Waiting

I had a friend who I regularly had over for dinner. He was incredibly funny and entertaining to hang out with. He also very obviously wanted to fuck me. Unfortunately, he was too much of a chicken shit to say so outright, and so the dinner nights went on free of molestation. I was getting really aggravated with it.


One night I'd finally had enough of the polite nice guy routine and decided I was going to have to back him into a corner. He showed up and found me in the kitchen cooking, in stilettos with bright red lipstick and what can only be called a dress in the most academic sense of the word. I made drinks while he found ways to maneuver himself behind me so he could continue to stare without my seeing him. I smirked to myself - he was failing miserably at it.


With dinner in the oven and drinks in hand, we sat on the sofa talking. Except, as I had planned, he was struggling mightily to carry on a conversation. Finally, FINALLY he gave up. "Look," he said. "I don't know how I am supposed to sit here and talk to you without touching you with you looking like that."


"And I don't know," I replied coolly, "where you got the idea that you should." He didn't answer, just held my gaze with a look that said If you don't look away now you're not going to be able to get out of this. I didn't.


Moments passed in tense silence. "Put that drink down," he finally ordered, his hands already sliding inside my dress. "You're going to spill it".