, her arms gesticulating as she talks.
“We are losers,” I say to him, “pathetic losers that can’t get into a real bar.” I move away from him, not trusting myself. I’m feeling a bit lightheaded.
“Yeah, but at least we can get a buzz going at this place.”
“That’s true, dulls the pain for me, anyway.”
“You got pain, Gwen?”
“Yup, a whole lot of it.” I smirk, trying to be funny, trying to regain some control.
“Me too.”
“What’s your pain, Mark?” I ask, flicking my cigarette ashes onto the floor and looking at him more closely to see if I recognize any of the turmoil I feel in his face. “What sort of pain you got going on?”
“In my loins,” Marks says in a fake British accent. “Me, got pain in my heart.”
“Oh, please, you got troubles.”
“In my head, my lady, in my head, for my lady,” again he says this with a fake British accent. His green eyes catch the light off the cheap scented candle that flickers between us; I move in to light my second cigarette from its wick, looking up at him as I do. I know he feels the tension again between us, I know he wants to kiss me as badly as I want to kiss him. He brushes at my arm; I feel my nipples grow hard. I want him to touch me. I lean in closer. He does too.
“So why’d you breakup with your girl friend?” I ask as I take a deep drag from my cig and watch him lean in and whisper.
“Hmm, my lady is interested.”
“Please stop with the accent,” I whisper back, blowing smoke in his face
“All right, I’ll tell you,” Mark says, coughing a bit dramatically. He speaks in his normal voice: “I just got bored.”
“You mean the sex?”
“Are you interested?”
“Maybe.”
“Well then,” he says quickly glancing over at Beth who is walking toward us. “Yes, it got to be so routine,” he whispers taking hold of my arm and pulling it toward him so he can light his cigarette off of mine.
I whisper, “I want to fucking kiss you.”
“I know.” he smiles, and drops my arm abruptly.
“Hey, what are you guys whispering about?” Beth asks as she takes a seat next to Mark, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. I look away, feeling as if I am going to be sick. My whole body is twitching.
Beth is like a humming bird, after a brief stop with us she gets up again and makes another round through the café, talking to all of her Green-Peace pals, flittering from one table to the next; taking a little from each before moving on, but always making her way back to our table.
Mark and I continue to shoot the shit about bands that we have both seen over at the Metro. He boasts that he saw Iggy Pop. I tell him he reminds me of Iggy Pop. He laughs, but wonders if I am making fun of him. “Of course,” I say, “but in a good way.” Neither one of us mention wanting to kiss each other again. Instead, I play with my drink, taking slow sips, and then quick drags from my cigarette. I eyeball Beth as she nears our table again. She suggests we go to a party over on Kenmore where some local reggae band is playing.
I hate parties and don’t feel comfortable with the idea of a bunch of stoned Rastas jammed in a small apartment swaying and bumming up against me. I much prefer getting stoned alone and listening to The Cure or something a little more subdued, so I say no. And then she turns to Mark, and he looks over at me, and giving Beth one of his best James Dean smiles says—“Beth, I’m tired. You go, I’m just going to have Gwen drive me home.”
“You are?” I ask.
“Please,” he begs, getting on one knee, taking my hand.
“Get-up, you idiot.”
Beth gives Mark a hurt look, which reminds me of a sad puppy just scolded. I hold my breath, hoping Mark is not going to fall for her pathetic show of rejection. I want to kick her and tell her to fuck off, but I have to keep my cool, I have to keep pretending that I am the good friend that cares about her feelings.
“Will you drive Mark home?” Beth finally asks, defeat in her voice
“So, I’m the baby sitter now,” I say, trying to fake disappointment, but I feel my face blush.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” Mark whispers.
I glanced over at Beth, wondering if she heard him.
“Well, the night is still young,” I say. I take a sip of my Long Island Ice tea. “He will have to wait until I sober up.”
“Mark, are you sure?” Beth whines, giving him a quick smile.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says, looking away from her.
