I Know Who You Are

It was Friday night, the kids were at their dad’s house for the weekend, and what was I doing? Sitting at my laptop with a heaping bowl of lavender-pomegranate sorbet.

Actually, I just got done posting a profile on an adult dating site.

To everyone else I’m classy and cultured. Smart with a little bit of sass. I’m very much a lady who deserves to be treated as such. But for the right man who’s respectfully randy, I just might show a little more. A little more leg, a little more breast, a little more thigh … on the boardwalk, up on the roof … the roof of a building, a roof of a car.

I always had a kinky side, but the dating scene was always tricky for me. If I didn’t let onto my kinkier side, I always ran the risk of investing a lot of time with a man who didn’t have an adventurous bone in his body. Actually, it wasn’t a risk. It as a sure thing. If I dropped a few hints that I liked things on the wilder side, then all a man wanted to do was hop in bed immediately. Who I was as a woman, let alone to be treated as one, was of no importance. There had to be a middle ground.

As soon as I posted my profile, I got a ton of replies, especially one in particular. He was someone I knew. Larry was a client of mine who owned a high-end market in my neighborhood.

As a sales rep for a wholesale specialty food distributor I was damn good at my job. I’d usually get my foot in the door nine out of ten times. Chefs and store owners and managers were the most skilled of any business people at chasing sales reps away or hiding from them as soon as they walked in the door. Of course, I always pitched the right product, but that couldn’t happen unless I came in with a beaming smile and left an extra button open on my blouse. I always wore skirts, dresses and heels.

Larry always made more time for me than I needed, but I didn’t mind. His store was one of my largest accounts. He was incredibly enthusiastic about carrying hard-to-find products that drew in customers from the farthest ends of town. He also had this charming way of calling me “my lady.” Even my kids noticed when we shopped there.

“Mom, that man likes you,” said Danny, my oldest.

“Mom’s got a boyfriend!” my youngest, Jonathan, would often say.

I always chalked up his friendliness as an important part of doing good business. I was sure flirted with all of his female customers, and I reminded my eight- and ten-year-old sons of that every time.

But seeing the photos that Larry sent me put him in a completely different light. One photo was of him shirtless on a boat and smiling like he owned the world, or at least the sun that toasted that glow on his smile, his face, and nicely-defined chest. The other was of him with his hands propped up against the glass of one of his meat counters showing off his delicious, muscular rump and quite a large sausage hanging between his meaty legs.

I checked out his profile. At least he was vaguely honest about his real self … five feet, eleven inches tall, one hundred eighty-five pounds, wavy brown hair, business owner, sailor, foodie, amateur chef, and appreciator of the finer things in life. If I didn’t know who he was already, I’d want to get to know him.

What I didn’t already know about him really excited me … love having sex in places we shouldn’t, love the smell and touch of leather on a woman, role playing, playing with toys, taking turns being tied up but not tortured (well, in a good way), giving and receiving massages (better at giving, but love to teach for my own selfish pleasure of being touched).I live for living life indulgently, in and out of the bedroom. Looking for a woman who can be assertive and adventurous in and out of the bedroom.

Obviously, he didn’t seem to have a clue that the woman he had written to was me. I kept my identifiable features intentionally vague. The only photo I posted was one of me was a softly lit boudoir shot lying on my back side in the nude.

I never thought of Larry in a sexual way until that night. I must have read his message at least ten times over.

Hi! I see you’re new on the site. You sound like quite the lady. You sound like the female version of me. I’m a purveyor of fine things and connoisseur of many more, including women. I’m looking for one in particular. Would you like to chat?

Yeah. Sure. What would I say? “Hi Larry, it’s Angela, your rep from Homegrown Foods. Nice pics.”

Or I could do some shopping in the morning and chat in person.

I got dressed nicer than I usually did for running around to do errands the next morning … skinny jeans, a V-neck wrap sweater that nicely shaped my rounded breasts with the help of the right bra, and my red and leopard print pumps. I threw on my red leather jacket that nipped in at the waist and headed out to the market.

It’s amazing how certain clothes make me walk with a bit of a swagger, and I noticed that Larry was checking out ass when I walked by pretending not to see him while he was talking to one of his employees. He broke off that conversation in record time and came up to me when I pulled a number at the meat counter.

“My dear lady, how are you today?” he asked, with his eyes not knowing where to focus … my smile, my legs, my cleavage, my ass.

Hmm. Today I was my dear lady? I felt the smile amplify on my face.

“I’m wonderful, dear sir, and even better to share a cheery mood with you,” I said with a smile and an eyelash bat.

“So what brings you in on your day off?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, being convincingly coy. “The kids are away this weekend, and I thought I’d make myself something special tonight. Any recommendations?”

“Just for yourself?” he asked, sounding as if he was surprised and maybe a little encouraged that I didn’t have more involved plans for the night.

“Mmm, yeah,” I said. “Someone has to spoil me. Might as well be me.”

“Well, that lamb you’ve been sending us is spectacular, but of course you probably already know that,” he said. “Or …”

“Or?” I asked, with my eyes locked on him, resting my hand on my cocked hip.

I knew I was pushing it by flirting with a client, but he seemed to be taking the bait … his stuttering, the way his hand twitched as if he wanted to touch my leather jacket. He was eyeing it like he wanted to stroke and grope it … and me.

