I like ass.
It's always fascinated and amused me that I like it so much. There's just something magic about a nice, round, plump pair of buns. I like to see a man's ass in running shorts and of-course, more recently I've been enjoying my views and thoughts regarding the feminine derriere. And I like mine. My hubbie likes it too - he can lick it for hours… driving me utterly insane. I'd like to lick ass as well but I have to confess… I like hairy men but not hairy anuses(?.. anii?) I have never had my tongue near enough to call it rimming. But I dream.
I flew from JFK to Europe. I do a fair bit of flying and generally don't mind it but I just don't like that airport. It's dreary, complicated, has all the style of a mid-sized town's bus terminal, and it always seems that everyone is on edge. It certainly doesn't help that a drink costs $9.00. The day threatened snow so my driver picked me up an hour earlier than planned. As if by evil design the roads were actually clear so we made good time. The trip which usually takes around 3 hours, for which we'd allowed 4, took a bit over 2. The upshot of all this was that I now had nearly five hours to kill, stuck in my beloved Terminal 3.
I got into line behind a family with about a dozen pieces of luggage most of which were tied with string. I usually make long flights in Business Class so I get to take the short line to the check-in counter but this was a last minute flight and all the good seats were taken. The makeshift security set-up there forced us all to stand uncomfortably close for about 30 minutes. But of course the security officer (who, out of boredom as much as anything else, I noticed was a rather attractive, if rude, youngish lady) decided that this middle aged couple with a gaggle of kids screaming in some Slavic language I didn't recognize looked like terrorists or drug smugglers and made them undo several of their bags. There were 3 or 4 check-in counters but only 1 security checkpoint and so in this bottleneck, I waited. After 10 minutes the officer waived me through. Another line for the body check and finally I was free to roam the concrete corridors.
I popped myself down at the bar, facing the runway and drank my $9.00 G&T with ice. The first one went down all too quickly and while waiting for the second I quickly calculated that I would waste a good $50-60 at that rate. Transatlantic flights always bring out my inner alcoholic. It's sort of a ritual.
I was bored, too lazy to read my book, too well traveled to ride the excitement, and in a funk due to my long wait and my flight in economy class. So it was not with the most inviting of looks, I imagine, that I checked out the woman entering the pub. She was pretty. Perhaps 35ish. Looked harried, hot and tired. She wore a business suit in dark blue with a white silk blouse that hung a bit lose. And she had a long coat slug over an arm. She ordered and though the place was nearly empty, walked over to me. She asked if she could sit by me and explained that she felt like chatting and I happened to be the only women in the place. We ritualistically went through introductions and commiserated on the state of the terminal. And then we discovered we'd be on the same flight. Finding that first bit of common ground made me warm up to her and it looked she to me. Conversation began to flow more naturally and soon I was glad she interrupted my sulking. When our flight was announced I was surprised that the time had slipped by so quickly and that I was a little sad that we'd shortly be going our separate ways.
At the gate we exchanged business cards and promised to call or e-mail each other. A slightly uncomfortable silence settled on us which was only broken a few minutes later when we both got up to board when they announced rows 1-17. It turned out that she had a window and I was 2 seats away in the same row on the inside isle. It was a simple thing to switch seats with the gentleman sitting beside her. Now feeling like old friends re-uniting we joyfully took drinks from the stewardess, clicked glasses and chatted on. After dinner (and a couple more drinks) the lights dimmed and an idiotic romantic comedy started and my companion admitted that she was a bit of a nervous traveler. During a patch of fairly heavy turbulence she grabbed my hand and her knee rubbed against mine. I was sorry I'd worn jeans and not a skirt but alas… I threw a blanket over her and suggested she try to sleep saying that I would try for a few winks myself. I dozed off with her still clutching my hand.
