Heather Brown: Blow girl

The man sitting in the restaurant booth across the aisle was handsome. Too handsome. Handsome enough to get me into trouble.

My eyes met his, but before they did they took in his whole body, which was obviously rugged beneath the well-tailored clothes he was wearing. It was easy to see that he had broad shoulders and a sinewy torso tapering down into a slim waist under the paisley shirt and blue blazer he was wearing. What was even more interesting to me was the exciting bulge of his cock at the crotch of his form-fitting gray trousers. By the time he looked over my way, and our glances met, without even realizing it I had been licking my lips at the thought of a fresh cock. When he looked at me I suddenly became aware of what I was thinking, and how I was showing it, and I looked away in embarrassment, aware that my thoughts were written all over my face. Without being able to help jt I felt a sudden moistness ooze from my cunt. When I got home and changed I would discover that I had stained my third pair of panties in a week that way.

My God, what's the matter with me? I wondered as I tried to look very interested in the menu while a voice in the back of my mind, and an urging in my dripping cunt, told me that it was the suggestion of a stranger's cock that really held my interest. I didn't even know the man, yet I was thinking how wonderful it would be to have him on top of my naked body with his prick up to the hilt in my throbbing cunt while I writhed beneath him with sheer desire and lust blotting out everything else.

"Face the facts," Dolly, my co-worker, had said to me the day before, you're just plain sex hungry. You can't get enough." This was her response to the embarrassment I'd told her I'd felt a few minutes before when my body was pressed against a man's in an overcrowded elevator. I hadn't told her specifically that what had really stirred me up was that we had been pressed so close I could feel his warm, insistent cock pressing against my thigh between two layers of clothing, but it was obvious by what she'd said that she'd figured it out.

The obvious truth of her words shook me, but I cried, "That's absurd, Dolly! I'm no nymphomaniac! And I can live without sex!"

"Can you?" she asked jeeringly. As an answer I fled back to my desk and buried myself in the stack of work that had piled up over the last few days while I had been daydreaming up pulsating cocks ramming up my cunt, surging up my ass, spewing hot cum into my eager mouth-sometimes all at once.

As I was trying to type, Dolly's "Can you?" replaced the usual parade of sex that went on in my mind and cruelly taunted me. Could I? I was no longer certain that I could, but I felt I had to find out. At twenty-two, with three wrecked marriages behind me, and other tragic relationships, the rational side of my thinking told me I'd had enough of love and its pain. When my last marriage had fallen apart I'd told myself I would live the rest of my life without any more emotional entanglements. I'd find fulfillment in other ways. When I got hot, when the lure of sex became too much for me, I would take care of it myself massaging my hungry clit to orgasm with my trusty vibrator, kneading the folds of my cunt into an explosion of damp ecstasy. However, my plans had gone awry because when I gave it to myself it just turned out to be a warm-up for my limitless desire. I would become so stimulated after masturbating I would frequently go out in the middle of the night looking for a man, any man, to fuck me. I usually succeeded, but I knew I was taking a terrible chance of being beaten up by some psycho, or, even worse, being picked up by the cops and charged with prostitution.

Sitting in the restaurant and picking at my food which had just been served, I repeated my vow for probably the thousandth time and frantically wished I could control my hungry cunt.

My resolve was being seriously threatened, however, by the steady gaze of the man in the booth across from me with the inviting bulge in his pants. I had stopped looking at him, but he was still looking at me. Why couldn't he look somewhere else? I thought. I couldn't just stare down at my plate through my entire lunch hour. I started to get very irritated with the man in the booth as I defensively shifted my anger at myself to him. He shouldn't have the right to ruin my lunch hour, I thought.

I tried to concentrate on eating my lunch and managed to get it down without looking over his way once. But eventually I finished and he was still there, and as I started to get up from my table there was no choice but to face in his direction. I couldn't help but notice that he was smiling at me and had his right hand draped across his upper thigh, as though to emphasize the bulge of his cock beneath it. Calling on all of my self-control I tried to freeze him with a look of indifference, as though I didn't really notice him. It apparently worked because he lowered his eyes and a look of self-consciousness crossed his face.

It occurred to me that it wasn't the first time I'd seen him. I had lunch in the same restaurant almost every weekday and he was often there at the same time. But this was the first time he had been seated so closely to me that I had a clear look at him. Now that I thought about it, it seemed to me that he had been watching me over a period of weeks, studying me when he thought I wouldn't notice.

Well, maybe he'll quit now, I said to myself. Suddenly I wanted to get out of the restaurant and walk. I picked up my purse, the check, and walked briskly to the cashier. Standing before the cash register I was taking some money out of my wallet when a deep masculine voice said, "On a day like this it's too bad they don't have sidewalk tables."

It was the man from the booth. "Yes," I agreed coolly, using the same tone of voice I'd have used if he'd been old and ugly. I topped off the effect by looking away, rejecting him.

It was a sweltering day, really too hot for window shopping, but I still had thirty minutes left of my lunch hour. I was dressed for the weather, wearing a very light cotton dress with no bra and just my panties underneath. I could feel my body moving underneath the light clothing as I walked down the street, with my nipples straining and rubbing against the fabric, their outline sticking out as they became stimulated. I moved down the sidewalk slowly, trying to keep my mind a blank, but being unable to drive my awareness of my body out of my mind as I looked at the displays in the store windows. Pausing, I studied a see-through shortie nightgown in a window, thinking in spite of myself how I would look in it, imagining my full tits peeking trough the sheer lingerie with their bright-red nipples winking provocatively, and the hint of my silky dark cunt peering through the flimsy material. As I started to feel my cunt getting moist again I suddenly became aware that someone was standing near me. I sensed that it was the man from the restaurant and that he had been following me. I knew that I should walk away before I became hopelessly involved with a man again.

Instead, I steeled myself for the moment he'd make an attempt to pick me up with some remark like, "I'll bet you'd look terrific in that negligee." Just the prospect of it sent chills up and down my spine since that, of course, was exactly what I had been thinking.

He cleared his throat with a small attention getting sound. I turned, facing him, determined to cut him off sharply.

"I'm Perry Middleton. I work in the broker's office across the street," he began, his voice nervous. "I know you're not the kind of girl a man should try and pick up, but I don't know anyone who could introduce us. I assure you that I'm perfectly respectable," he rushed on. "And I was wondering if you'd have lunch with me tomorrow."