I watch as she walks off with her new friends, her prairie skirt brushing the sides of her bare legs, her ponytail flopping on her back. Last summer, I would have followed her out. Last summer, I would have never thought of staying behind with her boyfriend… even her ex.
“I like you my fair Gwen,” Marks says again with the fake British accent, all coy as soon as Beth is out of sight.
I glare at him.
“Sorry, I’ll stop with the accent thing. But, I do, I really dig you.”
“Really, I hadn’t noticed.”
“Yes, you have.”
I don’t respond. I take another drag from my cigarette and let him keep on talking. There is no doubt that I find him attractive, with his long blonde hair and outlaw attitude. He slips his hand under the table and strokes my thigh, resting his hand ever so softly between my legs. I move closer into his hand, taking a sip from my drink, holding on to an ice cube between my teeth, rolling it to the side of my mouth.
“What do you want to do about it?” I finally ask.
He leans in to kiss me. We are in a corner at the back of the Café. It is dark, so no one can really see us, especially any of Beth’s hippie’s friends. It’s a soft kiss, just like his touch. He flicks his tongue inside my mouth and I know that I am in trouble when he sucks the ice cube out from my tongue and a surge of energy runs up my thigh.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the day I first saw you at the café,” he says as he leans back and chews on the ice cube.
“What, suck an ice cube out of my mouth?”
He grins and says, “Yeah, something like that.”
“I know,” I say, getting up from the table, a bit dizzy. I walk through the restaurant and heads turn, but not in a good way, as I make my way out to my car.
He follows.
I reach over and unlock the passenger’s door. He slides in. I let him kiss me. I let him slip his fingers inside my shirt. I take a hard pull at his lips, sucking at his lower lip, flicking my tongue inside of his mouth. I feel him begin to unbutton the top button of my jeans. My head is buzzing. My whole body is twitching. I know I am already wet from his touch.
“Man, Gwen, I could fuck you right here,” he says, pulling away and leaning his head against the back of the passenger’s seat. I roll down my window, letting in the humid night air. I feel it, too. The tension between us is like an itch I can’t really get to. I slide over to him. He grabs at me, pulling at my hair as I ease myself onto his lap. I feel his hands at the front of my jeans and then the pull of the zipper. In quick movements he slides his left hand down my pants, resting his middle finger at my opening. He breathes in my ear leaning into me, biting at my neck, “You are so wet,” he says, as he moves to kiss me again, harder this time as if he is fucking my mouth with his tongue. He slides his finger roughly inside me. I clap down on his mouth and he slides another finger in me.
He breathes against my lips, softly moaning. “I need to fuck you, Gwen, let me fuck you.”
I rock closer to him. I could do it right here in my car. I could fuck him, I think, feeling his hands slide up my shirt. He takes both my nipples between his fingertips. He smiles before he squeezes them, softly at first, and then harder. “You like that,” he moans. I move closer to his touch. “Harder,” I say, moving my pelvis closer to his erect cock.
“Not here.” He says pushing away from me.
Shocked by his sudden sobering, I quickly zip up my pants and pull down my shirt. He senses my feeling rejected. He moves toward me, kissing my neck and licking at the back of my ear. I turn and kiss him forcefully on the mouth, parting his lips with my tongue. He groans against me—“You are going to make me come in my pants if you don’t take me home.”
I suck harder at his mouth, cupping the front of his pants with my hand. I rub gently, feeling his hard-on.
“No, Gwen,” he says grabbing at my hands.
I smirk at him.
“It’s not funny. Don’t fucking tease me,” he says. He takes out a cigarette and places it in his mouth. His hands shakes a bit as he lights it. He offers it to me. I take a long drag.
“Oh, like you haven’t been teasing me for the past three weeks,” I say, slowly letting out the cigarette smoke through my pursued lips. I start up the car and we’re moving.
“That’s different,” he says, nipping at my neck and giving it a suck. “I was courting you.” He takes the cigarette from me.
“Is that what you call it,” I sarcastically say, pulling onto Sheridan Ave.
