Some women look for love. I on the other hand look for one thing and one thing only; Sex.
In one of my many apartments over the years I had an adorable sports media guy who lived above me. Although he was less than my type I enquired if he had any male friends who might be. As I had recently ended a fairly long-term gig I was really only interested in fun.
My neighbor blushed, laughing uncomfortably. My direct approach had clearly stunned him. Once he regained composure he looked at me straight on, “I have just the guy.” Let’s call him The Firefighter.
I tied the knot of my black, short robe and slid into my favorite sky high black Louboutin’s. The top of my thigh-high Kiki de Montparnasse stockings ended right below where my robe began. I loved the way my long hair swept across my face and fell down across my breasts. As usual I looked smoking hot and I was beginning to turn myself on.
Behind the front door of my apartment stood The Firefighter, a bottle of wine in hand. He was hot; hair buzzed short, raw denim Levi’s rolled to show the salvage edge. I was impressed, having little to no expectations when it came to style and firefighters. We stood in the doorway eyeing each other up and down. He smiled like a kid on Christmas, “Wow… your neighbor wasn’t lying!”
Leaning towards him I grabbed his neck and pulled him in, deeply kissing him. He slid a hand around my waist while he closed the door. The Firefighter sat in one of my club chairs and I straddled him. As I ran my lips and tongue up his neck towards his ear I could feel him getting thick.
His hands were running over my shoulders; he was aching to find out what was under my robe. The way his eyes traced over my entire body beginning with my shoes, up my legs and over my breasts, was incredibly sexy.
He wanted to devour me and I wanted to let him.
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