Before we boarded the airport bus, when our acquaintance was still unspoken, a wink, an open smile, a slight shrug — a shared complicity, already separating us from the older British tourists, I had a fantasy which I want to tell you…
We board the bus (as we did) and you ask if you can sit next to me (as you did). Your smile is sunny and beautiful. Our thighs brush against each other and neither of us moves away. This physical intimacy ignites an outrageous lust in me, daring me to invite you to play.
I ask you a question, “If I asked you to touch me, would you want to?”
Surprised and excited, your eyes sparkle as you comprehend the adventure you have unwittingly stumbled into. You answer simply, “Yes.”
We travel in silence for some minutes, while I experience acute waves of pleasure coursing through my body.
“If I asked you to touch me, where would you want to touch me?”
You take time to answer, looking at me while you do so. Your eyes leisurely roam my body in consideration. I sit and watch you explore. Our thighs still touch, but with awareness now. An electric current skips from your leg to mine, as the motion of the bus sways us apart and together.
Your gaze is warm, lingering, and so slow, compared to the racing of my blood and heightened breathing, that I look to see if you have lost interest or perhaps become scared. A quick glance assures me you are still playing. You understand the power of anticipation and the need to hold on to and give up control — a tentative trust.
As I wait in suspense, I’m overwhelmed with desire and turn to look outside as a distraction. Through my haze, I am vaguely aware of the sea shimmering down below, under the bright mid-morning sun. Occasionally, we pass palm trees at the side of the road, whose shadows break the steady stream of sunlight pouring through the window. As each shadow passes over my knees, up my thighs, over my belly and across my rising breasts, I imagine it as a caress, as the light sweep of your hand, barely touching, but enough to sense the cool darkness of its shadow and the reciprocating heat below the surface.
My desire is flying when you finally respond, in a low voice, which gives away your own excitement. “I want to touch you just there, under your arm, to feel the strength of your back, the solidity of your ribs, the sweaty heat of your underarm and the soft roundness of the side of your breast.”
Now I am lost in your voice, the image and sensation of your hand touching my side. When our eyes meet, I could drown in the shallow sea of your blue-green eyes, half-closed with drunken desire. And still the endless stream of sunlight bathes us in our own private pool of fantasy.
Your light chuckle brings me back to your very real presence at my side. The realisation of you here provokes a sharp flash of liquid gold through my intoxicated body. You lean close, too close, to my ear, so near I feel the warmth of your breath and your lips brush past my hair. Into my ear, you hoarsely whisper, “And where would you want to touch me?”
Time has lost all meaning, but in the time you took to consider where to touch me, my thoughts were permeated with the sensations passing through me, and your eyes roaming over me, imagining your large muscular hands in their place. I am suddenly shaken out of my molten haze, to realise that the game has switched and now it is my turn in control.
Feeling weak, I cannot meet your eyes, but I feel them searing me with the heat of your wanting. I look first at your feet, booted heavily on the rocking floor of the bus. Naked, I imagine them long, broad and solid, with fine sun-bleached hairs.
My eyes crawl slowly up your muscled calves, your large square knees and long expansive thighs. They hold my gaze, as my hands in fantasy wrap around them, wanting to envelop and squeeze the soft flesh and resistant muscle.
But, not so fast, I remind myself. This hunger and anticipation is too much pleasure to give away so soon. I let my eyes linger, burning holes in your faded jeans. In controlled slow motion, I raise my eyes to glance again at your face. Your head rests against the seat back, relinquished of all power. Your face and neck glow, as I watch a small bead of perspiration slowly descend past the collar of your open-necked shirt. It reminds me of my own sweaty stickiness.
I want to dive in to this hot, breathless oblivion. But seeing the clear pleasure of being explored that shows in your lazy smile, I cannot deny you the slow build-up of anticipation which you deserve. The sense of power I experience in being in control, knowing I can keep you waiting, keep you wanting, is like a drug, adding to the thrill of this journey.
My eyes return to your thighs, and roll leisurely up to your waist, where a soft brown leather belt begs me to unbuckle it and reach down inside to the dark curly hair and soft moist flesh that beckons.
Instead, I continue my visual adventure up your body. Your insistent chest rises and falls in time with my own. Complementing your stomach and chest, I imagine your deep honeyed back, tangible ribs and strong spine, contrasting with sun-glazed skin. I ache to lick, kiss, bite, that wide expanse.
Now my breath is coming shorter, sharper, and my hand urgently moves towards my own liquid inferno. You notice and murmur imperatively, “No!”
You’re right, of course. It’s not fair. And I restrain myself. The bus makes a sudden sharp turn, which pushes me hard towards you. Our thighs and upper arms meet again, with a near-audible sizzle of heat.
I draw away, intent on my role as explorer. The golden skin glimpsed at the top of your blue denim shirt, not quite enough for my hungry eyes, is all the encouragement I need to move on to your strikingly ample shoulders and down your arms, to coarse, weathered hands, with long reverent fingers.
I can imagine them passionately playing a piano. Then, I imagine them playing inside me. I can barely resist grabbing hold of you. Can I really continue this game? Yes, I know it was me who started it.
As if of one mind, one body, both of us are now panting audibly, and still the sun streams through the window and the bus rumbles its way onwards, past the coves, beaches and ever-present palm trees.
I look up again at your face. You’re watching me closely, through near-closed eyes. Your full lips are dry and slightly parted. Your smile, with your whole face, begging me silently to take this game to its climactic conclusion, and yet, at the same time, never to stop. I know that look is mirrored in my own face.
As my gaze draws away, I notice your jaw and neck, and I know that this is it! This is the place I most want to touch. To feel the hard bone of that full, serene jaw, the sinewy muscles of your rich brown neck, the smooth hardness of your shoulder blade and the sun-kissed softness of the skin in the hollow of that bone.
I can no longer speak, but instinctively reach up and simply touch, hold, feel. My fingers are consumed with the legend of your flesh and bones. You sigh in response and your hand reaches for me.
We can no longer keep ourselves apart. Fire is building beneath your large palm, and I feel the quick pulse beating in your neck. Our faces close together, we look into each other’s eyes, with a heady mixture of delight, fevered release and timeless gratitude. Our lips find each other and we dive wholeheartedly into a ravenous, all-consuming kiss.
The bus slows to a gentle stop. We have arrived. We separate, and out of my daze, I take in the reality of my surroundings. I become aware of passengers starting to mill around and move bags. We both descend, along with the other tourists. On solid ground, I turn and look at you once more. I can still see that captivating, sunshine smile, which first drew me to you. Before walking towards the airport terminal, I turn again and ask, “By the way, what’s your name?”
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Hot stuff! 🔥