A Good Parking Job

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I take the same route to and from work everyday. Pretty much like everyone else. My condo has a back gate that leads through the open air carpark of some office building, and right to my bus stop. By nine, the carpark is usually mostly empty apart from several thick-leaved trees planted throughout the space.

The street lights are usually on, casting spots of dim deep yellow on my path. I’m never afraid walking through it alone. In fact I quite enjoy it.

I’m happy to come home late most nights because that means my boyfriend will already be there. His face lights up when he sees me even though it’s only been a day. Almost like a puppy. People say it’s because he thinks me an enigma. I say I’d rather not find out.

He’s almost relieved when I walk through the door because he believes one day I just might not. I might not answer my phone for a while and end up leaving a message on his machine a week later saying I just needed to get away, or that I’ve met someone else. These are real possibilities.

He says, “hi, honey” and walks toward me with affection. I don’t like coming home to an empty apartment because I too am afraid of what I might do. Left alone to my own perversion. Some days I get turned on just kissing him. But I realise that’s mostly when we’re in public: in front of our doorman, at a bar, in line at the pharmacy. Usually we’re not too far from home and can make a bee line to the bedroom. The last time I asked him to meet me in the bathroom of our neighbourhood bar I ended up waiting there for ten minutes. It may not sound long but standing there with your proverbial dick in your hands for ten minutes in a foul, graffiti-stained toilet can taste like rejection. And unfortunately in a woman’s case, desperation. When I came out he was talking to our friends. “I just don’t feel comfortable doing that” he said, “people will ask where we were and that’s so embarrassing.” I had half the mind to go back in and finish myself off, but I figured women don’t do that, do they?

I have an above average sexual appetite. I also find myself fantasising about strangers all the time. A brief conversation with a delivery man can turn into a frivolous, illicit quickie in the office pantry —in my mind. In my mind I’ve undressed many women, always starting from the slow fall of a strap from a shoulder, and ending with tangled bare legs in some dark corner of a club. Sometimes I get so lost in these fantasy scenarios I forget where I am. I’ve had dreams of these —woken up to the nocturnal remnants of a dirty tryst, still overwhelmed with lust. I’m afraid my boyfriend hears me when I dream, and sits there chewing his fingernails, unsure how to respond.

Tonight I come home and his kiss lingers. Safe and secluded in the comfort of our own privacy I turn him on. Everywhere else I am a deviant. He leads me to üçyol escort the shower to wash off my last yoga class, and takes me to bed. Our sex is good. We know each others’ bodies, our sensitivities and strengths. He always makes sure I am satisfied —or at least to the extent of his knowledge.

After he takes a second shower I pour myself a glass of wine and we finish making arrabbiata in the kitchen.

My life is charmed for the most part. On paper I shouldn’t ask for more. But my body puts me in a position where I am tempted to. These are the thoughts I have on my bus ride home at night. Where for thirty minutes of my day, I don’t need to speak to anyone, and can fantasise all I want.

Tonight, the dull commute takes a turn for the better when I see a tall man heading for the front entrance. He has dark hair and a dark trimmed beard. A plain white t-shirt falls loosely on broad shoulders and when he tucks his wallet into his back pocket I see the defined ridges in his arms and chest. When I look up at him he is staring at me. His look is so intense I try to pull away but I am drawn into him. He has noticed me notice him. He doesn’t smile or look elsewhere as he walks past me toward the back of the bus into the seated area. When our gaze finally breaks I feel him settle into the seat behind me, and a soft gust of air hits the back of my neck. My heart is racing. I do not know the man but I feel he knows me. I do not know him but I can feel his eyes on me.

I have only four, maybe five stops to go. At this point I am torn between confronting him and getting off the bus. I glance at the window next to me, its darkness allowing me to see his reflection, and gauge whether or not he’s still watching. And he is. His head tilts in my direction. Can he see me lurk? I feel the urge to respond, to tell him without using words that I know he’s there and that I want whatever he wants to give me.

Slowly I turn to face left so he sees my profile. I look down, then back up and sideways again. Am I imagining this? Is this tacit sexual interaction only in my head? I lift my hand to the back of my neck and start to smooth the bare skin along my nape. Then I slide my fingers under my sports bra, rubbing, pressing on my shoulders. I want him to notice this.

I hear him clear his throat and his voice sounds deep. I am hoping this is a signal of some kind, but what of? My stop is next and my heart is about to explode. I try to convince myself that this will end here. That this was, once again, nothing but a play on my own imagination, and that I should just let it go. But I don’t want to.

The bus slows down and I get up and step toward the exit making sure to accentuate the curves of my body along the way. But he sits still at his seat, and a wave of disappointment bowls me over. This üçyol escort bayan is where it ends. I comfort myself with the fact that I have an overactive imagination, which is a dangerous trait. Maybe he doesn’t know what to do. Maybe he’s scared. Maybe he’s gay. Maybe this is all in my head. And as a last resort I turn back to look at him as the doors open, and see that he’s looking right back. Again, I go into shock.

