Your body contradicts your words. Your heart fighting with your head. Emotion versus reason.
I look at you with lust in my eyes. My libido is alive for the first time in years, and I don't want to rein it in again. Not around you.
Your efforts for idle chit-chat go ignored. I can't concentrate on that. I don't care about the weather. Your words are a blur around my head while I try to figure out how to get what I want without you resenting me for it. I look at you like I'm paying attention, my upper arm resting on your lap while my hand supports my head. This is the closest we've been in years.
"I could just undo the strap around my neck right now, show you my boobs," I say, interrupting whatever conversation you're trying to have with me.
"You shouldn't do that," you say. With your mouth. Your eyes say something else. You're curious to see how far I'll try to push you.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do."
"I should go," you say.
"Get up, then."
"I can't. You're laying on my lap."
"You're bigger than me. You can lift me off you."
"I don't want to hurt you."
I smirk. "I guess you'll just have to stay here then."
You check the clock on the wall, trying to calculate how much longer you can survive without me moving.
When you look back at me, I reach behind my neck and pull the string, releasing the knot that's keeping my dress in place. I pull down the left side that's covering my breast, all while sporting a mischievous grin. You look away, as if that excuses your part in my behaviour. But I'm not going to let you get away that easy.
I take your hand, and place it on my exposed breast. You could take your hand away, but you don't. You leave it there, and look at me, look at what you're doing. Squeeze your hand.
You've traded any power you thought you might've had over to me. I close my eyes and feel how turned on I'm becoming.
You pull your hand away. "I'm sorry," you say.
I shake my head.
"I should go," you say again.
My heart sinks, but I understand. I re-do my halter-top.
"You don't want to see my panties I told you about?" I ask, thinking about how hot I am down there.
"You really want to show me, don't you?"
I shrug, and take your hand again, putting it between my legs.
"It feels like netting," you say, avoiding commenting on how wet I am. Your fingers press against me as I lift up my skirt so you can see why it feels the way it does. "You really are horny right now, aren't you?"
I shrug again. "I did warn you. You had to have known when you came over that I'd try something like this."
"I was hoping to put a stop to it."
"So much for that idea."
You check the clock again. "I really should go though."
I sigh, feeling resigned, but accomplished. I got more than I expected. I pushed your buttons. I know you still want me.
I remove my arm from your lap, and as I get up, I straddle my legs either side of yours, and move my face within an inch of yours, enticing you to kiss me, because I won't make that move before you do.
"Okay," I say, and stand, giving you room to make your own choice.
You stand up, and back yourself toward the door. I close the distance between us and look up at you, expecting a goodbye hug. You rest your hands on my shoulders and start to massage them. You're not leaving. I've brought life to your dull world. You may never see me again after today.
What will you choose?
Sometimes I still think about past lovers. Fantasize. What might happen if I ever saw them again? Is it even a good idea to try and rekindle something that didn't work out? I can't answer that alone. But my memories of who they were with me remind me what it was like to feel anything at all.