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I didn’t take long for me to be aroused by his touch. I didn’t care that we were out in the open, I wanted him right then and there. I reached for his crotch, but he blocked my hand before I could touch him. “Get in the car, we’re already late,” he told me. I sat in the passenger’s seat and fixed my makeup. He exhaled and shook his head before starting the car. “Where are we going?” I asked. “You’ll see,” he replied. Like always, my desire for him was brewing again. I stroked his cheek with my finger and he smiled. “Why don’t you just pull over so we can fuck,” I said. “What kind of talk is that from a young lady?” He replied. “It’s the kind of talk that turns you on,” I reminded him. He shook his head and kept driving. Since he was more interested in getting to his destination, I didn’t think he’d care if I played with myself. I pulled up my skirt exposing my shaved pussy. I began to rub my clit. Steven looked at me. “Don’t do that!” he scolded as he moved my hand away from my wet. I balked once or twice, putting thoughts to paper, but couldn’t find the resolve to go through the hassle. Discreet letter boxes, coffee meets, to me it all too much like 'dating'. Past my teens, out of college and married, I preferred to hook up the old fashioned way – unexpectedly connecting in hotel bars in strange cities on business. Opportunities that don’t knock very often, but did, enough to suit me. Once in my late-30s, I was at a conference in Raleigh, NC – I am an information technology manager with a Canadian provincial government department – and I connected with a like-minded married guy from, I think, Baton Rouge. Also in government IT. It was the tested and true 'last guys in the lounge' invitation to share a table. There’s that unspoken understanding, eye contact thing… which, when you recognize it, never fails. An invitation to a room (his, in this case) for a night cap. Always a good failsafe if it turns out your signals got crossed and it’s only a drink. That.
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