Conversation

You stretch out the arm you've had around me, and gently trace the small welts that will be gone all too soon. I moan, and squirm closer to you, trying to take more of you into my mouth.

You softly place the palm of your hand on my ass, slowly rubbing, then raise it and just a little bit less gently bring it back down. Oh, God, I can't get close enough.

You slide one finger between my legs, feeling the dampness and make a decision - continuing to drive at this point is probably not a great idea. You pull off the highway, I have no idea where, because I have my face buried in your lap and am not about to let go.

I hear the motor turn off, and then I feel your hand on me once again. Softly, teasingly you run your palm across my ass, one cheek and then the other. I can't help but lift my hips as you raise your hand away from me, and you chuckle.

You do love to torment me like this - making me crazy with lust and just keeping me that way for hours or days.

You watch as I lean over to unlock your door, then walk around the front of thetruck to enter. I've kept my seatbelt on but turned toward you on the seat, pulling one leg up under me.

As you put the truck into reverse, you put one arm around my shoulders, pulling my head onto your chest. I love riding next to you, and am (one of these days) going to find another bench seat so I can touch you more while we drive.

You remind me that the places we're going are likely to be crowded, and I try to bury my face farther into your chest. You, of course, take advantage of this by putting your hand on the small of my back and encouraging my face toward your groin.

I've got both hands free, and I know I'll feel better afterwards, so I reach for your zipper, carefully pull it down, and reach inside to release you. (I still wish you had a bench seat.) I wrap my mouth around you, and as I feel you respond, my worries fade away.

I dress, only cheating a little bit (and hoping you won't notice) and put on the shoes. You look at me sitting on the bed fastening the last buckle, and tell me to get up.

The moment of truth - will you notice? You don't appear to, but I know better than to count my chickens.

You turn me around, slowly, and mention that you think something is missing. You reach back into the cupboard and bring out my collar. You fasten it around my neck, and as you do so you whisper in my ear, "That skirt is riding a little low on your hips, isn't it? Perhaps you'd best fix that before we leave."

Damn.

"I'm sure it was a mistake, leaving the skirt around your hips instead of pulling it all the way up, but it is a mistake I want to be certain you will never be making again."

Seemingly out of nowhere, the crop appears in your hand. You must have gotten it while I was distracted putting on my heels - so you did notice right away, and even gave me a chance to fix it before you brought it up. I'm *so* going to get it.

"Bend over the bed," you say, "the evening is starting out a little differently than I had expected, but I will enjoy seeing these stripes while we are out."

"Count." "One (ouch) Two (*ouch*) Three (OUCH!)"

You help me up, give me a kiss on the forehead, and lead me down the steps to the door which has been standing open all this time. We go to the truck, and you open the door for me - smirking as you watch me climb in and gasp when my bare behind touches the seat.

Oh, thank goodness it is you. I try to usher you in, so I can close the door before any of the neighbors looks out a window, or arrives home from work, but you stand in the doorway, looking down at me, smiling. You tell me I'm a good girl, and then you do it - you put your arms around me, giving me the look you know makes me weak in the knees.

You move so that you are facing the door, and my back is to it. I try to protest, but you silence me with a kiss, the kiss. The one I wish could last forever.

You take my hand and say "Come." I follow you as you half march, half drag me up the stairs to the bedroom. "Oh, good. You've left the door open for me. Now, let's see what will be appropriate for this evening."

You rummage through my clothes like a teenager - pulling out one article, looking at it, and discarding it onto the bed. I'm going to have some cleaning to do when you have made your decision.

Ah, you have selected a blouse. It is white, button down (of course) and fairly sheer, but it will go with just about any skirt I own.

You turn from the closet to the dresser, and begin pawing through my underwear drawer. "Where is it?" you ask. "What?" I respond, having a pretty good idea what it is you're looking for, but not wanting to second- guess you, as that leads to the sort of punishment I'm not anxious to experience right now.

"The white bra - you know the one." "Oh, that one. I keep it with the other things I don't want anyone else going through."

I lead you to the locked cupboard which contains all our toys and several articles of clothing. You pull out both the open cup bra and the tiny maroon skirt.

"Put them on and tuck in the blouse," you command. "Now for the shoes. Oh, yes, the black ones with the ankle strap. They will do nicely for this evening."

"But I can hardly walk in them," I stammer. "I'll have to lean on you for support all night."

You just smile, and I wonder what exactly it is you have planned for us.

I am waiting. You've told me to wait in just my stockings, no heels this time. You have a surprise for me, but you won't even give me a hint. Just that I need to have the closet door open, and I need to be waiting to open the door when you knock.

As I wait, I become more anxious. What can you have planned that requires me to wait without my heels? What if you are bringing someone else home with you? What if there is a delivery?

The time seems to drag by, the minute hand barely moves. I don't dare get up, as I have no idea when you will arrive. If only I was busy, the time would fly by, but having to be patient and just sit quietly and wait - you know how difficult that is for me.

Finally, I hear a car in the driveway. Of course, I am not allowed to look out the window to see who is coming, nor am I allowed to hide behind the door when someone knocks. My pulse races, as I wait to see who is coming up the walk. Lord, I want it to be you, but I know that if it isn't you and I shock someone who is innocently ringing the bell, you will enjoy the story, so I am of two minds about what I want to happen.

A knock on the door, then another. I go to the door and throw it open, as directed.

Home. Too many days with too many teenagers.

But still, there are rewards. They all seem to be happier about the changes coming up for them - starting high school, moving away, making new friends.

I wish you could have seen them with the horses, in the pool, at the fair. They remind me of a couple of other friends from way back when.

I haven't been writing here as often as I should - in fact, I haven't been writing much at all. But I wanted to say something today. The few real friends I have are standing by me, and the ones who aren't? Well, I can understand some people just being too shallow to understand what's been going on in my life, and that others are just too much like my stbx for me to be comfortable around them.

And when the two come in one couple? Not a good match for me right now anyway.

But you true friends? I'll never forget how you have stood by me and helped me through what has been one of the most difficult parts of my life.

Thank you.

I don't know if you will ever read this, but I feel compelled to tell you anyway. You have been my best friend for what seems like forever, and I love it when you tell me that I have pleased you in some small way.

If I am sometimes filled with doubt, it isn't about you, or your feelings for me. It is about my feelings regarding myself. Sometimes it just gets too difficult to remember that there are people out there (like you) who love and care for me even when I'm not the most fun to be around, and even when I make mistakes.

You are a wonderful friend, and the best man I know.

Even when things around me all look black, I know you still care.

Thank you.