Page 54 of S is for SEX

I could have talked about gross stuff and tried to ruin his appetite, but decided it might curb my sexual desire. My small dining table didn’t have a cloth on it, so tugging against the table cloth and causing a spill wasn’t an option, and starting a fire was out of the question. While he chewed on another small piece of chicken, I gnawed on my lower lip and continued my line of thought.

Being in his presence as a friend was becoming annoying. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy his company, because I did, but I was far too attracted to him to continue without at least trying to get in his pants.

The wine.

The table was small enough that I just might be able to make it work. I reached for the glass at the exact instant he began to strike up a new conversation.

“So what about you?” he asked. “When was your last relationship?”

I smacked the back of my hand against the glass, toppling it over. The wine spilled with perfection, all over his plate.

And his cute little shirt.

And lap.

Fuck.

I felt like a complete fool.

“Shit!” I shouted.

“Shit,” he shouted.

“It was an accident,” I said as I jumped from my seat.

He chuckled as he tried to absorb the wine with his napkin. “I didn’t think it was intentional.”

If you only knew.

I ran to the kitchen, dampened a few towels, and returned to my dining disaster. “Here, I’ll get it. I feel like such a klutz.”

After cleaning up the mess and taking his plate to the kitchen, I took a close look at his shirt. It had a six-inch wide swath of wine down the center of the bottom half of it.

My accelerated blowjob plan had gone to fuck, and I felt like an absolute fool. I motioned toward the rapidly drying stain on his shirt. “You should probably take it off so I can wash it.”

Without hesitation, he tugged against each side of the shirt, popping the snaps from the bottom to the top. With a quick shrug of his shoulders he dropped the shirt down his arms and handed it to me.

Now standing in front of me wearing only his jeans and boots, I realized several things. One, it was the first time I had seen him shirtless. Two, I was halfway to having him completely naked. And, three, there was no way he was getting out of my home without me at least sucking his cock.

His wide chest tapered down to a perfectly chiseled mid-section. Where most men hoped to have a six-pack, he had an eight-pack. How lower stomach formed into the shape of a ‘V’, which pointed directly to the prize housed in the jeans that hung low on his waist.

Every time I had seen him in the gym, he was dressed in shorts or sweats, but he always wore a tee shirt or hoodie. I tore my eyes from his massive chest and swollen biceps. “At least it was a Chardonnay.”

He seemed slightly self-conscious.

“I’d give you a shirt, but there’s no way--”

“I’m okay with it if you are,” he interrupted.

Now that he had his shirt off, I never wanted to see him with it on again.

I raised his wadded shirt, shrugged, and turned away. “Considering the circumstances...”

Three steps toward the laundry room I had a revelation. I turned around. “You didn’t get anything on your jeans did you?”

He looked down. I looked down. I had a reason to stare, and I used it. A dark spot on the hip of the jeans gave me a little hope. I stepped closer. Sure enough, a spot the size of my fist darkened the hip of his jeans.

My bumbling the glass of wine was a complete success!

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