Mark informs me as he is unlocking his front door that his parents are holidaying in Europe for the summer, and his brother is out of town. “So,” he says with a wicked smirk, “we have the whole house to ourselves.” Mark lives on the North-Shore, a posh suburb of Chicago. He appears out of place, like a bum, who has stumbled into a fine-dinning restaurant in his torn up jeans and loose fitting shirt.
He leads me though his house, switching on lights. The place is lined with oriental rugs and antique furniture. I begin to feel a little out of place. I am a north-side girl, whose only reason, up until now, to venture this way has been to pick up Beth. She’s the poor girl living among the rich in Wilmette.
I feel as if I am in John Huge movie. Mark hands me a glass of whisky and kisses me on the neck.
“Come on, let’s go down to my bedroom.” He takes my hand.
I don’t move.
“Come on,” he whispers, “I don’t bite.” He tugs at my arm.
“Yeah, you do,” I say, fingering my already bruised lips.
We walk down the carpeted basement stairs, Mark still holding my hand.
A king sized bed sits in the middle of his bedroom. Mark sees my surprised expression. “Hand-me-down from the parents,” he remarks, flipping off his Keds and climbing over his bed. He grabs a box from under it and brings out the fixings to roll a joint. I take a huge swig from my drink, nearly choking on it. The liquid burns the back of my throat. “Sip it slow, Gwen,” he says. He lights the joint and takes a long pull.
I lean against a red velvet chair and take in his room. There’s a stereo next to his bed and albums line the walls. In the far corner, there’s a walk-in bathroom. Clothes litter the floor. The walls are covered in posters of punk bands and, of course, there is one of Iggy Pop right over his bed. His bedroom is like a cave with its dark walls and small, high windows.
I feel him looking at me. He is sizing me up. I turn to face him. I settle myself in the velvet chair and cross my legs, letting the whiskey glass dangle in front of me.
“You’re so far away, Gwen,” Marks says, hitting on his joint again.
I say nothing. I take another sip of my whiskey. It grabs at the back of my throat, but I don’t choke this time.
“Come sit by me,” Mark suggests, moving across the bed.
I can feel my arousal. My panties are wet. I want to go to him, but I stop myself. Guilt clicks on in my head, and yet what I really want is to feel his body on mine. Mark starts to take his cloths off. I watch from the chair, admiring his lean body.
“Gwen,” he says. He stands and walks over to me. His cock is inches from my lips.
Torsion, I by Martin Toye (prints available at ObsessionArt.com)
I touch it with my fingertips. Then I rub it. He leans into my hand. I play with it, taking another swig of my whiskey, placing it on the floor. I bring his cock to my lips, sucking him in as I swallow the whiskey. He moans as I lick him up and down, sucking on his head and then letting go. He pulls at my hair, lifting me off the chair and bringing me over to his bed.
He kisses me hard. I taste him and the whiskey. His long, blond hair falls on my face and it smells of his musky scent and a hint of pot. I grab at his back, pulling him more directly on top of me. I feel his cock pressed on my belly. He pulls off my tee shirt and bra all at the same time. He licks and sucks at my nipples and I close my eyes tight as I feel him move down my body with his tongue, drawing circles on my stomach. I grab at his hair. I come suddenly as he unzips my pants and roughly pulls them down to my ankles. He stops his exploration when he feels me shudder against him. He smiles. “I am going to suck you dry, Gwen.”
I move my naked body against him. He parts my legs and I feel his tongue lapping up my wetness. He runs it up and down my core. I can’t help myself but to move my hips closer to his face. I grind against him. Never have I felt so exposed before, and I come for him again as he finger fucks me. I muffle a scream as he begins his assault on me once more. His flicks at me with his tongue, sucking at me, and I feel yet another explosion of pleasure intermixed with a tinge of guilt as I come over and over on the tip of Mark’s tongue. I reassure myself that I have not betrayed Beth with this simple act; it is only a kiss, only a kiss, only a kiss.
Originally published August 2010