We had just started dating and he was a frustrated musician stuck waiting tables at a chain restaurant and buzzing through meaningless undergraduate courses. I was working at a diner and existing on caffeine and alcohol, hanging out in divey clubs that would serve me underage. We would meet at a comfortably filthy jazz bar after our shifts, still in our uniforms, and chain smoke and drink cheap drinks until we were bleary-eyed and forgetful and then stumble to our cars and drive home too fast on wet streets. My uniform was a short black nylon dress with a white collar and cuffs, pantyhose, Mary Janes. It smelled like French fries and my soft, too-sweet perfume. He always wore a crisp, white collared shirt and black slacks, black Doc Martens. He smelled warm and like aftershave. It’s easy to forget how young we were then, isn’t it? He always walked me to my car, though, no matter how far away I had parked, which, back then, to me, was love- or at least serious like.
It could have been the second time or the fiftieth time we left the bar when we stood in the empty street laughing too long, both of us buzzed and happy, when he pushed me up against the door of my car and all of a sudden everything was so serious and he was looking at me there in the dark. It was cold and I felt the condensation from the metal door seeping through my thin dress but I didn’t care. I felt his big hands pushing back on my hips and there was the shuffling sound of the gravel on the road that shifted under his boots. I snaked my right arm around his neck and my left arm around his waist and pulled him against me and oh good goddamn did he kiss me then. Hungry, aching, sudden oscillations- too raw and powerful to be described by a word as meek and monosyllabic as “kiss.”
My tits were pressed up so hard against his chest they felt like they would pop and he stepped back just far enough to un-do the top button on my dress. I unbuttoned the second one. I felt him slip his hand in the gaping fabric and he squeezed my right breast hard. I was breathing so fast I thought I would hyperventilate or he would notice how much control I had lost. But I was the one who unclasped the front closure on my bra as I heard someone walking by on the street behind us.
I felt his cock surging against my leg and I wanted to beg him to fuck me right there. The overwhelming desire for him to push me down in the street on my hands and knees, rip my pantyhose, shove his cock in me, and fuck me, pulling my hair and inching me along the gravel with his thrusts till my palms and knees bled and I came screaming like an alley cat in the watery streetlight.
But even though I could see it, how could I have asked him for it when I couldn’t formulate a word, a sentence? He moved his hand up my leg, under my skirt, and started rubbing my vulva through the thin nylon crotch of my hose. I wasn’t wearing any panties, and I was sure he could feel how wet I was on his fingers. I reached up under my skirt and pulled the waistband of the hose down around my thighs, desperate to feel his hands on my cunt with nothing in between, almost panicked with the urge to be penetrated- no, more than that- stretched out entirely-by his fingers. He didn’t disappoint. He shoved his first two fingers all the way into me as soon as the fabric came away from my pussy, and ground his palm into my clit. My sharp intake of breath. I pictured him gently turning me around and bending me forward, over the hood of my car. I could almost feel the cold metal on my exposed tits. I would spread my legs and he would grab my ass, fill me up with his cock, and pump me hard while I fingered my clit.
But as much as I tried to somehow send him this image, I never said a word. I unzipped his fly and reached into his pants, leaving them buttoned at the top in my sad attempt at public decency. I felt him shift and I felt his body tense slightly as I cupped his balls. I moved my fingers slowly to the base of his cock and wrapped my fist around his shaft. I squeezed it softly, rhythmically, as I started to stroke him. His kisses got sloppier, more distracted. He started to finger me faster, pushing up hard on my g-spot with every undulation. He put in a third finger, and my head involuntarily lolled backward, away from him, and I moaned. He had to fuck me. That was all there was. His fingers felt amazing, but they weren’t enough. He could have gone in wrist-deep and it wouldn’t have been enough. I needed his cock.
I slid it out of his pants and pulled him closer, guided his cock underneath the front of my skirt. He kissed the side of my neck and I realized how heavy his breathing was, too. He pulled his fingers out of me slowly, one at a time. I pushed the very tip of the head against the crest of my clit- just a centimeter of him touching a centimeter of me- and the aching became so intense I wasn’t sure I could contain it. I rubbed him up against me. My pussy felt like it was blossoming open, impossibly wet and impossibly sensitive. I released my grip on him for a second and touched myself, then grabbed him again, stroking his cock with my wet fingers. I leaned back against the car, shoving my hips forward as much as I could, and guided just an inch of him inside of me. I felt tight around him and I wanted to take it all right there, but the way we were standing and the increased traffic from the closing bar prevented it.
I felt something inside him shift, a determination. He pulled out of me, zipped up, and started to button my dress. He could tell I was lost- everything had been happening in some kind of suspended time, and now things were happening so fast. He smiled. He squeezed my ass. “Goodnight,” he said, with a wink, “See ya after work tomorrow.” He gave me a swift peck on the lips and walked off down the street toward his car.
