Faded Jeans



I was so nervous meeting your parents for the first time.  I had not even known you that long then, and here I was trundling off to see Mom and Dad.  My first impression was....they seemed nice.  Ah, who am I kidding?  All I could think about was, "Did they like me?  Did I come on too strong.  Why did I tell that joke?"

Then we were down in your parents' basement, alone, while they were cooking up a big meal, for all we'd told them we just ate.  (Some things you can't fight, so why try.)  You were in those faded jeans of yours that you loved so much.  I'd only been in the same room as you half a dozen times at that point, but already I knew those jeans well.

Something was different.  It took me a minute to figure out what it was, surreptitiously sneaking glances, so you wouldn't think I was just blatantly checking you out.  I was so worried I was going to blow my shot with you, and I didn't want to do ANYTHING to make you think I was some sex fiend. (If I'd known then what I know now....)

You were wearing panties before. They were white with color splashes on them. I saw the smallest peek when you got out of the car. (Okay, maybe not so small a peek.)

But now I think.......There.  There is was.  I'm sure of it.  I'm sure of it, and I am so surprised, I blurt it out without thinking.  "You're not wearing any panties!"

This is not an easy thing to discover with jeans.  You have to catch the angle just right.  A bend here.  A flex there.  Curves, so tightly hugged by denim, that they reveal....what was it Brooke Shields used to say?  Nothing gets between you and your jeans.

As soon as I say it I blush, sure that you've discovered me spying on you.  Why am I blushing, woman?  You're the one walking around half-dressed.  But the fact is, now that I know you're not wearing underwear, it's all I can think about.

Even before I met you in person, I spent a great deal of time thinking about your underwear.  What would it be like?  What color?  What cut?  What material?  Simple white cotton panties?  I could go for that.  Bikini cut, high on your thighs, or maybe that one that looks like you're wearing a big ribbon, waiting to be untied.

That part I imagined in great detail.  How could I get them off?  Would you pull them down shyly, me staring unabashedly, drinking in every new inch of glorious skin?  Would you ask me to undress you, and smile in amusement as my trembling hands moved to your waist, fumbling with the elastic to tug them down over your hips.

In my more exciting moments, I contemplated just ripping them off.  How would you react to that? Would I have the courage to find out?  And maybe you wouldn't take them off at all, but would ask me to caress you and kiss you and other things while you were still wearing them.  That was hot.  (And don't even get me started on your bra.)

Yes, with the amount of time I spent thinking about that small stretch of fabric I probably could have cured some horrible disease, or possibly learned to fly.  Buy the idea that you simply were not wearing panties; that had never occurred to me.  Now I didn't know what to do.

Was this an invitation?  Maybe you were just overly-warm.  They chafed, or, snapped, or....the mind reeled, trying to come up with a plausible explanation that had nothing to do with me.  Why would a woman not wear panties under the heavy fabric of jeans?  Maybe there had been a "womanly" issue.  That thought caused pure panic.

Back to my outburst: you're smiling, and it's a gooooood smile.  Your eyes sparkle.  I know that sounds like a line, babe, but they do!  They simply sparkle sometimes, when you have a hint of play in them.  When you are anticipating.  This is the second time I've seen them sparkle.

The first was at that hole-in-the-wall pizzeria after we got soaking wet at your friend's charity hay ride.  That was a crazy night.  We were sitting there eating the best pizza in the world on red and white checkered tablecloth, and you started talking about your first crush.  You eyes got a faraway look in them, and your head tilted slightly to the side.  And the sparkle.  And I was suddenly glad Joe Farmar lived a thousand miles away.  And I wanted to see that sparkle, and have it be for me.

That's what you do when I mention your lack of undergarment.  Your smile, and your eyes sparkle.  Do you know you do that?  Maybe it's best you don't learn to control it.  You could take over nations with those eyes.

More to the point: when you smile and when your eyes sparkle, I am filled with hope.  What kind of hope, I don't know.  Certainly not Jesus Jones kind of hope ("Right Here, Right Now"), but hope nonetheless.  You're not mad.  In fact, you're pleased I noticed.  Please let this be one of the few times I am actually brave!

I point my figer at you, and my face is deadly serious.  I turn that finger and curl it, a short little motion that everybody recognizes.  Your smile is stil there, but fading rapidly.  What the hell, dude?  Your face says.  If I played this wrong I'm going to get one of your Gloria Steinem speeches, but if I abandon my plan now, I've lost for sure.  Nothing to do but continue.

I keep my face deadly serious, and keep beckoning with my pointer.  Almost against your will (I think) you get up and walk across the basement floor to where I am.  I keep my face serious, angry even, until you get right up next to me.  Then I break into the most insolent grin I know how to give and say, "Bet you didn't think I could make you come with one finger."

