A Little Bit of Faith

I'm not thinking too deeply about what a girl with a body as stunning as yours is finding helpful on a site like this. But I really meant that thankyou earlier for playing over the last few days. Keeping it up in the current format is probably a bit too much to expect.

If you really meant you'd like to meet for a coffee and a chat that's cool. I really would like that to.

Day 8 6:11 AM Me

(It's starting to feel cold and lonely in here. There's a particular echo in an empty chat room. I start typing again anyway.)

Final installment then.

Apparently I never do get to get your pants down after all. :-$

6:15 AM Me

The movie starts.

It's a dark and stormy night in the Scottish highlands. It's hard to make out anything on the screen, lot's of wind noise and the distant sound of a horse galloping. The screen fills with a damsel clothed in something resembling a hundred layers of chiffon, she's riding hard, clinging to a wet dark stallion, all rippling muscles and sweat. (I groan. What is it with girls and horses? Cliche upon cliche, it must be the rippling power that does something to their private parts. And they say its men who are ruled by the brain in their pants. Ha!)

The scene goes on relentlessly, rain, the damsel's face, rippling horse flesh, foaming horse sweat, mud splashes on the chiffon, the damsel's face, a tear.

BANG, BANG!! Rolling thunder.

I jump, you jump, the whole fucking theater jumps! It's just lightning sound effects, but you have involuntarily grabbed my forearm and you're squeezing rather hard.

The horse throws the damsel to the ground. She lands in a mud puddle. Interestingly some of the hundreds of layers of chiffon seem to have miraculously disappeared, the wet material is now clinging to the damsel's torso as if it wasn't there. The camera zooms in on her heaving bosom as she struggles to breathe.

I gently unclasp your hand from my forearm and place it on your inner thigh, giving it a gentle pat, lingering for a short second or two, letting a finger feel the soft flesh of your inner thigh. I take my hand away, you turn and give me a slightly embarrassed smile.

In rides a man on a white steed. He dismounts the horse in a graceful arching jump landing with feet planted solidly on the ground in front of the damsel. She looks up as he towers over her.

I groan again.

The guy looks like Antonio Banderras. All dark and brooding, with a cruel smile and attempting to speak with a Scottish accent. That it too weird, sounds really weird! Scottish with a Spanish accent. I almost laugh but I groan again.

Antonio stands his ground, his jodhpurs have been cut for a man that dresses left, and a size too small. We are left in no doubt about his potential prowess here. The damsel looks wistfully at his manhood. I groan. What grown man would go round posing for the camera to show off the package in his pants like that?

Girlie bodice ripper indeed! Chick flick! I groan again and involuntarily say to myself, a bit too loudly, "Who Wrote This Script?" (Who IS writing this script?)

You and your girlfriend giggle and look at me.

You reach over and take my hand to calm me down. It's nice holding hands with you. I settle down and we watch the rest of the movie together.

I realize it's almost the end of the movie now, I decide to test my luck and disengage hands. I slip it back to your thigh. You smile and give it a pat, but firmly stop it where it is. I'm however not so easily persuaded and begin slowly moving up you leg. You also realize the movie is nearly finished, and relax you legs, parting them slightly as my fingers reach your pantyline. I brush you at the crotch, you open your legs a bit more, but look me in the eye and mouth the word 'NO'. But there is a real twinkle in your eye. I can see your headlights are on as the soft cheesecloth strains around your engorged nipples. Holy Air-con Batman, it's not THAT cold in here. The film finishes, the lights come up. I remove my hand.

You turn to your girlfriend to pick up your bags. Purposely lifting up off the seat and turning so all I can see is your pantie covered bum. You are wearing hot pink, cotton, high cut bikini briefs. I think I can make out the slightest damp patch in the gusset.

You turn, smile, blow me a kiss and leave.

Day 9: Me

(I log on. Nothing)

Day 10: Me

(I log on. Nothing)

Another week Later:

There's an email notification of a new message in my in-box. I log on.

I find an up-skirt picture of pink panties under a denim skirt.

"I hope you realize I had to go out and buy these. I haven't worn anything with this much coverage since I left high school."

Then there's a kiss blowing emoji, followed by:

"Sorry Uncle Arthur. I tried, but couldn't help myself from coming back. I think it is probably best for the both of us if this is a goodbye kiss."