I love the kind of sleep which never feels terribly deep but the dreams are vivid. For me they involve all my senses and sometimes I realize that I am dreaming and can take some degree of control. In this case I fell off and, in my dream, remained in my seat but now I did have on a skirt. Neither of us had on hose and under the blanked, in the dark our knees rubbed together. We had been looking at each other through much of our conversation but now the looking was the conversation. We let go each others hands and slid them under the blanket. There we began toying with each others hems, lightly stroking each others thighs with the backs of our fingers, and we played a little footsie. A sly, little secret smile crept onto her face. No one was taking any notice of us at all. I didn't at first realize why but she let down my tray table. Her smile got broader and I felt her pushing up my skirt. I had to lift my bottom off the seat to help her and was shocked that I did so. And embarrassed. But when I sat back down it was with the hem around my waist and my legs spread as wide as the seat would allow. Her fingers traced the line of my pants, up over my thighs until she was gently following the line of my vulva. It was a monumental effort not to let out a gasp. I don't know how log her fingers just went up and down along my little cleft. My eyes closed and I was in heaven. And then I felt a finger slip through and touch the warm, wet skin directly. It at first followed the same path, up and down my wet lips. And then she began, very gently and slowly, working them apart. I thought I'd die and told her so. She smiled and winked. I closed my thighs together, her hand still between them and her finger now playing with my clit. Again it seemed blissfully endless.
I awoke and immediately was terrified since my surroundings were the same as my dream and I wasn't sure if it had happened or not. I was relieved and also disappointed to realize I had on my jeans and I was terribly embarrassed to notice that I still held her hand but that now it was me doing the clutching. This all took about a half a second, mind you, but it seemed stretched out to me. I didn't know how long I'd dozed and didn't know if I'd made any sounds. And then I looked her in the face. Her grin answered the spirit of my question. I wished I could have fallen through my seat right then and there. I had never been so mortified. I'd been caught "red handed" having a lesbian sex fantasy by the woman I was dreaming about!
"How long was I asleep?" I stuttered.
"Not long. About 10 or 15 minutes."
"But," she continued, "You seemed to be enjoying your dream. Hell, I was enjoying your dream." And she laughed.
I put my hands up to cover my face and tried to apologies. To make an excuse. To say the words that would make me not feel so guilty and foolish.
"It's ok," she said "it was a dream."
We ordered some tea and gradually the awkwardness began to fade. We joked about it a bit and finally it was something which we shared, not uncomfortably, if you know what I mean. We talked about our sex lives. She was single but was "In the market" for a man. I told her about my husband and some of the things he does to me. We both admitted that we'd never been with another woman but had though about it "back in collage" as she put it. She had gone so far as to French kiss a girl and then suddenly she looked me right in the eye and asked, "So was it me in your dream?"
My grin told her and my lack of denial confirmed it.
"I thought so. I have to say I like the thought." And she took my hand again. She looked at it, as if examining it or looking for a flaw and almost in a whisper asked, "So… what are you doing when we land?"
Now I was shocked. Not offended, mind you but it can be jarring to be propositioned in any circumstance but by a woman who knew that not 1 hour ago I was dreaming about her? I tried to think of an excuse but the fact was that I would be checking into the Airport Hilton to recuperate for a day.
She looked at me, "I'll be in town for a few weeks. I would like to see you."
The moment got longer and with each minute it felt heavier.
"I don't know."
We agreed to meet for lunch at the Hilton and silently agreed to drop the subject.
We passed the rest of the flight easily and parted company. I went to my room, showered, and changed. I couldn't get her off my mind. I lay down on my bed and considered her proposition. It didn't feel like it would be cheating… Somehow it would be OK with a woman. But I was nervous. I was rationalizing, and I knew it. I turned on the news. I heard grizzly details of the tsunami, of unseasonable warmth across the continent, of traffic accidents and corrupt government officials. I dozed, I looked out the window, I looked over my notes for the upcoming week's meetings. I wondered what my friends at our parish were doing and what they would think if they knew that no matter what, I couldn't get THAT THOUGHT out of the back of my mind. And I nearly jumped out of my skin when the phone rang.