It's a line.  It's a cheesy line.  It's the world's cheesiest line, and it makes use of the thing you hate that I do: puns.  But I know you hate puns, and I did it anyway.  And I sold it, babe!  You gotta give me that.  I sold that line for all it's worth.  You have to be a little bit impressed.

And you are panty-free.

It's got to mean something, right?

You try to look mad, but you can't and break into a grudging smile.  I take the opportunity to pull you down next to me on that weird bench your parents have down there.  You land a little harder than if you'd sat on your own, and I take advantage of your momentary startlement to lean over and kiss you.  This is the second time I've kissed you, but the fourth time we've kissed; the other times were yours.  This kiss isn't any deeper than the others, but it's different.  There is something more in the air this time.  Our lips linger, wanting to seek each other out again, but afraid to.  Our faces are very close together, and I take advantage of our proximity to affect a whisper, like we are spies.

"Why aren't you wearing any panties?"  I ask.  A little bit of a dangerous question, but you smile again, and even in the half-light from those little windows up at the top of the wall, I can see the sparkle.  You don't answer, so I take liberties, pretty sure it will work.  I rub your leg on your thigh, way up high where the underwear would be. (At least I think that's where it would be.  I am so clueless when it comes to girls.  I have this thought, "What if she's wearing a thong?"  I'd heard stories about girls who wear thongs....)

No thong.  No panties.  Your face confirms is, and you whisper back something silly.  I can't even remember what you said now, but you were giggling and I was shushing you and putting my hand over your mouth, as if at any moment we could be caught.

Your mouth.

My hand felt your warm breath,and felt the soft bump of your lips against my fingers.  It felt somehow more intimate than the kiss.  I wanted to brush my fingers against your lips, as softly as I possibly could, and then brush my fingers against your cheeks, and then down to your neck.  (Knowing you the way I do now, I wouldn't waste time hesitating.  I know what you want.  I would slip my hand behind your head and hold your neck softly but securely, so you were safe, but forced to submit.  I would pull your face gently but firmly to mine,I would brush back your hair, and I would kiss and caress every inch of your face, neck and shoulders, until you were begging me to go lower.)

Then?  I'll be honest; I was kind of scared of you.  You had such a strong presence, such a forceful personality.  I didn't know that a strong woman needs a man to be stronger when they are together like that, so that she doesn't have to make herself less, but can push her strength against him and still be overcome.  All I knew then was that you were right next to me.  Your firm, round -- and let's not pretend it's in any way not important -- large breasts are only inches from my hands.  I itched to move down to them, but I was so worried you would get skittish.

WE'RE IN THE BASEMENT OF YOUR PARENTS' HOUSE!!!

I cock my ear to listen to sounds of pots and pans.  I don't hear much, but the good thing is that anyone coming down the stairs can be heard twelve steps before hitting the landing.  My momentary pause has given you time to think, and I must take immediate action or I may lose the moment.  I start rubbing against your thigh again, and this time keep rubbing back over your hip.  It's not a sexual movement, bu it is your ass, or at least the closest I've ever been.

"Just making sure my 'no panty' diagnosis is correct." I say solemnly in the mock whisper.  You giggle again.  I learned once you always kiss a girl when she's laughing, so I go in, and this time WE HAVE TONGUE!  WHOOOO HOOOO!

I am all about the strange forbidden kingdom inside your mouth, but I have ulterior motives.  I'm hoping you will be so distracted by my invasion that you won't notice my hand slipping up under your shirt, ever so slowly.

Your hand comes down to my wrist.  Damn.  I don't know what to do.  Should I fight it off.  No!  You are firmly bringing it up inside your shirt!  I can't believe this!  Oh, happy day!

You whore!

I don't have much time to think about this, because....did I mention your tits?  They are so spectacular, babe.  There is no denying it.  The material of your bra feels exotic and secret against my hand, but at that moment, I didn't care.  I knew nothing about clasps, but I knew about brute force, and I pulled that bra up with sheer determination, and sunk my quivering fingers onto what i really wanted.

You gasp, while kissing me, and  I feel it in the back of my throat.  It is the single greatest way to hear a sound of all time.  You gasp again, and suddenly your lips are all over my face, kissing me everywhere, soft, then hard and insistent.

Oh, that bench is such an awkward place to make out, but that's what we did.  I can't believe it took me that long to go for it. Maybe you wondered what I was waiting for.  I was shy. I was not confident, and I didn't think I was in your league, and was terrified you'd bolt at a moment's notice.  I admit all that.  But honey, you can never doubt how much I wanted you.  And if you had, I hope my mouth, my hands, and other "evidence" you were to soon discover would disabuse you of the notion.

