The number to text to meet and fuck

It didn't take long to spot someone that held my interest. It still felt like a risk but I went for it and continued, "I'm the one flirting with you." It came out far more calm and collected than I felt. I felt her body squirm, as though her toes had curled, forcing her hips to shift.She walked slower than the rest and I wondered if she was a tourist exploring the city. She looked down, with a hint of that bashful smile again. She looked uncomfortable with the attention so I turned the tables on myself. Not all that close to retirement but definitely in the depths of a mid-career crisis," I said with a laugh. I thought I noticed some encouragement behind her eyes, but given my state of arousal, I could've imagined it. I sensed that she felt me checking her out, something in the way she seemed to sneak a look back at me and putting a little more sway in her step. Even in my flat boots, I was taller than her, something I always enjoy. I struggled to contain myself as she let out a breathy whimper. Her fear was subsiding and I was relieved to be met with a look of drunken lust.Then an older man passed by, fixing his hair as he walked. He was hoping that the girl at the coffee shop would continue to reciprocate his flirting, and that today he would finally ask her out. I turned it off to concentrate on the drive through the peak hour traffic. It was a beautifully renovated Victorian home, an architectural staple in this affluent part of town. Silence hung between us for a moment, both smiling to ourselves.As my assumptions started to lean more towards thoughts of romance it occurred to me, how many passersby were actually thinking about sex? I'd been single for months and had never been one for the casual hook-up. I parked my trusty old Honda around the corner, not wanting to draw too much attention to the disparity in our respective levels of wealth. She cradled her newly empty glass in both hands, looking down to avoid my gaze.Outside the weather was tepid as the bright sun dulled the edge of the crisp morning air.I longed for the sunshine to find my side of the street. I tried to busy myself, dusting the merchandise for the third time that morning.

They'd admire the work but made it clear they were only curious with no interest in buying. I wasn't on commission and working alone all day made me appreciate even the most fleeting distraction. It wasn't necessary but a computer on the desk gave the illusion of customer inquiries being attended to.

I did my best without them but soon realised I was wasting my time. There was no way I could wait 3 hours - I needed to see her. I'm the get-to-know-you-before-I-see-you-naked type, but then nothing so serendipitous had ever happened to me before. I didn't give him all the details but enough for him to weigh in.

With nothing else to do, I began curating a playlist to be beamed over the sound system. I contemplated closing the shop, I hated the job anyway, but what if I turned up too early for her? His return text came through, "You are the stupidest person alive if you don't go for it." 'Fair assessment,' I thought. No one had walked in the door all afternoon, thank god.

As lunchtime rolled around the street outside grew lively with people on their breaks, rushing to get as far as they could from their own daily drudgery. I decided she was scrolling through Instagram, trying to distract herself while she waited to hear about the job she just interviewed for. "5." It was taking all of my energy not to move closer, but she looked as though she could be easily spooked. My slender figure was outfitted with black skinny jeans and a dark denim shirt with sleeves rolled up at the forearm and top buttons undone just enough to tease. And trust me, this is not at all like me." "Well it's lovely to meet you, Jen." I wanted to assure her this wasn't like me either, but worried that she'd gotten a different idea from my writing.

Then a young man nearby hurriedly grabbed his phone from his pocket. I confidently guessed he was newly in love and had just received the reply text he'd been waiting for. She took the pen from my hand and wrote down an address. I'd meet you at a bar, but I'm scared I'd lose my nerve and not turn up." "Sure," was all I could manage to respond, and with that, she turned and walked out. A final spray of perfume and I was as ready as I'd ever be. I tried to breathe and listen to the radio to distract myself from the promise of the evening, but every song that came on served as the soundtrack to thoughts of her grinding into me on a dance floor. What if the thought of me being confident and taking charge was part of the fantasy? "Allie," she thought aloud, "that's pretty." "Thanks." I resisted the urge to return the obvious line of 'So are you.' I was trying to play it cool, but my tendency towards a lame one-liner is always a threat to maintaining such a facade.

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