My husband said he missed me. He asked if I knew if I'd be back for New Year's - because if not he would make plans with the lads.
And then it was time to dress for lunch. I put on my nicest under things - and didn't realize it at first. I fussed about my makeup. I checked myself every four seconds in the mirror, like a young girl. And when I got to the bar downstairs I saw that I wasn't the only one who'd refreshed herself. She looked great. Not over done but… well… I stopped and stared for a few seconds before she noticed me. I think we both knew right off that we had both dressed with intent. My heart was racing.
We ate, drank a little wine and lots of coffee. We chatted easily and every word we said was "SEX". While discussing the tragedy in the pacific we were saying "Touch me". When commenting on the food we were screaming "Eat me." Everything I put into my mouth was her tongue, her nipple, her lips.
Afterward, in the lobby we hugged. Not a word about "that" had passed between us - overtly. And the omission hung heavily during each silence. I kept waiting for her to invite me to her room - not knowing if I was more terrified that she would or that she would not. I was certainly not going to take the active role in diving into her crotch - I'd need to be lead. But finally she told me that she had to go. I was distraught. I was on the verge of being offended. I was dreadfully relieved. And with a rush that nearly threw me off my feet I knew I needed release. I hesitated - wondering if I should invite her to my room or if I should ask to see her for dinner, or if I should just grab her and stick my tongue down her throat then and there. And finally the moment came, she left.
And now my friends, I bet you think I forgot about ass. You see in her skirt, walking to the elevator, she swayed her hips in the most delectable way. I was hypnotized. Each step was an invitation, a compulsion to stare, to touch her bum. In its swaying roundness I was mesmerized. The lack of any panty lines made the image of what was there leap to mind. And stay there. I was utterly and absolutely gobsmacked.
After what felt like hours following the last glimpse I had of her through the closing elevator doors, and the wink she gave at the final moment, I went to the bar. With my G&T in hand it suddenly dawned on me. She's staying in the same hotel as me. All the emotion anticipation and dread from before lunch hit me. And then I realized I didn't have a clue what her last name was. And I hit rock bottom. This was getting to be too much. I drank up and went right to my room.
I tore off my clothes and jumped into bed, a little drunk, very jetlagged, and horny as a mountain goat. I got right to work. It was that ass that I had in mind. The zipper on her skirt slid down of its own volition. Then the skirt itself showing me her creme colored thong and her magic bottom. The hypnotic swaying never stopped as I knelt behind her and kissed and caressed her cheeks. I slid down that last bit of clothing and she stepped out, toward the bed and always away from me. She bent over, slowly and still swaying, until she was leaning on the bed. With each swing back and forth I could just make out her little pussy and asshole. I moved closer and kneaded her. Oh how I needed her. With my tongue I traced down her crack and slowly back up. And down once more, spreading her open a little. It was magnificent. My face was buried in the most heavenly butt ever created and I was spreading it wide open, now. I pulled back to look and loved what I saw. Her puckered little ring, pink and then dark. It looked like a little target and I couldn't resist. I drew wet circles, getting ever smaller around that puckered prize until I was there. My tongue was in her asshole and I loved it. She moaned, her breath got irregular as I rimmed her gently. I felt her hand in her pussy rubbing as I licked. Again I pulled back to look at that now glistening bit. I put my finger in just a bit and felt the strong muscle there. For the first time I knew, other than intellectually, why men always want to ass fuck us - because it felt so amazing just on my finger! She pushed back on it and it slid in. I cannot begin to describe what I felt. It was as if before, sex was one big session of foreplay and even though I was working her - this was the main event.
My masturbation had now reached a feverish pitch and I'm sure the entire floor heard me climax…..
This all happened two days ago. I usually find a room in town after my first night but this time I'm staying at the Airport Hilton. I haven't seen her but I was at meeting all day yesterday. I also found her card this morning - I'd completely forgotten I had it. I don't know what I'll do. Tonight I'll sleep but I will be here for at least a week more. I don't know what I'll do, now that I know her last name.
I like ass.