The Broken Drum part2
by Hot Milfs Blog “He’s working late. He’s always either working late or out of
town,” she flared, scrunching her eyebrows together. “Besides,
I’m better company to myself than he’s been lately.”
“Sorry…. I was just making conversation,” I back-pedaled. As I
tried to extricate myself from the mess I was making of ’small-
talk’, I glanced down, and was immediately captured by the
promise of her entire leg, exposed as it was by the split skirt.
“See something you like, Eric?”
“No! I mean yes! I mean, your slip is showing.” See what I
mean. I’m a real conversational giant.
Our eyes locked, and she very deliberately blinked. Twice. “I
don’t know how that’s possible. I’m not wearing one.”
I unbuttoned my coat and leaned forward, ready to respond with
something profound, when I saw her eyes widen with surprise.
“Eric, I see the butt of your gun!” she gasped.
“That’s only fair, I was watching yours earlier.”
“Ahhh, but you see,” she smirked, “I have a much nicer butt than
you.”
“I know…. It’s fantastic. A man could spend a week exploring
it,” I said with a soft laugh, lifting both hands in mock
surrender. “But you win. I don’t want to butt heads with you.
Besides, my head is already sore.”
“I really am sorry about that, Eric. But, if it hadn’t happened
we wouldn’t be sitting here now.” There was a brief pause, and
then she continued, “Tell me what a nice cop like you was doing
in here all by himself.”
“We’re not going to talk about butts are we?” (Thrust)
Something happened back behind her eyes. Her pink tongue
deliberately traced their way over her firm full lips, and she
said, “We can talk about butts if you want to.”
It was like she was reading my mind. There was nothing I’d
rather than talk about than her butt.
“Did you know,” I stammered, “you are one of the rarest of
women?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I could tell she wasn’t at all
sure where the conversation was headed (or should I say ‘butted’
since that WAS the subject of the moment). “You mean that it’s
unusual for a woman to be in here alone? At your table?”
“Relax…. That’s not what I meant at all. What I meant was
since we were talking about butts… I’m a connoisseur of the
female posterior, and yours is spectacular.”
“Thank you, I guess… It is the only one I’ve got.”
“Ohhh, you’ve got it all right. Do you know how rare it is to
see one like yours? I mean a true heart-shaped ass!”
“Heart-shaped?”
“Sure… The way it swells out at your hips, and then tucks in
tight at the … I mean the way it’s shaped. Like a heart.
I’ll bet you’re the first I’ve ever seen in person.”
Listen, buster. An ass is an ass.”
“True, but all asses are not created equal,” I quipped.
“But they all serve the same purpose,” she grinned, “but, as a
connoisseur I’m sure you can explain the difference.”
“The difference is in style. To use your analogy a ‘52 Chevy and
a Porche 924 serve the same purpose. The difference is in the
lines and the form… And if you’ll pardon the expression, how
much fun they are to drive.” I tried to maintain a straight
face, as she chuckled. Then I continued, “The same can be set
for asses, or butts if you prefer. Walk down any street and
observe the female posteriors. Some are so wide they’re measured
in ax-handles, some have sagging buns, some jiggle like bowls of
Jell-O, and some women suffer from that dread malady ‘no-ass-a-
tall’.
I looked over, and her eyes were dancing as I picked up speed.
“On the other hand, some are slim and tight, nicely rounded, or
have fantastic definition. It’s all in the eye of the beholder.”
“Okay, Mr. Expert. What about mine?”
“Like I said, yours is that one-in-a-million, breathtaking, moan-
causing, erection arousing, perfectly proportioned, example of
feminine perfection; a heart-shaped butt. It’s a pleasure to
follow you anytime, anywhere.”
“Down, boy! I think I should throw a bucket of cold water on
you,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Right now I don’t think it would help.”
“So, I take it you liked what you beheld…?”
“I’d like to hold what I beheld.” (Damn, I’m into this repartee)
“Keep me laughing, Big Boy… You just might get your wish,” she
chuckled in reply to my amazing wit, as she reached over and
squeezed my hand.
During this whole con-fab she’d been putting away the Black Jack,
neat. Pop… Pop… Pop… One after another. Not non-stop, but
steady.
I was still working in my first one (at this sitting), so I knew
I was okay. I took a careful look and she wasn’t showing any
effect, YET. But since she was flesh and blood it would only be
a matter of time.
I reached for her wrist, and held it on the table. “Candice,
you’ve been hitting that awfully hard. How about something to
eat?”
“Why not?” she answered. “I want a steak, a baked potato and
a salad. Will you order while I run to the ‘tur-let’?”
“Sure,” I answered. “How do you want your steak, and what kinda
dressing?”
By now she was on her feet, and I was again treated to an eyeful
of the whole enchilada. “Rare, and blue cheese,” she answered.
Her legs were spread, and the one closest to me stuck all that
out of that spit skirt again.
I’m sure she felt my eyes, as the traveled all the way up. From
the tip of the thin black spike-heels, over her thin, fine boned
ankle, across her trim calf, around her slim knee, up that finely
muscled tapered thigh, grazing her tight belly, lingering at her
firm swelling breasts. Oh, yeah…. Quite a package.
She turned and winked at me, over her shoulder as she angled to
the ‘tur-let’. God Damn! She moved like she had ball-bearings in
her hips, and in that tight knit each one of her firm, tight,
independently-suspended buns expanded and contracted, and raised
and lowered, moved forward and backward…. called to me in the
oldest language know to man.
I waved to Janine, and tried to place our order. Janine was
being difficult, so I hoped we wouldn’t get chili. Women! I’d
asked Janine out twice, and she’d refused times. Now, here I am
…End of the part2. To be continued..