No one underfoot.

No one underfoot.

I was on my own for a change. My girlfriend had left town for a week and I was on my own for the first time in what felt like a long time. I walked through the streets. The city was busy around me and I felt a little lost in it. I had a fortnight to spend on my own and nothing much planned.

I turned a corner and continued my walk. It had been a long time since I had gone out for a drink just because I had nothing planned. I felt free. Reckless, even.

So it was that I found myself roaming the bars. I went from pub to pub and I went into places I wouldn’t have dreamt about going into had I not been on my own. I felt a bit heady as the night grew older. The beat of the clubs had sucked me in. I actually went dancing.

Now, let me make this clear. I don’t particularly enjoy dancing per se, but women do. I was drunk on alcohol, yes, but more importantly I was drunk on seeing all those women out having a good time. They were noisy and full of vibrant life. More to the point they were rather younger than me and dressed for the occasion.

I gorged myself on young women. I soaked myself in low cut dresses that showed a lot of skin. Tight fitting tops on hot women in clubs. Smiles and sweat, perfectly shaped bottoms in the flickering light of the dance floor. I laughed and caroused.

Finally I found myself hanging out in a bar in the wee hours of the morning. It was nearly closing time and the clientele had turned from the happy to the desperate. I was slightly grieved to find myself in among that lot, however I had not really allowed myself to flirt too much. I did have a girlfriend, I told myself, and she would rightfully cut my balls off if she even suspected that I had been unfaithful.

So I was alone.

Or as alone as a man can be when still amongst the revellers. The bass still beat out its throbbing rhythm, the dance floor was still fairly packed. I could still order another drink. (Right! I had had drinks tonight. Not my usual pints of ale. A thing to be taken into account as well.)

My imagination wasn’t the best at that point so I ordered a gin and tonic. And it was as I was waiting for the bartender to deliver that I felt a sudden presence to my right. I slowly lifted my head and turned it rightwards…

The first thing I noticed was the décolletage… It was unbelievably beautiful… A deeply cut top and firm, large breasts in a perfect cleavage. My eyes drifted slowly upwards. The soft curve of the shoulder. Deeply tanned skin, nicely accentuated by the curling brown hair. The smooth line of the neck and the prettily tilted jaw. A slightly amused, wicked little mouth. The pretty nose and the fabulously naughty eyes. Clear, blue and innocent in a way that could only mean that they were hiding something.

I goggled a bit but then two things struck me. The first thing to hit me was a realisation that I knew this girl. She was a former student of mine. And to make matters worse, she had graduated only last year!

The second thing was her. She looked at me once and then hurled herself around my neck, pressing her fit little body against mine and grinding her firm breasts into my chest. I found my hands fitting themselves comfortably around her narrow waist, and they liked being there.

‘Sir!’ she cried in my ear and hugged me tighter still. ‘Shit, it’s so good to see you! Oh, sorry… No cursing…’ She withdrew and gave me that wicked little grin again which had had me stumped even when she was in my class. ‘I’m sorry…’ she said and her eyes shone with mischief. ‘Will there be any punishments now?’

I just laughed. ‘I doubt it. You’re not in my class any more. If you were, however, I think we would have a serious talk right about now… Frida, what the hell are you doing here? You’re not even 18!’

‘Oh, come on!’ she actually simpered at me. ‘Don’t be so stuffy. Besides, what are you doing here? Isn’t it past your bedtime, sir?’ The way she said “sir” made my hairs stand on end and goose bumps ripple down my arms.

‘Well…’ I suddenly realised that she was still in my arms. I looked down into her eyes and I could feel myself growing hotter. Other things were happening too. I reluctantly released her. ‘Be that as it may, I can’t leave you here. I still have the number to your parents, for crying out loud! Now come on. I’ll get you home.’

Her beautiful face clouded over and she set her mouth in a grim line. ‘You’re no fun at all,’ she said. ‘And I thought…’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ She sighed and shrugged. ‘Alright, Mr Tomas. You’ve totally spoiled tonight. Let’s go, I guess.’

‘Right.’ I paid for the drink I no longer wanted and gesticulated for Frida to take the lead.

This might have been one of my many fatal mistakes that evening. As she walked ahead of me there was really nothing else to look at other than her behind. It was the most beautifully shaped ass you could imagine. Firm and round and perfect. The short skirt she was wearing did very little to hide it, rather it accentuated and highlighted it. Her back was bare in a narrow strip between her silky top and her tight, black skirt, and the muscles rippled invitingly there.

We had to go up a flight of stairs. Frida placed her stiletto-heeled shoe on the stair and it was clear that she was putting on a show from step one. Her hips swayed from side to side, her ass moved like poetry. He slim legs were a promise of paradise.

When she dropped her purse it might have been an accident, but I doubt it.

‘Oops,’ she said and bent forward to pick it up. A slow, graceful leaning down it was. I felt my heart skip a beat when suddenly her perfect teenaged ass became so wonderfully presented before me.

‘Oh…’ I said and it was not until then I realised I had actually moaned out loud.

Frida gave me a look from across her shoulder.