When she was a teenager, she walked past an XXX movie theater going to school every day. She was naive about sex, so she stared at those glossy pornographic images with preternatural adolescent interest. Especially the one of the lady with the fruit salad between her legs, holding a fork above the fresh fruit.
But it was now, late at night with him in one of the passages that led from one forty-somethingeth street to another, that she felt the most salacious she ever had in Times Square. He kissed her neck, and slapped her thigh as he pulled it about him.
She did not know how to resist him. He made her feel like she would do anything with him, anywhere.
And she was.
His fingers moved in a tight maze over her thigh to her wet lips. She wanted him, he did not have to question it one bit. Her panties were soft and damp, and her hips undulated intuitively as he stroked just the very edge of her lips.
She pulled his hair, the long strands that fell about his shoulders. Her tongue reached out for the sweat on his skin, derived from the set that he had performed at a nearby bar. She was in the audience, she loved watching him. The him that bloomed onstage with the music that he loved. He played the drums like he was possessed, and the rhythm went though her body like a jungle melody. She knew he was going home with her, she knew she was going to be with him like this.
When she pulled his hair, his breath deepened and she knew that he was aroused. She did not care if anyone walked by and saw. They were shadowed, but she did not care. Times Square was cleansed for those who did not look deep enough, for the XXX exposed but hidden there.
He pulled her hair, and she moaned. His scent and his heat, seared her like a brand. She could not press her legs together, he held her open and she licked her lips.
Her lips pursed…
XXX
There! I have contributed my own XXX story for Friday Flash–won’t you join me???
photo by f dot leonora