Speaking of which....the moment your hand bumped into my hard-on and then grabbed softly through my jeans; I was terrified that I would lose it right there. It was a feeling like I can't describe.  This woman whom I have wanted for so long, and finaly gotten the courage to email, and then to talk, and finally to date, and now here we hare and her hand is only a few centimeters away from touching me, and I don't want to be left out so my hand is going down between your legs, which you instinctively squeeze shut the moment you feel me, but not as tight as you might and that lets me know that...

CRASH!

What was that?  Upstairs, something got dropped. Sounds of voices, too muffled to make out the words.  You get up and go over to the door, open if softly to peek your head into the stairwell.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

I was so close!  So close to what?  Well, to something!  I remember my mind struggling to latch on to some understandable concept of what it was that I was in line for that had just been permanently diverted.  My grasp of the "bases" analogy then was tenuous at best.  I wasn't sure I could get my hand down your jeans while you were still wearing them, and I really was murky on what I was supposed to do down there, but by Crom I was willing to give it a try!

You came back over after a minute, and you didn't sit back down.  My heart sank.  SO CLOSE!!!  I knew later I would look back and thank the sweet chocolate Christ I had gotten this far, but right now all I knew was that my balls were going to ache for the rest of the afternoon.

You looked at me for a moment, face unreadable.  Then your eyes sparkled again, and you walked across the room to that big chair.  You turned back, and you crooked your finger and beckoned.

Baby, just when I was out, you pull me back in!!!

The words "Land Speed Record" and "me"  are so rarely used in the same sentence, but it couldn't have taken me 3 milliseconds to get from there to you.  Firmly you place me down in the chair.  I want to speak but I'm too excited. (And scared.)  you then straddle my legs and thighs.  Oh.  My.  God.  (I maintain that's a prayer, not a curse, for I was thanking God that I was lucky enough to have seen this day.)

The feel of you.....even through those denim jeans....those faded old favorote threadbare jeans that you still wear (and I enjoy) to this day!  There was a tingling warmth...and the promise of so much more heat to come.

You slipped your shirt off your head, and showed not a hint of embarrassment that your bra was askew, one cup on and one pushed up in my earlier eagerness.  You calmly unhooked it and removed it, and leaned in to...

My hand on your head stopped you.  I don't honestly know if I am ever going to see these babies again, and nothing in the world is going to stop me from getting a Mighty.  Good.  Look.

You take my gaze calmly...kind of calmly.  Even you, cool customer that you are, start to tremble a bit.  You see the lust on my face.  You hear my breathing slow, thicken.  You feel my erection, furiously pressing against its restraints, throbbing against your thigh.  You lean in and slowly, deftly, get my belt unbuckled, my pants unbuttoned and unzipped, and you pull me free to breathe.

It's like that's my signal.  Roughly, with choking breath, I pull you to me.  we kiss, almost a frenzy.  Your lips will be swollen for two days.  I had that cut on mine almost a week.  but right then, we don't care.  our mouths are heat seeking missiles.  My hands are all over your breasts, your nipples, everything I can get my fingers on.  Your hands are softer, afraid to hurt me, but you're every bit as active.  Your fingernails run lightly down my shaft, teasing me with exquisite agony.

My fingers squeeze your nipples simultaneously, which makes you bite down on my tongue at the same time you grab me hard.  I don't care.  What a reaction, and I caused it.  I love it.

Soon my hands find their way to your jeans, but with your position I can't even get a finger in.  Finally you stand back up, and shimmy your jeans down off your hips, making a show of it, stepping one leg out completely and leaving them on the other ankle.

Later we'll laugh about that move.  I will accus you of wanting to keep your pants close by, in case THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP suddenly bounds out from the stair.  But right now I don't care about that.

What I care about is that the area of your body I have thougth the most about is right in front of me.  It is fresh, and it is pure, and it is shaved!  If I knew any prayers I'd say them, but right now rational thought has left my head.  I can smell this intoxicating musk, and in the back of my mind I think, "I have GOT to taste that."

Problems for another day.  (As it turned out, later that night, but who knew?)  Right now, my biggest concern was keeping my cool.  I COULD NOT lose it before you even get to me.  You might forgive me.  You might even think it was flattering, that you were so hot I blew it right there.  But I would never forgive myself.

You are about to straddle me again, and I can't help it.  I reach out and I touch those soft pink lips, moist and swollen.  You quiver and you look like you're going to faint!  Emboldened, I slide my hand down between your legs.  You widen your stance slightly, make no move to stop me.  I don't try to do anything to you.  I can't.  I have read Maxim for three years, and every piece of advice is forgotten.  All I can do is hold my hand there, and feel your heat, and your body shaking slightly, and your wetness on my hand.  I feel the small nub that I know is your clit.  I rub it a few times, and your knees buckle.

Imagine if I knew what I was doing!

