This is my first submission, and though I’m looking forward to feedback, please be gentle with it! Xoxo
“I got it,” a gravelly voice said from behind me.
I was in line at the coffee shop closest to my office and was fumbling to get my credit card from my winter coat pocket. Once I turned around to thank the generous person behind me, I realized who it was. Him. Granted, I have no idea what his name is, where he works, anything. I just know him as “him”.
I work at a large university full of pretentious people, both students and professors, so I largely keep to myself. It’s not my scene – I was educated at a large state university and this Ivy League campus still freaks me out even after all these years. But the perk is the true beauty of it in Fall.
Almost every day around lunch, I take a break for some fresh air and fresh coffee. A few months back, that’s when I saw him. Him. Of course I would notice this guy – a construction worker working on the latest building named after some fancy alum that donated a small fortune. The first time I saw him, he was wearing jeans, a green Red Sox shirt with tattoos peeking out from the sleeves, and had a little stubble. I was fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of his eyes – bright blue, hard to miss against his dark features. I looked at Him while walking for what seemed like 15 minutes but was likely a second or two before I averted my eyes. I didn’t want to border on creepy. I remember thinking the whole day how I miss being surrounding by people that actually worked hard for a living.
The next day, I admit to stepping up my break game. It was another gorgeous fall day and I had hoped I’d see Him again, so I actually took the time to pick out an outfit that didn’t make me look like a frumpy grad student. Grey ankle boots, black leggings, a red and black plaid button down; I had actually taken the time to dry my hair and put on plum colored lipstick. I rarely wore makeup – it’s cheaper to take good care of my skin, I always thought. And my hair, which was dark brown and naturally curly, fell in a more put together way when I took the time to dry it, so dry it I did. Before stepping out, I unbuttoned the top button of my shirt. “Just in case,” I said to myself.
And of course, there he was. Sitting on the curb near the work site enjoying his own break. As I walked in his direction, we locked eyes for a second before I again averted and continued on. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked down the block. This game continued for a number of weeks. On one occasion, I was lucky enough to see him as his break was ending. When he stood up, that ass. Seriously. Some guys just have such nice asses – high, tight, look perfect in worn jeans. Every time I walked by him, I’d notice something else about him. No wedding ring, a little salt and pepper by his ears along his hair line, an old Red Sox hat he often wore, hands that looked well maintained for a guy that worked in a building trade. I had definitely thought about his hands a few times while I was alone in my apartment – I’d have thought they’d be more rough.
So it was a bit of a surprise to me when it was Him that offered to pay for my coffee. I hadn’t seen him in a few days during my breaks, and figured his contract had finished. And this was not my normal break time, it was the morning while I was on the way to my office.
“Wow, thanks. I must have left my credit card at home. I really appreciate it,” I sputtered, realizing that not only did I look like I had just woken up, but I must have come across as a total space cadet.
“It’s ok, really.” He said as we walked together to the coffee bar waiting for our drinks. Nonfat latte for me, iced Americano for him. Because of course he’d drink that. While we waited, he followed up, “it’s the least I could do for all of the entertainment you’ve provided me the last number of weeks.”
“Excuse me?” I responded, waiting to be embarrassed.
“Entertainment. You know, I saw you on your breaks pretty regularly for a while before I switched jobs. I noticed you’d look at me.” He said.
I, of course, turned beet red. “Shit, I’m sorry! I was feeling out of place here in this bastion of buttoned up academia that seeing someone in a Red Sox hat with tattoos once in a while was a nice change of pace. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” Because this would redeem my embarrassment?
“It’s ok. I liked it. And it means you didn’t notice me looking at you. Which I did, often. I like watching a nice ass walk away.” And with that, he took his drink and left. I was left waiting for my drink. The ONE time the coffee shop took their sweet time to make my drink correctly. So back I went to my office, oddly breathless. I guess it had been a while since someone actually flirted with me.
A few days later, he was waiting for his drink again at the end of the coffee bar. “I owe you for that drink the other day,” I said with a hand holding a five-dollar bill Pendik Escort outstretched. He lightly tapped my hand away, which of course made me shiver a bit. “No need. Really,” he said trailing off. “I mean, if you would actually take me to coffee, we can consider it even,” he slyly smiled. Jesus this guy had game.
