guilt.
"I like you. I want you."
"You want me?" He licked his lips, eyes darting over my face and my eyes. "What do you mean, you want me? And why me?"
I laughed. "Why you? I don't know, other than....I like you. I think you're sexy, and I like kissing you. I want to kiss you more."
His eyebrows dug down, and I saw desire winning the war. I ground my hips into his, felt the hardening length of his penis through his jeans.
"Is it...should we...I mean..."
"Tre, if you don't think you should, then don't. I want you to want me, but if you don't, then you can go, and nobody will know anything different. So the question is, do you want me?"
"I—yeah, I do, but—"
"Do you like kissing me?"
"Well, yeah, I do, but—"
Time for the clincher: "Do you think kissing me is wrong? Is that what you're afraid of?" He nodded. "Don't be afraid, Tre. Remember how we talked about making your own choices?"
He nodded again, thinking. I could feel the decision clicking into place.
"Make this choice for you, for what you want. It's not about your father, or your future. It's just about you and me," I said. "If you want to go, you can. I'll still be your friend, and I won't be mad or anything. But I would like it if you stayed with me."
His hands both moved to my ass, squeezed, caressed, explored, and he kissed me. "I'll stay," he said, his voice husky.
"Good," I said. "I was hoping you would."
"I'm a little nervous," he said.
"That's okay," I told him. "You're allowed to be. But you don't have to be."
I took him by the hand and led him upstairs to my bedroom, let him stop in the French doorway and take in my room, my king size four-poster bed and the wide window overlooking a field of wildflowers. I led him down the three steps and stood in front of him at the foot of the bed.
I turned around and presented my back, pulling my hair over a shoulder. "Why don't you unzip my dress for me?"
He took the zipper with two trembling fingers and drew it downward, slowly. I stood still and let him go at his own pace. When the zipper was at my waist, put his hands on my bare shoulders and pushed the straps off, letting the dress fall to the floor. I turned around and let him look at me.
"It's okay to look at me," I told him.
"You're so beautiful," he said. "I've never seen a woman like...like this. Like you."
"I know," I said. "Would you like to see more?"
He flushed and smiled in response, and I turned back around.
"Take off my bra, then," I said.
He fumbled with bra, the four hook-and-eyelets frustrating his attempts to free them. He huffed, in embarrassment or frustration.
"It's okay," I said. "Take your time. It can be tricky if you've never done it before."
Finally, he got the bra free and it fell off, freeing my heavy breasts. I turned around to face him, now just in my panties, a barely-there red lace thong to match the bra. His eyes were about to pop out of his head, then. I stood still and let him look for a long moment before I pressed myself against him.
"Touch me," I said. "You can touch me everywhere. I want you to."
His cock pushed against my belly, a huge, hard bulge against the zipper of his jeans. I kissed his chin, and then his lips. He deepened the kiss on his own this time, and we were lost, then, mouths apart and tongues delving, and his hands began to roam over my body, stroking down my spine to my ass, feeling the curve and tracing the crack, hefting the individual globes and moving down my hips and back up to my breasts, crushed between us.
I pulled away and lifted his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. His abs were a wonderland of male perfection, toned and hard, dusted with a trail of hair down into his boxers. I reached with both hands to unbutton his jeans, unzipped them as slowly as I could, pushed them down to his feet. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside. His cock was leaking pre-come, moistening his boxers, pressing up against the fabric. He looked down at himself, and
"I like you. I want you."
"You want me?" He licked his lips, eyes darting over my face and my eyes. "What do you mean, you want me? And why me?"
I laughed. "Why you? I don't know, other than....I like you. I think you're sexy, and I like kissing you. I want to kiss you more."
His eyebrows dug down, and I saw desire winning the war. I ground my hips into his, felt the hardening length of his penis through his jeans.
"Is it...should we...I mean..."
"Tre, if you don't think you should, then don't. I want you to want me, but if you don't, then you can go, and nobody will know anything different. So the question is, do you want me?"
"I—yeah, I do, but—"
"Do you like kissing me?"
"Well, yeah, I do, but—"
Time for the clincher: "Do you think kissing me is wrong? Is that what you're afraid of?" He nodded. "Don't be afraid, Tre. Remember how we talked about making your own choices?"
He nodded again, thinking. I could feel the decision clicking into place.
"Make this choice for you, for what you want. It's not about your father, or your future. It's just about you and me," I said. "If you want to go, you can. I'll still be your friend, and I won't be mad or anything. But I would like it if you stayed with me."
His hands both moved to my ass, squeezed, caressed, explored, and he kissed me. "I'll stay," he said, his voice husky.
"Good," I said. "I was hoping you would."
"I'm a little nervous," he said.
"That's okay," I told him. "You're allowed to be. But you don't have to be."
I took him by the hand and led him upstairs to my bedroom, let him stop in the French doorway and take in my room, my king size four-poster bed and the wide window overlooking a field of wildflowers. I led him down the three steps and stood in front of him at the foot of the bed.
I turned around and presented my back, pulling my hair over a shoulder. "Why don't you unzip my dress for me?"
He took the zipper with two trembling fingers and drew it downward, slowly. I stood still and let him go at his own pace. When the zipper was at my waist, put his hands on my bare shoulders and pushed the straps off, letting the dress fall to the floor. I turned around and let him look at me.
"It's okay to look at me," I told him.
"You're so beautiful," he said. "I've never seen a woman like...like this. Like you."
"I know," I said. "Would you like to see more?"
He flushed and smiled in response, and I turned back around.
"Take off my bra, then," I said.
He fumbled with bra, the four hook-and-eyelets frustrating his attempts to free them. He huffed, in embarrassment or frustration.
"It's okay," I said. "Take your time. It can be tricky if you've never done it before."
Finally, he got the bra free and it fell off, freeing my heavy breasts. I turned around to face him, now just in my panties, a barely-there red lace thong to match the bra. His eyes were about to pop out of his head, then. I stood still and let him look for a long moment before I pressed myself against him.
"Touch me," I said. "You can touch me everywhere. I want you to."
His cock pushed against my belly, a huge, hard bulge against the zipper of his jeans. I kissed his chin, and then his lips. He deepened the kiss on his own this time, and we were lost, then, mouths apart and tongues delving, and his hands began to roam over my body, stroking down my spine to my ass, feeling the curve and tracing the crack, hefting the individual globes and moving down my hips and back up to my breasts, crushed between us.
I pulled away and lifted his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. His abs were a wonderland of male perfection, toned and hard, dusted with a trail of hair down into his boxers. I reached with both hands to unbutton his jeans, unzipped them as slowly as I could, pushed them down to his feet. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside. His cock was leaking pre-come, moistening his boxers, pressing up against the fabric. He looked down at himself, and
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