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Miss Tishy
Tishy fixed me with her big, blue sparklers, arching an eyebrow. She was obviously fed-up with having people tell her, "I told you so," about her failed marriage. She peevishly queried, "Oh?"
"Well yeah, " I continued. "You two were just mismatched." I'd known her ex for years before he introduced me to Tishy. And I still considered him a friend. But he was an inveterate wimp, and I said so. Tishy brightened at this. I guess she had become accustomed to people blaming her for the divorce. She had left him for another guy, after all. Well . . . She had left with another guy, anyway. She had left out of boredom, more than anything else.
She sat there on the other end of the couch, looking at me. Not saying anything. I think she was knocked for a loop by someone showing her understanding. So I pressed-on. "I really had hopes for you guys. I was hoping you'd give him confidence and make him a little more daring. But when he took-up with that barbershop quartet, I knew things were gonna go bad. How tame can you get? You're a lot of things, Miss Tishy. But you're not tame!"
She shifted her slim frame, kicking her shoes off and stretching her slender legs across the couch toward me. Her short skirt rode-up on her a bit. She affected not to notice. But I knew better. From her body language I got the idea she was settling in for a bit of a stay. I think she felt like I was someone of the old circle of friends whom she could talk to. Among other things.
"What makes you say that?" she asked, purposefully. She was looking at me with those big, blues. Her eyes clamped onto me like a little girl, playing hide & seek, watching the seeker walk close by her hiding place and wondering if she'll be discovered. And the "little girl," part went further, still. Tish is a petit blond, 5',6" maybe and 115 lbs fully clothed. She wears her hair bobbed. She is very slender and has almost no breasts and a narrow little ass. Her skin is pale and pinkish. She was in her mid twenties when this episode occurred, but she could have passed for 14 easily.
"Well . . ." I tried to sound thoughtful, "there was that time after the party, when we were all mellowing out on the couch. The hubby was working and you ended-up sitting on my lap. I started dozing off and I got my hands inside your blouse while you watched the end of the movie."
This was not so odd. I was the resident bachelor in a circle of married friends. All of the wives flirted with me to one extent or another and we often bunched together to watch videos and such. And my having roaming hands was not looked-on too harshly. It actually enhanced my reputation as the rogue stud of the group. And the accepted fact that I had been dozing at the time gave me deniability.
Tishy shrugged, stretching the material of her blouse tightly across her tiny breasts. I wondered if she knew that her nipples were standing erect. This fact made me think that my reminding her of this particular incident was having an unexpected effect on her. I was pleased as punch, of course. And decided then and there to push ahead.
"It's not that it happened. It's your reaction . . . or your lack of reaction that makes me wonder. I mean, I was feeling you up for the better part of an hour and you didn't say anything or try to move my hand. And later, you got in my car, alone, and let me drive you home when you had two other offers of a lift. I've often wondered if you weren't hoping I'd try something."
Tishy grinned sheepishly and blushed. I had her! "Well . . . I wondered what you were up to,' she said, "when you insisted on taking me home . . . "
"And you weren't afraid to find out, either way, were you?" I interrupted her proffered defense.
"Hey!" My hitting that close to the mark made her unconfortable enough to try shifting the subject from her iniquity to mine. "If you were napping, how do you know how long you had your hands inside my blouse?"
I grinned at her.
"You weren't asleep at all !"
My grin broke into a smile. I reached down and began stroking her foot. "You never really believed that, did you?" The contact soothed her, I think. She had been acting incredulous. Now she just sat back and spoke breathily.
"You are such a bad boy!" she said.
"That's okay," I said. "You like bad boys."
"You're sure of that?"
I considered my answer. I usually have a taste for buxom women. But Tish's girlishness had always had an effect on me. "Not entirely. Come to think of it, I'm sure it's wrong. I don't think you like bad boys. I think you like naughty men."
"You mean there's a difference?" she laughed.
"Oh yes," I said. "But the difference is in you. I think you like feeling vulnerable. Like when you got into the car with me. I'm a hundred pounds heavier and almost a foot taller than you. And I'm not in bad shape at all. I could have done whatever I wanted with you. And you knew it. I'll bet you like being manhandled."
"Now wait a minute . . . " She began to protest. But I grabbed her ankle, with the hand I had been tickling her with, and yanked her down to my end of the couch. I now had the bottom of her foot against my shoulder. Her other leg had sprawled outward, over the edge of the couch. She was straddling me, after a fashion. And her skirt had ridden all the way up to her waist, revealing her white cotton panties. The sudden forceful movement had caused her to take a surprised breath. I bent down and kissed her foot, then licked her ankle a couple of times and trailed my tongue a few inches up her leg. She stared at me in astonishment.
I smiled again. "See?" I said and kissed her calf. As I leaned my head against her outstretched leg and smiled again I brought my other hand up and lightly stroked the inside of her exposed thigh. "No indignation. No slapping me or kicking at my face to get away. No trying to close your legs or smooth your skirt down. But that's no surprise. You were flashing me for a bit before, anyway. Now for the real test. Undo your blouse. I want to see if your nipples are hard."
She hesitated as if in a daze. She had been found-out and wasn't sure how to react. It is a strange phenomenon in smalltown, midwestern women. They all have this idea that they aren't supposed to be too overtly sexual, except in that whitebread, Harlequin romance novel fashion. Tishy was at a loss and needed prompting. "Come on, sweety," I said, leisurely
moving my hand higher and gently stroking her mons through her panties. "Show me your nipples. And if they aren't hard, I'll let you go and we'll say no more about it."
"And if they are?" she murmured breathily as she looked pleadingly into my eyes......(cont)
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A MrDouble Production: mrdouble Changes last made on: Saturday July 12, 1997 |
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