“Of course. Same time tomorrow?” I said nervously in return. He began to walk away, and I heard him say, “yep!”.
I woke up early to do my thing to look more put together. Curled my eyelashes, dried my hair, put on some lip gloss. I was young, no need to go crazy. I did find a relatively low-cut v-neck sweater that showed off the top curve of my breasts, but not overtly so. I liked him, from what I could tell, but no need to advertise that too much. I had a sense he knew that already.
I walked over to the coffee shop from my apartment and ordered my latte and his iced Americano, and brought it to a table on the second floor of the coffee shop and waited. A few minutes had gone by, and I started to nervously read my Twitter feed so if he came up, it would look like I was doing something beyond waiting for him. I saw the top of dusty black Red Sox hat from my perch on the second floor and felt that weird tingle again. A flush down my neck and chest.
“Hey! You even have my drink ready. Good girl.” He chuckled.
He sat down across the small table from me. His name was Luke, he was 39 and he’d been assigned to that new fancy building on campus named after a wealthy alum a few months back, but had generally worked on various building projects around campus as a union electrician. I felt his boot graze the side of my calf. I didn’t really hear anything else he said.
“Enough about me – what’s your deal?” Luke asked me.
“I beg to differ…” he retorted, hand gesturing to provide him my name.
“Rachel,” I replied.
“I beg to differ, Rachel.”
“Well, I am finishing my thesis in economics, it’s very dull but no one bothers me and I have an office and a few undergrads that I advise. It’s all foreign to me. I’m not of Ivy League stock and I think a lot of these kids can smell it on me. I’m from a working-class neighborhood so I generally keep to myself and don’t plan to stay here once I’m finished my doctorate. Not much ties me here,” I explained.
“Yet,” he smiled.
I blushed and felt hot in familiar places. I was sure he noticed.
There was a minute or two of awkward silence, like we knew we had stuff in common but did not know here to begin. The tension was thick and I fidgeted with my coffee mug and looked out the window on to the busy city block. His hand moved across the table and the tip of his finger ran down my wrist and dipped under the cuff of my sweater. I turned back and gave a half smile. I’m not the most confident person, but no prude either. I moved so my hand was on the table, open, inviting his touch. He used the tip of his index finger to trace the lines on my hand.
“Your hands are soft, for an office lackey,” Luke teased, until he got to the calluses at the top of my hand. “And these are…?” he asked.
“Kettlebells. Impossible to be unmarked.”
“Impressive! It would make sense, given…” and then he took a moment, “you’ve got an aura of strength that I couldn’t put my finger on. It makes sense now.”
“I’m not like some powerlifter!” I clarified.
“That’s not what I meant. I meant that when you walk, and your posture. And the way your ass fills out your jeans,” he commented.
“Thanks, I think,” even though I knew I liked that he noticed. “Well, it’s time for me to say goodbye. My undergrads are waiting. This was nice, though. I’m glad I got to repay you,” I said as I stood up, now keenly aware of how my jeans hugged my hips.
“Wait,” he said as he pushed his chair back. “Can I make you dinner on Sunday? I mean, there’s a Pats game on, but I can make an exception.”
“Would you pay attention to me or the game,” I genuinely asked. You never get between a Boston man and his sports teams. It’s ridiculous.
“I mean, I can multi-task…” he said, grabbing my phone to text his phone so we both had each other’s numbers. “So I’ll see you Sunday. Rachel.”
And that was that.
My Sunday routine of watching Meet the Press from my warm bed was interrupted by a text from Luke.
“Bring some wine,” the text said.
Wine didn’t seem strong enough, so I packed a good bottle of whiskey in my bag, along with an extra pair of panties and my toothbrush. You know, for good measure. I put on a pair of jeans and a black sweater. Underneath, a black lace bra hugged my generous C cup breasts and black lace boyshort panties, to show off all the time I had spent with the squat rack. Nothing crazy, just simple. I got the sense he preferred simple. I never thought of myself as sexy – I disliked my naturally curly hair, and had spent a few years losing the grad school weight. But I was content and at 32, Kurtköy Escort knew who I was and what I wanted. I also found confidence in my strength and my sense of humor. Both had gotten me through many moves and tough times.
