RENDEZVOUS

THE SATIN SYNAPSES

Her heart began the rhythm

as she swung onto North Shore Drive..

that syncopation

brought on by fear and heat..

anticipation and guilt are a frightening sword to wield,

as one drives..

swishing at the monsters of shame

and pleasure...

Traffic was light,

and her hand rested on her knee

as she swung smoothly from lane to lane...

skipping from yellow to yellow

and watching those insane suicide joggers

in the brutal Chicago wind

huffing and sweating their way

into pneumonia

and breathing in the healthy fresh death

left by the afternoon highway travelers.

How the hell had she gotten herself into this mess, anyway...

a little wine,

a lot of lonely..

a little too settled

when the excitement called...

it seemed simple then,

that was the first time,

and maybe the last,

but here she was again,

going to meet his plane,

in a whirlwind of emotional distraction.

Her fingertips tapped along with the radio...

drumming onto the sheer stocking at her knee,

and raising small hairs

and goosebumps

along her thigh...

The major advantage to driving an automatic

is that one foot can do it all,

and so

she moved her left foot way out to the side,

leaning it against the kick panel in the door.

There was plenty of time..

time to think...

to whistle to the commercials...

and tap her fingers some more...

Traffic got smoother here..

the dazed learner permit downtown dizzies,

were all at work

or at home

and she was blending into the pros..

the folks who could read the paper,

peel an orange,

roll a joint and shave

all at the same time

and

still drive safe and well...

she circled larger,

along the inside of her knee

along the raspy smooth of the hose...

She thought that she felt the beginnings of a run,

and followed it upwards a little way...

maybe to mid thigh..

but it was just a crease in the silk...

and she moved her hand back to just above the knee...

she wondered if he would notice those creases..

those small veins in the substructure of the material..

wondered if his fingers would have also detected the crease...

would have followed the line...

and whether he would have stopped,

as she had..

He had ... well, actually,

come to think of it,

she couldn't really remember what kind of fingers he had...

she tried hard..

were they soft, fragile and agile fingers..

stroking and raising the hackles on her pussy

with just a touch in the right place...

or were they strong, iron grip fingers..

never letting go

until they were satisfied..

she drew a blank.

If they had been that noticeable,

one way or another,

then she would remember...

she tried the tactile test..

sliding her palms and nails,

softly upwards along her inner thigh..

upwards until they reached the thicker stocking top..

upwards over the smooth skin beyond..

her legs spread wide

to her own touches..

the loose, short skirt

moved into a bunch

and then there was the coolness...

the softness of the satin..

flame red tap pants..

loose-legged and open to the touch.

Under the binding confines of the beige skirt

the pants felt like air..

floating in and out between her thighs

and stroking her asscheeks

and lower lips

with each squirm..

they were almost intangible..

ethereal..

ghostly whisps of coolness

rustling the trimmed bush

at her cleft..

her hand suddenly gripped the top of her leg..

hard and fast and tight..

pushing savagely upward

and grinding itself into her...

rubbing and dividing her..

pushing the satin to the place where it could melt away into nothingness.

with a gasp.. she took her hand away.

but the damage was done..

The matching blouse was heaving now..

straining in the late afternoon winter sunshine,

as the red lace covering and supporting her breasts

became filled..

even moreso than the norm..

and grabbed at her full firm nipples,

with the web of it's filigree...

She wondered if he would stroke it's softness,

or grip her hard through it's sheen..

she wondered if he would take the time to stroke her back..

slipping his hands under the blouse..

and running his neat fingernails up across the rise

of her spine...

up to the clasp which held her breasts captive...

Would he follow his fingers with his tongue,

and make small damp trails

from waistband to neckline,

as she lay face down across his bed..

face down to his smile

and his fingers..

face down,

skirt risen to her waist

his hands all over her..

smooth and gentle..

slipping the ghosts of clothing

across the liquid of her skin..

across and away..

Would he leave her open to his eyes,

one small white hot precious skin pore at a time..

allowing each garment,

and undergarment,

it's due attention.

Would he understand that this hidden clothing

was designed to be more than just cover..

much more than a guard against exposure..

in fact an inducement to display..

but tastefully,

artfully..

deliberately..

she wanted that vision for herself..

wanted to glance in scroll-framed mirrors,

in subdued lights

and see herself..

nearly naked

and yet barely revealed.

She wanted the flow of smooth silk along the hidden places of her body,

along the secret spots

where the nerves gather to whisper their codes of endearment..

She wanted the hours to tick slowly by,

and the years to fall behind her..

she wanted to strain her every inner muscle

to capture him

or anyone or anything else..

and to drive whatever she caught

into the flames..

into the deepest parts of her spirit and flesh..

she wanted soft lips and sharp teeth

dragged across the tips of her nipples...

as firm fingertips stroked the underside

of her breasts.

She knew what she wanted..

knew where she wanted it

and how

and why...

and even when..

right now...

The round base of her thumb knuckle rode hard

against the silky tap pants..

missing the wet clitoris tip by a fraction..

by a whisper,

or a scream..

Her left foot was up on the seat by now..

the traffic alongside, merely a blur,

as some other,

more distant functional part of her mind

kept track of lane changes and stoplights...

all of her thinking was on the road ahead,

and all of her feeling..

in fact the entire rest of her earthly self,

was focused where it shouldn't have been..

inside the lace of her binding bra...

between the net and the nipple..

inside the loose folds between her legs..

up inside of her

along with the satin..

she was touching the soft, humid material from the inside now..

peeling it from between her lips,

and holding it out,

to let the air caress her..

using her fingers,

she held herself open,

wide and willing

and very wet..

she could feel her own moisture as it dampened her thighs,

rolling onward between her cheeks,

and soaking into the soft skin of her clenched asscheeks.

Her middle finger slipped smoothly into the fires,

stroking and flicking

and fondling,

each precious molecule of her inner body..

Without regard for the concentration of those around her,

she held the wheel steady with her knee

and unbuttoned her blouse...

pulling at the lace,

clawing it harshly away from her tits,

and letting the cool air surround her nipples..

They were small lighthouses of their own by now..

and they surged forward into her fingers.

She pinched them -

softly at first .... and then harder..

and her other hand was deep inside herself,

drawing all the honey

and rubbing it over her clit,

and between her lips,

until she felt that she would just scream..

and that's exactly the position she was in,

tits hard and fully exposed..

pussy hot and open and wet..

fingers dripping with her own juices..

when she plowed into the car ahead...

before she blacked out she heard her mother's words,

ringing in her ears..

"If you're ever in an accident.....

make sure you have on good underwear...."

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