You pull my legs in slightly, and straddle over them. I feel your lips against my leg, wetness coursing over my thigh, tingling and quivering.  Before I have any time to think, You put your hand on my shoulder and flex your calves up.  Your hand is on my shaft, and you guide me to your opening.  My hands are on your thighs and hips, and I try to hold you, for a few seconds, my tip quivering against your clit, and then brushing back and forth across those lips.  Neither of us can do that for more than a few seconds, and on spontaneous mutual agreement we both stop at the same time, and I thrust upward and you slide downward.

And you take the whole thing.

Your eyes pop and you look like you might scream. (Single proudest moment of my life?  I think so.)  You body shakes in spasm, and I can't tell if it's in pain or pleasure or both; you certainly make no move to reverse the procedure.  Finally after a minute of just impaling you like that, on some unseen signal, we both begin to thrust and flex.

Your hand is on my chest, then my shoulders, steadying yourself, giving extra lift.  The other hand explores, stroking your clit, down to where my balls slap up against you to squeeze them.  My hands are on your hips, holding steady.  I try to bring a hand up to a nipple, but they're both needed for balance.  I compromise by lowering my head to your chest, and you strain upward for a few moments, and allow me to suck hard.  You don't say a word, but I hear the grunts, and I know I've given you a hickey right on your nipple.  I don't care.

We start slow, thrusting for rhythm and timing more than force and speed.  After a couple of minutes, we both pick up the pace.  I would later find out you were close, too, but then I wasn't sure.  What I did know was that it was a miracle that I had not exploded yet.  I would soon.

Our pace increased, and so did the force.  I found a way to get a little lift on that chair, and began putting my quads into it.  Gravity and your momentum  took care of sliding me all the way into you, but I wanted to give you a little something extra.

You pull on my chest hair (hard!), yanking out a patch.  

That's gonna cost you.

My hands are now clamped to your hips, and without even thinking I pull back ten inches and come in for a hard slap.  I meant to make it soft, more playful and for the gesture, but my chest hurts!

Maybe I've gone too far.  I can imagine you laughing just at the thought.  You snap into a higher gear, and we hit overdrive.

I can't even feel my legs anymore.  Your heat envelopes me, and is tighter than anything I could have imagined.  I feel it beginning deep within me, not even to my balls yet; a frozen fire in my belly that prepares to flood every inch of me.  I sense a point of no return is upon me, and I strive to give you everything I possibly have in the few remaining seconds I can stay in control.

You have a crazed look on your face, and your eyes are crinkled, almost shut tight.  I have never seen this look, but genetic instinct gives me all the information I know.  I take the opportunity to slap your ass hard--again!--and your eyes fly open and a snarl is on your lips.  You head comes down on my shoulder and you sink your teeth into me with a ferocity that shocks me.  This is not some love bite.  If this was my neck, you might kill me!

The pain and pure shock of it sends me over the edge, and wave after wave after wave erupts out of me, pumping and pumping and pumping into you.  Just after I begin you explode too, and you take that opportunity to bite down even harder!  Later, when my vision returns (and I remember how to walk, and my name, and other essentials), I will find a mirror.  I could swear you broke open the skin, though you wil always claim you didn't.

It doesn't matter, babe.  At that moment, it's the most beatiful agony I have ever experienced.  I cannot believe it happened like that.  That quickly.  After so much hoping but almost no physical contact, to our two bodies and souls melting into each other.  (I know that sounds silly, but you know that's what it felt like.)

I cannot believe it would happen then, and it would happen there, in your parents' basement!  It will forevermore be one of my favorite spots. (And forevermore I will not be able to go down there without blushing.)

Most of all, I can't believe of all places and all times, that was ours.  The time since then have taught me we were meant to be together, and we would have found each other one way or another.  But such a beginning!  We have always had that memory to look back on, and maybe even talk about (and relive...)

There's just one thing, babe, that has always sort of bothered me.  I feel guilty I kept it from you, and I want to come clean.  We've talked about that moment many times, the stars aligning (or afternoon sun), the kismet of the most unlikely place, but it was just our time.

But what I didn't tell you was that when we were called for the meal,and we hurriedly put clothes back on and smoothed hair and toweled off and sprayed that lavender stuff from the bathroom, when we were heading up the stairs I smacked your butt again, and you stopped, and we tussled and kissed at the bottom of the stairs, hands exploring just a tad more.

Of course I wanted to touch you again.  One consciousness-altering experience was not enough!  I couldn't keep my hands off of you. (And still can't.)

But what I didn't tell you was that there was another reason, an ulterior motive.  Sweetie, you have to forgive me.  You see, baby, you didn't realize that your panties had fallen out of your back pocket when we headed to the stairs, and I needed to distract you in order to slip them back into your faded jeans.



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