I sat at the table for two, sipping my iced tea. The waiter had refilled my glass three times by the time my Bri arrived--always outrageously late but generally worth the wait.
"Sorry I'm late, hon" She said loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear. "I was getting a bikini wax and it took longer than I thought."
She always could make a stunning entrance. I looked around, but fortunately the place was relatively deserted.
"Just sit down. I'm starving."
"Perhaps I should order oysters. I'm feeling a bit amorous today," she declared flipping through her menu.
"When are you not?" I asked grinning. "What's got you in a bother today?"
"Heading off to the beach with my guy tomorrow and I have something very special in mind for him."
The waiter arrived. We took our time placing our orders, enjoying flirting with him a bit. He was young, cute, and smiling shyly the whole time. I waited until he was out of earshot again before asking, "So this wax job you kept me waiting for is the something special?”
"Well, it was actually more like a cut and color. In honor of our first get away weekend, I had the stylist trim my bush into a heart and dye it red. He'll see just how much I love him when he dives into my eager pussy."
Bang! The sound of shattering glass interrupted before she could go into more graphic detail. The waiter stared at us, holding an empty tray in his hands. Our lunch lay scattered at his feet.
"I believe I startled the poor kid," she said, feigning dismay. The fiasco was quickly set to rights and we laughed and chatted in good humor throughout our dinner.
When I got home I was still thinking about the adventure Bri was preparing. Most people wear their hearts on their sleeves. Brianna believed in more strategic areas.
I wished I had the opportunity to surprise my guy this weekend. He was a naval officer and once again at sea for six months. The only communication we'd had for the past two months was via email. Our letters were basic and boring. "What did you do today? Did you get my package? The garbage disposal is broken again."
We always spent the last weekend of the summer alone together. This year it just wasn't possible. Feeling sentimental, I donned the purple camisole that he'd given me for Valentine's Day. I slipped into bed and gravitated to his side. I missed his scent on the pillows. I wanted him in bed with me. Needing to bridge the distance a bit, I grabbed my laptop to send him a letter.
"I wish you were here, darling. I love you and miss you. I saw Bri today. It was amusing as usual," I typed.
It was all wrong. It wasn't the kind of letter I wanted it to be. I wanted it to be sexy. I wanted it to express how I was feeling. I wanted it to be sensual. Instead, it was the same standard letter. I erased what I'd written and leaned back against the pillows. The lace of my camisole lay attractively across my thighs and I ran my finger along it.
"What would he do if he really were here right now?" I wondered, brushing my fingertips across my breasts. My nipples responded, immediately stiffening. After a few deep breaths, I began the letter again.
I can't seem to fall asleep. You are clouding my thoughts, making it difficult to relax. I am tense, longing for your touch.
I imagine you are walking into the room, covered from head to toe in your dress uniform. The formality of it is sexy and turns me on. I watch as you remove your hat and grin at me. Your desire for me evident in the way you undress me with your eyes.
"Take off your clothes, sailor," I say, sitting on the edge of the bed. You comply, slowly unbuttoning the decorated jacket.
"I want you," you murmur, shrugging out of it. Your undershirt is tight and stretched across your chest. You take it off and my eyes slide down your abdomen, following the trail of hair to your belt line. I want to lick your stomach and kiss your chest. I need to feel your nipples under my fingertips. You remove your slacks and stand in your regulation boxers, your trim body looking incredibly hot against the crisp white. The tip of your penis is barely visible. I want to see it. I want to taste it.
You slip off your shorts. I love your uniform, but your birthday suit is my favorite. Your dick is hard and reaching out for me. I beckon you closer, licking my lips. I stretch out a hand and stroke your shaft. You press the tip against my wet lips. It gets harder as I circle my tongue around it. Your gasps acknowledge your pleasure. I want to please you. I want to excite you. You grab my shoulders as I move quickly up and down the length of your cock.
Then you ask me to stop and you drop to your knees, resting your large hands on my thighs. They are warm, and your touch makes me melt. You gently peel off my camisole and press your tongue against my breasts. I twist your hair between my fingers as you suck and fondle. My panties are wet, so very wet. You rip them off and kiss up the length of my muscular thighs. I spread my legs. You slide your tongue between the folds, seeking my most sensitive areas. That's it. Oh, yes, that's it. Don't stop. Continue to tease me. You are making me quiver. I want to scream out as I teeter on the brink of orgasm. You are not letting up and I give in, shattering.
As I catch my breath, you move to the bed and lie alongside me, outlining my entire body with kisses. My lips are jealous, and I cover you in kisses, too. My tongue along your legs is a tiny, wet paintbrush. I crawl on top of you. My breasts rub across your body as I move higher. You take my face in your hands and kiss me passionately. Your cock pushes against me, sliding into me. I shift my entire weight on top of you, surrounding you with warm, wet pleasure. You are thrusting your pelvis, giving me the ride I crave.
I cannot bare to move my lips from yours as we roll over. I love to feel the warmth of your body smothering me. I wrap my legs around yours, raising myself a little higher. It is too much. You are pleasing me as only you are able. I can't fight it any longer. You are pressing harder, moving faster. I am going to come and you thrust deep. Your body is rigid and I feel you explode inside me.
I don't want to let you go. I want to keep you inside me all night. I want to remain this close forever. You brush the strands of hair from my eyes and place my head in the crook of your neck. We lie still and share each other again, but this time in our dreams.
Good night, darling. I miss you.
Your waiting lover.
Before I could second guess myself, I moved the arrow to "send" and clicked the mouse. It was done. It was certainly not as good as the real thing, but it did leave me feeling closer to him and I slept soundly.
The next morning I slept late. I didn't have plans and decided to spend the morning with a good book. After washing my face I brewed a pot of coffee. The doorbell rang as I was heading back to the bedroom. I slipped into a robe and went to the door. It was a delivery guy with a dozen roses. I accepted them and ran like a schoolgirl to the bedroom to read the card.
"I wish I were there to cover you in the petals," the card read. I smelled each one then opened my laptop. I wanted to see if he'd read my message. There was no reply but the message had definitely been opened. The letter was very risque. I wondered for the first time if it would make him uncomfortable, or worse, get into trouble with his commander.
The doorbell interrupted my worries. I opened the door and there he stood, gorgeous in his dress uniform.
"What are you doing home?" I cried, leaping into his arms. He was unable to answer, his mouth covered by my own.
"I have priorities," he said, carrying me through the house and into the bedroom. "Oh great, you got the flowers."
"Yes, they're beautiful," I said, unable to take my hands off him. He noticed that the laptop was open on the bed and asked if I was working on something.
"No, I was checking to see if you received my letter."
"What letter?" Before I could explain, the computer tone signaled a new email. I walked over and sat down. It was a message from his ship.
Dear Waiting Lover,
Your husband got a few days leave from duty on the ship early yesterday. He's on his way back home to you. From the gist of your letter, he's in for one hell of a weekend. A lucky man indeed.
P.S. Your letter made many homesick sailors a little less lonely.
"What does that mean?" He asked, looking puzzled.
"Let me show you,” I said walking to the bed and sitting on the edge. “Undress slowly, sailor."
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