On the T ride over to Luke’s neighborhood, I was seriously nervous. I’m not a dater, as of late, and while I had my fair share of sex, it never made me nervous with anticipation. That was the feeling I had as I made my way over to his block.
“Seriously?” I thought to myself as I looked at his apartment building. It was a three story brown stone, classic Boston, converted in to apartments. Up the steps I went, looking for his buzzer. Like a good guy, he actually came out and let me in. No buzzing in, but opening the door and escorting me in. He was dressed nicer than I expected, as I’d only really seen him in jeans and a tshirt or sweatshirt. He was in khakis with a tucked in green polo. It showed off that while he was in shape, he wasn’t a crazy gym guy, which I liked. His tattoos again peeking out from his sleeves, which were tighter than his work shirts. I noticed his triceps, well defined as he held the door for me. I also noticed that he was significantly taller than my 5 feet 4 by more than half a foot. We hadn’t been that close to each other for me to really notice before.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Luke gestured with his arm as he opened his apartment door for me. And holy shit his apartment. It was the whole first floor with a kitchen to die for facing the street.
“Good thing we aren’t at my place. Yours is much nicer,” I told him, handing him the whiskey. Because of course a union electrician did better than a fucking Ivy League doctoral student.
“Well, thanks. I renovated it a few years ago and am pleased with the results,” he told me. “And whiskey? Nice touch.”
“What smells amazing?” I asked, looking around.
With a wide smile, Luke told me it was his grandmother’s recipe for pasta sauce. “She used to force me to help her make it ever Sunday, which at the time was awful and now I realize what a gift it was,” he said.
As he was cooking, I walked around checking out his apartment. Lots of books, mostly classics like Huck Finn and Ulysses with some biographies thrown in. And lots of framed photos. Family. Friends. Photos of him with his buddies from the Marine Corps. Lots of smiles, lots of memories to ask him about.
“Hey, come help me with the veggies, will you?” he asked.
I pulled out a knife from the block and got to work on the garlic and zucchini. Bold move, garlic. The only sound was that of minor street traffic and sauce bubbling. But then I could sense him. I could sense him behind me. I felt his hand push the hair off my neck.
“Good technique. Clearly not your first time around a large knife,” he laughed.
I didn’t respond, risking cutting myself from nerves. I focused on the task at hand. But I could smell him. He smelled like lemons and Irish Spring soap.
Once my task was finished, he came to gather what I’d prepared. “These will do,” he told me. He tossed them in a bowl with some olive oil and put them to the side.
I walked over to the sink to wash my hands, and felt him again. Behind me. This time, he was bolder. He put his hands on my hips and nuzzled his nose in to the hair that fallen back over my neck and shoulders. I let out an instinctive sigh. It had been a while since a man touched me in such a way.
I spun around, and leaned back to look at him. His eyes, still very blue. His hair, still greying at the temples. He was freshly shaven. His lips slightly parted, either about to say something or about to move in for a kiss. “Aren’t you going to burn your sauce?” I asked.
“Nope. Stove’s off. But I’ve been wanting to touch you from the moment I first spoke to you. So, I hope you don’t mind if I just get a kiss in because I kind of think that if I don’t do it now, it’ll be distracting.”
Before I could answer, he swooped in. Pulling my hips closer, my chest brushing against his and lips meeting. The kiss started plainly enough, but I opened my mouth a bit as an invitation for more. His tongue gently grazed mine, asking permission. I reciprocated and soon his hands moved up and he held my face in his hands. I stumbled a bit as my body reached up for more of his tongue. He gently sucked on my lower lip, which sent a quick spark down my chest and stomach. My hands moved from leaning on the counter to lightly around his waist.
And then he pulled away from me and broke the kiss.
I looked at him, bleary eyed and confused, lips swollen from being kissed.
“I really think you’ll like this sauce,” he said to me. “Go take a seat on the couch while I finish up.”
I stood there for a minute while he finished cooking, just watching. It seemed like everything was moving in slow motion. How the heck was I going to eat after that kiss?
I walked over to the sofa and turned on the Pats game, waiting Maltepe Escort for whatever directions followed.
“Are you in to football?” Luke asked.
“Nope. Hate it.” I tossed back at him.
