Vignette

We're sitting at a pub of some sort, on an oversized bench that somehow reminds me of a seesaw turned sideways. You're next to me but won't touch me, so I stay where I am and sip my beer. As time goes by, you move closer, inch by inch. I'm happy but I know that I can't initiate contact. You're forbidden to me. We're just friends now, and if that is all I can have, then that's fine. I'd rather have you near me in friendship than away from me entirely.

Still, you get closer, and finally, as I raise my left arm to make a point, you raise your right arm and hold it against mine. The electricity is there, yet I can feel myself relax against you.

You get up and walk away. When you return, you straddle me and pull me close to you. Your arms entwine around my stomach, and I can feel your left hand slide down my pants, fingers recognizing that I'm not wearing anything beneath them. I can feel your cock harden against my ass, and I move about, to fit you in more closely behind me.

"You ever done it in public?" you grumble into my ear. "Not yet," I whisper, as I feel your fingers enter me.

Your insistent fingers, dancing against the walls of me, teasing, filling, make me lean my head forward, try to curl up more tightly, as you lean against my back and breathe against my neck.

As the band plays onstage, and people start to notice what you're doing to me, I come. Quietly at first, then more loudly. This is what you do to me. I lose control under your fingers, so deep in me now, and the final recesses of orgasm overtake me. I collapse against you, catching my breath, as you look around at the people watching us and grin.