for Will…for the idea…
He watched her walk down the hallway. He was at work, he had self-control, he wasn’t a kid– he was 45 years old for fuck sake. Yet she did that thing, that thing that girls forever were doing, ever since grade school, high school, college.
The hair flip.
The long silky mass would wave over her shoulder as her arm lifted. As her arm lifted, her blouse — or tee-shirt or tank top or bathing suit — would tighten over her tits. NO! Would stretch across her breasts, dammit.
Can’t think of them as tits. Can’t. Can’t. Think of the Fucking French Revolution…viva la guillotine…
His cock half rose, softened at the thought of rolling heads, then dammit. Just fucking dammit. She did it.
The hair flip.
The sudden lift and swell of tit against soft fabric.
Fabric straining at the buttons.
The rise of nipples against that fabric, the once-hidden nubbin pressing hard against the crush of cotton, undeniable in its thrusting need to provoke him.
He held the nipple accountable. The sudden surge in his pants, the unbearable, uncomfortable rise of his own flesh in response almost, nearly, made him moan aloud. He couldn’t turn away, frozen as he was with his rock hard cock pressed against a poly-cotton blend. He felt the unwanted ooze as his randy shaft mouthed its own ‘come on baby’ and prayed the wetness didn’t soak through his boxers.
He watched her walk towards him.
He’d kept his eyes averted, of course. Accidental tit-glance happened all the time. She likely didn’t even fully know what that hair flip did to him, to any sentient man. He moved carefully, like a man on Death Row, prolonging the agony of bouncing breasts as they passed.
The tease of her fragrance came from no bottle. It rose up and enfolded him as they passed a fingers breadth apart. There was no cologne on earth that could compete with that from the silky soft folds between her thighs. The scent beguiled, and befuddled him. His Adam’s apple bobbed hard down, up, his cock-head twitched, down, up as he swallowed a wad of pure lust.
He glanced over his shoulder, unable to stop the sigh of regret and relief. Her ass was a soft round invitation. Her skirt hem fluttered as she moved away. By damn he was like a horny, undisciplined teenager. He shook his head with regret. Unable to act on the need to leap on her, to thrust his throbbing shaft deep between the cleft of her ass, to dig his fingers into her hips, to grind his way into the hot wet center of her. Unable to tangle his finger in that mane of wantonness, to draw her back into a bow and thrust his arrow deep, then deeper still, until his seed pumped its way into her belly. Civility ruled.
A movement caught his eye as he stepped into the elevator, as he turned to push the button for the 5th floor. She had stopped, turned, cocked her head, and smiled.
Looking at his crotch.