Despite the wobbly state of my body, I push myself to step off. But when I do I see in my peripherals a body get up. Was it his? I keep walking. Hearing the bus leave the station I look back subtly and see that familiar white t-shirt pacing not far behind me. Every bit of my body is screaming now. I am scared and voracious, thrilled and incredibly aroused all at once. But I stop myself again, thinking maybe this is just his stop. Maybe he too is walking home.

As we near the open air car park I notice only one car left, and it’s parked in front of my building’s back entrance. It almost seems darker tonight, as if some lamps are off. He continues to walk behind me and I don’t know where this is going, or how this will end. To save myself from any potential discouragement I tell myself he’s just going home too. That he probably lives not too far or is visiting. My pace slows down as I near the gate but I can’t hear his footsteps. And then, without thinking, I slow down to a full stop beside the parked car and I stand there. Little by little, I feel his presence draw a little closer behind me. I’m facing the gate, waiting, still. Then suddenly, I feel a warmth invade my back and I know it’s his.

For a minute we just stand there, only inches separating us. I think he’s asking me what I want from him. My heart is pounding so hard I think my whole body is beating. Our bodies aren’t touching but I want them to. I take a small step back and there, his chest hits my upper back. His breathing gets harder so I know he wants this too. And then, as our breath start to sync he takes his hand and traces it along the back lines of my tank top. I feel the touch of his fingers on my skin. I am so wet. I’m aching to be taken by him. I feel the heat from his mouth as he lowers his head to my shoulder kissing it, ending with the sensation of his tongue on my bare skin. His hand reaches for the nape of neck and guides my body sideways so my front is pressed up against the car. This whole time, his chest still leans on my back. I’m thinking of nothing else but letting him have me. His face lowers, lining his cheek up to mine. Then his hand glides between me and the car, reaches up and rubs my breasts. A drop of sweat hits my lips and I don’t know if it’s his or mine. But the saltiness drives me crazy. He feels for my nipples, sensing the texture from under my shirt. I need him inside me.

Slowly, escort üçyol his moves his hand toward the top of my leggings. He does this at a pace that comforts me. Almost like he’s hesitating, teasing. It makes me realise that he also thinks this is nuts. But we can’t help ourselves. At this point I won’t exist without this.

Then his hand slides into the front of leggings and through my panties. His fingers feel rounded and thick. They circle my fold and I left out a heavy moan. With his other hand he clutches gently at my throat, pulling my head backwards. His fingers slide into me. Pulling, pushing. Shifting back to my play with my clit, alternating between circular and up-down motions. My body shudders and I can feel the climax rising. His hands leave me and he bends to pull the top part of my leggings down, revealing my uncovered flesh. His tongue skims the exposed cheek. I’ve grown frantic with the feel of his hands on me, around me. Now all I want is the rest of him. He stands back up and I sense him taking off his pants. At this point I realise we are in a public place. An open area even. If someone were to see us it would be humiliating. If the owner of this car were to decide to head home, we’d be shamed. But the danger of this ignites something in me I cannot explain.

I reach my hand behind me and feel for his shaft. To my surprise, he is thick and full. I can’t wait any longer. I lift my heels off the ground and pull him toward and under me. Then just as I feel the tip of him at my entrance, I lower myself, letting him slowly slide into me. Instantly I keel over. He hasn’t let the full length of himself inside but the pleasure takes over and he slams my body up against the car. He reaches his hand to my face and loosely covers my mouth, spacing his fingers so I can breathe. I draw his middle finger into my mouth, tonguing the tips. Gradually I take in more of him and he thrusts into me. My own hand takes to my mouth, trying to keep myself from moaning. His hand once again lowers to my front, lightly fingering my clit as he pushes deep. My body starts twitching again and a rise intensifies, preparing me for the release that is coming. The build up surges and as he presses the tips of his fingers against me I climax.

I’m flooded. The sensitivity of all my zones is heightened and my body tenses while he thrusts. His breath quickens and tells me that he is close. I reach for the back of his neck, pulling it closer to me and he lets out a deep sigh, finishing. He falls onto me heavily. We are both panting. Pants-less in the middle of a partially empty carpark. His chest still resting on my back. We haven’t said a word to one another. But we don’t need to. I don’t care.

A part of me can’t believe what’s just happened. The other has never felt more alive. I pull up my pants and pick up my bag without letting our eyes meet. My legs are shaking, still weak, and I am feeling the aftereffects of my orgasm pulse through me. But what is strange is that I almost forget he is there. Like a sense of serenity has come over me, and I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Coming home.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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