“Well, it’s just that … I just expected that you had a man in your life to do that,” he said.

“Do what?” I asked, wanting to hear him say the obvious.

He paused for a moment as if to regain his composure, lowered the timbre of his voice, and said, “I’ve been meaning to check out that new California cuisine restaurant. I heard they have a great wine list.”

“They do,” I said. “And that has what to do with my dinner plans?”

I stepped just a half inch closer to force the answer. He said he liked assertive.

He placed his hand on my forearm, ran it lightly on the leather, and said, “I was thinking they could be your dinner plans. Seven thirty?”

“I’d love that,” I said with a wink directed as his ass as I walked away to collect a few groceries.

If he only knew that I knew what his ass looked like under the crisp pair of jeans he was wearing.

I went out to buy a new dress for the evening … a deceivingly simple short black dress cut high at the waistline to show off the outline of my breasts and the slim curves of my waist, lower back and hips. It looked great with the fine and tiny fishnet stockings that didn’t look like fishnets unless he looked closely. I was sure he would with his eyes on my favorite pair of black leather stiletto boots.

He certainly did from the moment I walked into the bar where I found him waiting for me and nursing a Cabernet.

I loved that he picked a collection of small plates and a flight of wines. It gave us a lot to talk about besides work. He told me how he loved to sail. It turned out that we had the same taste in music, loved to canoe and bike on trails, and the same luck in dating, too.

“I really don’t date much,” he said. “I guess you can say that I’m picky. I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging, but I could have my pick of ladies. It’s just that …”

His voice trailed off as if he caught himself saying something he might not want to say at the risk of saying something he shouldn’t.

“It’s just that what?” I asked.

I leaned closer to him to establish a sense of being able confide in me. I gave him a very subtle, single stroke up the back side of his calf with my black leather boot to tease and encourage him.

His smile grew wry. He stayed mum on the topic of his dating history only to divert the conversation toward me.

“So why don’t you date often?” he asked, running a finger along the side of my stockinged thigh.

“I guess you can say I’m picky, too,” I said, mocking him in the most flirtatious way I could. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging, but I could get laid by anyone I want. It’s just that …”

He got it. He laughed. He fed me piece of caramelized roasted fig stuffed with ricotta and gave me more than a generous sip of a sweet and richly complex Port.

“It’s just that what?” he asked. “That you’re looking for a man who’s respectfully randy?”

I pulled my napkin up to my lips, hoping it would distract him from the fiery shade of red that flashed across my cheeks.

He laughed harder, and said, “You’re charming. When you came into the market this morning, I was hoping that the woman I wrote to last night was you. The dozen times I went back to look at that picture that you posted in your profile, I thought you could pass for her. At least I hoped and whished and prayed that you could be her.”

He reached under the table to run his hand along the back of my calf that was crossed over my other knee … slowly lingering over the soft and supple leather.

“There’s a fire escape at that back of the building that leads to the roof,” I said, feeding him the last bit of liquid courage left in his glass of Port.

He slammed the cash in the bill folder, pulled me out of my chair, and ran me to the back entrance of the restaurant like two kids off to get into some serious mischief.

He pulled down the ladder as quietly as he could as to not attract attention, but our footsteps grew louder and more raucous with each flight we climbed. By the time we reached the roof, we were panting … not from exhaustion, but from the discovery and disclosure of each other.

He pulled me close, kissed me deep and hard, and let his hand slide up the back of my thigh. It lifted up the hem of my skirt and over the top of my stocking. The feeling of his palm against my skin had more than warmth; it had purpose. So did the hardening bulge underneath his trousers that I grabbed hard and squeezed.

I broke from his lips, and said, “Tell me that’s mine.”

He didn’t say a word. He lifted me up and pinned me up against the brick wall of the building next door. His hands slipped up my dress to hold me up by my bare ass like a bear going after his prey. I locked my arms around his shoulders and legs around his back as if I had him in a trap.

He slipped his cock back and forth over my moistening pussy. It felt powerfully hard and dangerously slippery, and there was only one place I wanted it to be and I didn’t hesitate to let him know. I could feel his shaft grow harder and wider as I took it in my hand and guided it inside.

I felt as if I was spinning out of control as he drilled into me three stories over the people walking on the sidewalk and the street musicians playing on the corners. I swore my groans were louder than all of them combined, and if they were, I really didn’t care. I was enjoying the thought of being seen from people in some of the taller buildings on the block almost as much as I was enjoying him … the warming scent of his cologne torched by sweat rising through his pores, his breathing that was growing heavier and warmer with his every thrust. His kisses turned to bites on the side of my neck and my shoulder. With each little nip, my inner walls contracted a tinier bit more than the last time. I felt as if I had a vise grip on his cock, but yet he was able to plow into me faster, deeper and forcefully. Our fingers and nails dug into each other as deeply as they could when our orgasms crashed into each other. I swore it felt and sounded like a sudden thunder and lightning storm, but when we looked up at the sky when we had fallen to the top of the roof, the stars and the moon were crystalline.

From then on, whenever I’d take my boys into Larry’s market, it was more obvious than ever to them that Larry liked me.

And I didn’t argue that it was anything less.