The Pickup

"Oh my God," the stranger's voice from a couple of bar stools away came to my ears, "Check out the babe!"

"Holy shit! What a hottie!"

I didn't turn to look over, my eyes having spotted you in the bar mirror. I watched in the mirror until your eyes caught mine, and then turned to greet you as you walked up. "Hey, Babe," I said as I reached my arms out to embrace you in a greeting hug. I raised my lips to yours, and you responded with a kiss. I spun just a bit toward the open seat beside me, a glass of champagne already awaiting you. The two men who had ogled you as you arrived now pretended not to be watching, but I knew better. I caught the eyes of one as he now ogled you in the mirror, while pretending not to, and I just nodded at him, acknowledging he was watching the most watchable chick in the bar.

"I knew you'd be hot in this," I whispered, leaning into your ear, and resting my hand on the small of your back.

"Not something I would have chosen," you giggled back, turning your head to mine and kissing beside my ear. The dress I'd bought, knowing it was more revealing than your normally more conservative style, but you also never turned down anything that I bought for you.

"Doesn't mean you aren't hot in it," I whispered back. "The two guys beyond you sure thought so. The one even said, "What a Hottie," before he realized you were with me.

"Steve? Party of two?" the greeter asked as she stepped up to us.

"Right on time," I said, "She just got here."

I stood and turned, offering my arm to you as you also stood. With the slit up the side of the dress, as you stood, your entire leg, clear to your hip, slid out into the open. I saw a glimpse of black momentarily, the sexy panties you were wearing exposed until you were upright, and the dress slid back in place.

That I'd been able to join you, as we originally planned, was entirely unexpected. I'd repeatedly said "No, I can't be there," right up until I sent the note that my schedule had changed and that I could indeed fly in. I'd researched the venues where you were, called, and made a reservation for two at the restaurant and bar, and then told you what time. As it was, I'd arrived 45 minutes earlier, just enough time to check into the room, shower, shave, and had been waiting just long enough to order drinks.

The greeter escorted us to the table overlooking the boardwalk and bay that I'd requested when I checked in. That table hadn't been empty at the time, but she thought it would be soon, so I slipped her a twenty to guarantee it was available for us when it did.

"You look fabulous," I said as we slid into the booth. "My God, you're so sexy." Facing the short wall overlooking the boardwalk, we were virtually hidden from anyone seeing us. I raised my arm to put around your shoulder, gently pulling you into me. When you turned, I leaned in just enough to pull your lips to mine, our kiss a little less chaste than the one just a moment before, at the bar, had been. My other arm crossed over my chest, my hand filling itself with your breast, a gentle squeeze, my fingers caressing your bare décolletage. Sensing the arrival of the waiter, I moved my hand away and straightened up to withdraw my arm from your shoulders.

"Don't get carried away," you directed me.

"Never," I responded, lowering my hand to your leg, planning to get much more carried away than our opening kiss had been.

The silky material of the dress, with the slit so far up the side, easily slipped back and forth on your thigh as I gently caressed. After a reorder of my drink, you'd barely touched your Champagne as yet, and the verbal repetition of the specials of the day, the waiter moved on, saying he'd be back in a few moments.

"Do you know what I want to eat?" I asked, while holding the menu with one hand, my hand resting on your thigh, gently squeezing and caressing.

"No."

I leaned my head toward you once again. "You."

You giggled. "You always say that. You can have me for dessert."

"I'm planning on it," I said, slipping my hand back toward me, catching the edge of the slit with my fingers, and inserting my hand inside onto your bare skin.

"Steve!" you said in rapprochement, your head turning slightly to look around. "Be good."

I laughed. "I want to be good if you'll just let me. But don't worry, nobody can see what I'm doing."

"You're sure?"

"I asked for this table specifically."

I spied the waiter approaching from beyond you and gently withdrew my hand to hold the menu two-handed so that I didn't exceed your comfort level. It didn't keep my hand from sliding through the slit onto your thigh again as soon as he was away. "Nice legs," I whispered, "I love the feel of your skin."

That I'd slipped my hand a little higher, my pinky finger running through the crease of your leg, wasn't lost on you. "Steve..." you warned again, but it didn't keep me from pressing upward just a bit more, my finger sliding along your panty.

"You're wet," I said.

"I have been even before I got dressed. I can't believe you made it."

"I didn't think it would happen, but everything aligned just right this time." Your arm reached over the top of mine, wrapping inside of my thigh, and then slid backward toward my crotch until your hand encountered my cock in my pants. "Now who's being naughty?" I whispered as your hand squeezed me in my pants.