He came towards me and picked up the remote. “So turn it off. I’m recording it. I planned ahead!” He leaned down and kissed my forehead and invited me to sit at the table like a grown up for dinner.
And what the fuck, the food was fantastic. It had been a hot minute since I’d had real carbs, so maybe the long-lost taste of pasta was more exceptional than the actual cooking, but it didn’t matter. He had some red wine ready, but it’s not my thing but I drank a glass to be polite.
We talked about family – me with one sister in another large city, him with two brothers, one also an electrician nearby and one in computers in the suburbs. “He coaches his kid’s baseball team,” Luke told me. And parents, his both retired in South Boston, mine both working, one at a bank and the other at a local public school. And his time in the Marine Corps, filled with a few combat deployments and lots of time waiting. “I’m lucky,” he told me, “I’m better for my time in.” I told him I thought the two current wars were bullshit, and he didn’t disagree.
When we were finished, I helped him clear the dishes. As he stood over the sink taking care to not leave any dirty dishes, I was feeling light and heavy at the same time from the wine. Like I said, red wine isn’t my thing. I moved towards him and slid my hands up his biceps, leaning in to kiss the back of his neck. This time, I felt him shiver.
“Is this ok?” I asked, mostly knowing this was rhetorical.
“Mhm” he said, still tending to the bit of mess on the dishes.
I slid my arms down and then around his waist, moving up towards his chest, pulling him closer to me. I kissed his neck more, nibbled his ears. I slid my hands back down to untuck his shirt.
Turning off the sink, he turned around. We stood face to face. “You know, I didn’t get to see any of your tattoos yet,” I told him. I pulled off his shirt and he stood still while I looked at them. They were legit half sleeves, mostly Americana themed and really well done. Thank god. I ran my fingers over the pictures, checking them out, feeling him get goosebumps. And I could feel him watching me inspect him.
I leaned in for another kiss, this time taking the lead. This time being the one that sucked on his lower lip. His hands moved to my ass, sliding his hands in the back pocket of my jeans. He started to gently knead, and I felt my panties start to get damp.
I broke the embrace and walked over to the couch, kicking my shoes off along the way. Luke followed like a puppy. “Sit,” I instructed.
I sat astride him, looking down at his face. He really was handsome. Far better looking than I felt I deserved. He started reaching his hands under the back of my sweater, I jumped at the feel of his hands on my skin. As I was kissing him, he unhooked my bra under my shirt. Sneaky. I leaned back and let him remove my shirt. I sat there, straddling him, black lace bra unhooked.
“Jesus,” he sighed. I felt his cock jump a bit under me. “The color suits you.” Instead of pulling my bra down, he ran his finger along the top of the fabric at the top of each breast, to which each nipple became very stiff in response. He smiled up at me. He still did not remove my bra. I think he liked the difference in feeling of skin and lace.
I pushed his hands away and down to his sides and slid off his lap to the floor. His pants did nothing to hide his hard on. On my knees, I began to unbuckle his belt and work on unzipping his khakis. He didn’t move his hands from where I had left them, and I could tell he was just watching me. I started to slide his pants off, he helped by lifting himself up so I could pull them off. My finger nails stroked the inside of his thighs and I heard him groan. Ah, a spot to remember, I thought.
His grey boxer briefs were still on, tight around the outline of his hard cock. I sat back on my knees and let my hands tease him through his underwear, tracing the outline of his dick, which grew the more firmly I touched. I eventually responded to his soft groans by fishing it out of his underwear.
Thankfully, he was cut. Spoiled Jewish girl, I guess.
And his cock was a good length, probably 7″, proportional to his height. And on the thicker side. I didn’t grip it right away. I let my index finger run up the base of it, under and around the head. Luke shivered and I saw him flex his stomach in response.
I stood up to remove my jeans and straddled his thigh, damp panties against his skin.
“That’s a nice surprise,” he whispered to me and he slid his hand down the back of my underwear. I pressed my covered chest in to his and kissed him passionately. Feeling his tongue explore my mouth, his cock jumping every now and then against the side of my thigh.
Breaking the kiss, I spit on my hand and began to stroke his cock. He and I both watched as my hand moved slowly and firmly up and down. I like to think I know how to work a cock, but I felt a real need to please Luke for some reason. Like, I wanted to win over the other women he may have been with lately.