| Current music: | The Strokes, Last Nite |
Introduction. Yeah that's right. You don't get the kinky part yet :x
Hey! It's Amie, I'm back. New story. This is only the introduction though; I'm nice like this to keep you waiting for the sexy part ;) Get you worked up a little. Expect it in a few days, class gets in the way with all of my writing.
♥
Amie
The airport termial practically overflowed with travelers. Most were young, kids on break from college. He was sure he fit in pretty well with the stirring mass of tan blonde girls and boys in long shorts. He hadn't left the city in years, not since his last family vacation in the summer of his sophomore year of highschool. He had only barely gotten enough time off of work to pick up his house guest from the airport. She'd only be staying one night; he was simply her ride from the gate to the city. She was eighteen, one of those pretty catholic school girls looking at colleges in the city. NYU or something, probably. He knew she was smart.
They'd met 2 years ago in Austin, during South X Southwest. He'd offered her his jacket while she cried during a favorite song of his. They went for coffee the day she left for back home in Florida. And the day before he'd leave for New York. He remembered her so vividly; how she seemed so young and innocent and christian. He hated to think of her like that, like his little sister. But that was how she seemed, at seventeen. He'd grown up just the same, Irish Catholic parents and a nice suburban home. But he'd met the world before he'd met Hayley, and that was what irked him. She hadn't. He wondered if she'd stayed as angelic as she had been only a before. They talked often; letters, messages, phone calls. She told him he was her culture link, her "just so I don't get too sheltered" friend. She told him she hated when he smoked and that he should quit and shave once and a while. (He liked the five o 'clock shadow, regardless. It suited him too). She'd ask him how the sex was, he'd ask back. She was religious, sure, but she wasn't uptight. She looked as she was, like an angel with golden hair in long spirag ringlets, a rosy face and blue eyes, china pink lips and long lashes. She looked like Heaven as much as she believed in it.
He arrived at the gate F3 and sat with his head set strung around his neck, caught in the grey hood of the sweatshirt he had on under his brown jacket. Beneath both of those layers, he sported a Ramones concert teeshirt he'd had since highschool. The same Chuck Taylors, the same old jeans. He didn't switch up much of what he wore.
He knew he'd be sitting for a while; he'd come early to avoid some of the traffic. It was a losing battle anyways, but he was always thinking of what could be done to lighten the burden of the city. He watched out the window, children running in circles and pressing their hands against the glass to see the arrival of the jet. He stood up and stretched his back while the airline workers began to announce the arrival.
A moment later people began to pour from the gateway; mothers with babies, young, tan kids from the south, grandparents visiting for Easter. And then a young woman with long blonde hair, tied back in a loose ponytail. She wore a pair of simple blue jeans beneath a tan sleeveless dress, long mahogany colored beads hanging against her collar bone. She hadn't noticed him yet. He watched her every move, how she walked, how she smiled at the little boy tugging her teeshirt, mistaking her for his sister. He watched how she rooted through her purse for the cell phone. He felt the call vibrate on his belt.
He moved out from behind the airline desk and she noticed him immediately; he was about 6 feet tall, maybe a little taller. Hard to miss, regardless. Her face lit up completely at the sight of her friend, 3 years her senior at 21 but still young and attractive. He'd worn his light hair in that trim faux hawk she'd last seen him with. She smiled brightly and quickened her pace. She nearly lunged in to embrace him, burying her face in the shoulder of his jacket. He rested his chin on her head and took in the light vanilla and lilac scent of her hair. He remembered it from their first meeting; it was something he could not forget.
He did not let her go too soon. He held her just as tight, lifting her clear off the floor. She laughed sort of loudly and swung her legs around his waist.
"Miss me much?" She asked, looking straight at him. Her eyes made him nervous, the brightest possible shade of aquamarine, with rings of yellow. He looked down at the dimple in her chin and smiled.
"Very much." He set her down and she left her right arm around his side, looking around at all the smiling faces that had seen her outgoing utterance of affection. He broke away from staring at her. "Have you got bags?"
"Just the carry on and my purse." He nodded. She gave him a light shove in the arm. "You aren't saying much. Where's the chatty cafe boy?" The truth was, he was too completely distracted by her completely classic sex appeal. She had a way of making things like this seem very oblivious. Men stared at her everywhere she went; one glance and a gentleman at the least feels his knees sort of buckle. She walked out in front of him, just a little. He didn't mind it, it was a nice view. Even though the dress covered the perfect shape of her bottom. It was cinched at the waist, so her hourglass figure was in plain sight. She looked over her shoulder and motioned for him to catch up. She was a rare find, a masterpiece about to spend a night in his piece of shit apartment.
He didn't like being crude, even in his own mind's eye. But he found himself mentally undressing her when she faced him in the parking lot, looking at the sky. It all started with the bra strap that had fallen off of her shoulder; it hung ever so slightly out from under the sleeve of the thin dress. She was freezing and that didn't help at all. The outline of what was underneath the linen fabric became prominent. The dress wasn't there a moment later. It was just Hayley in jeans and that pink bra. And then it was Hayley in jeans, the perfection of her cream colored stomach, hips, breasts, glowing in the half sunlight, her golden hair blowing over her shoulders. And then it was Hayley and the sky, and nothing at all.
"Lee?" He snapped out of it a second later.
"Hm?"
"Are you hungry?"
"Starving." He unlocked the door of the red Grand Prix. She tossed the luggage in the back seat with the hockey stick and the clean laundry sacks. "Your call, Subway or Toxic Hell." He put on his aviator shades and she put on hers a minute after.
She wouldn't have made it obvious in any way, but she wanted something to happen so badly with him it almost burned her. He wasn't a Catholic boy from her highschool, he wasn't even like the boys she met at shows. He was more beautiful, somewhow. More complex. She watched his arms move, shifting the wheel. He'd taken the jacket and sweatshirt off so all of the well defined parts of his torso showed up faintly with movement. She had grown to love the day late shave, tracing the line of his profile. Her eyes grazed the pointed nose, the crooked mouth, the defined, poignant jaw. She moved down his neck, arms, body. She wished she could see more of it. She would see more of it. She wanted to. She had to. The sun reflected off of the lenses of his glasses and she sighed. Lee could be a movie star if he wanted to.
He watched her full chest rise with every breath she took.
Hayley could be a movie star if she wanted too.
(Read comments)
|