"Just thinking of what I'm going to have for dessert."

"Oh? What's that?"

"A Stevie popcicle."

"Oh fuck!" I laughed, my cock throbbing in your hand.

I turned to you again, pulling my near arm out from under your dress and again sliding it onto the back of the booth. I crossed my right arm across my body and slipped it under the edge of your dress through the slit -- the same as my left hand had done moments before. Unlike my left hand, which had been constrained by the angle, I reached directly to your pussy. "Oh!" I breathed into your ear as if I were whispering sweet nothings to you, "You are wet."

"I told you I was," you said as I pressed against your pussy, searching out your pleasure button. "Steve!" you complained as I found your clit, a shiver running through you as I pressed against it.

"Your panties are in the way."

"They're supposed to be."

"Not if I want to finger you."

"Not here."

"Yes, here." I responded. "Why do you think you're so wet if you don't want me to finger you? Take them off for me." I had to smile. Although you always complained about "not here," or "someone might see," you always loved our semi-public fondlings.

"NO!" you responded, reaching over and pulling my arm away from your pussy. Tellingly, you didn't pull it out from under the dress, and moments later, I had my fingers again caressing your clit, only this time I slid them higher, searching for the top of the panty.

"Thong?" I asked, my finger running around the top edge.

"Yes."

"Ohh..." I breathed, "So you're practically naked anyway?" I pressed my fingers lower, obstructed by the cloth of your thong from reaching where I wanted. "Take them off."

"I told you no," you giggled. "You're so bad!"

"Yeah," I laughed in return, "I am. And I want you to take them off. Right here."

"I keep telling you no, you're just going to have to wait until later." My eyes caught our dinner arriving, so I straightened up and pulled my hands away while our meals were being served.

"Can I get you anything else?" The waiter asked as he finished setting everything on the table.

"I'd like a glass of water, and can you tell me where the toilet is?" you responded. He told you how to find the restroom, and you immediately slid out, saying you'd be back in a few.

I sat, just watching the boardwalk and people walking by without touching my food yet, waiting for you to return. Looking back at the bar, I saw one of the two men from before lean over and say something to his buddy, both of their heads turning to follow you as you walked by, heading back to the table. You leaned over to me, and I turned, my lips greeting yours before you whispered, "This bathroom was just like the one in Palm Springs."

"Oh?" I questioned, not understanding what would make them the same. A toilet was just a toilet, right?

"I had to take my panties off, and I couldn't get them back on." Your hand, your fist closed, slid down my arm, and now your hand opened, pressing the damp cloth of your panties against my hand.

"Oh fuck!" I quietly exclaimed.

"Not now," you giggled, "but very soon."

I shifted the wad of soft cloth in my hand, squeezing it out of sight in my fist. The dampness had my imagination; I knew the dampness was your arousal, permeating the cloth, begging for my attention, my touch. I discreetly raised my hand, wiping my fist across my nose to smell your arousal in my hand. Unexpectedly, your hand reached across to my leg, pressing back against my expanding cock in my pants. "Like that, do you?"

"It's enough to make you believe in pheromones," I whispered in response. "Just smelling your arousal makes me hard."

"I can tell," you giggled, pulling your hand away from my cock. "Now put those away until after we eat, and then we can go to our room and have dessert." I smiled and rose up on one hip slightly to slip your panties into my pocket. I slipped my arm behind your neck, ostensibly leaning in for a quick kiss, but it also gave me the opportunity to momentarily slide my hand into the top of the dress, receiving another shiver as my fingers found your nipple. It was just a momentary fondle, immediately sitting back and returning my hand to the slit in your dress, easily slipping inside, a shiver running through your body as my fingers found your clit. A slight gasp escaped your lips, and we both knew you were going to hide your increasing arousal and would have to bite your lip when you came. You were as aroused as I was, it seemed that in just seconds your body shuddered in release.

"Oh my God, that never gets old," you breathed after your body's orgasmic shudders had eased, none too soon, as the waiter arrived, setting up a stand to put the serving tray on before putting our plates in front of us. I'd withdrawn my hand after I'd fingered you off, and once the plates were delivered and the wine refilled, your hand slipped back onto my leg, pressing against the erection in my pants.

"Ready?" I asked, most of an hour later as we'd finished dinner and relaxed, just talking for a few moments.

I stood, only to have you say you were going to the toilet once more. I wandered toward the cashier, taking my time, only to find myself walking close to the two oglers who were still at the bar. I paused right near them as I fumbled for my wallet, only to hear: "She's quite a catch! What's your secret?" I looked up and realized they were talking to me.

"Marriage. 26 years and counting."