Delirious in Dallas Ch. 1

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It was just past 11:00 a.m. as I closed the motel room door and strode down the sidewalk toward the Galleria. It was only a few blocks ahead and I could see the Weston Hotel attached to it jutting up against the steamy skyline. The Weston’s bar is where I was heading, figuring a drink or three would help kill the hour and a half wait until I was going to meet my wife for lunch at a café in the mall. She was on temporary assignment here, and being a teacher, I was off for the summer and flew down for a week. It was June in Dallas, and the muggy heat shimmered up off the sidewalk in visible waves. Puddles across the sidewalk disappeared as I approached them, heat mirages. My sleeveless t-shirt clung to me like a second skin, and my jeans were glued to my legs by the humidity. Sweat stood on my forehead and arms. The air here was sensuous… sultry… almost alive with the ozone smell of impending thunderstorms. It was testosterone weather; where tempers and cocks both rode high.

I entered the Weston’s Bar and slid onto one of only two empty barstools. The air-conditioning hummed and sent chills along my bare arms, where the sweat still stood. Men and women filled most of the stools, eyes glued to the TV screen. Adding to the weather was the sports climate. The Dallas Stars had just won the Hockey title, and the Houston Rockets were presently engaged in game three of the NBA world Championship. I ordered a Jameson’s 1680 on the rocks and glanced at the screen. I wasn’t really a sports fan, but I had nothing else to do.

A flash of yellow caught the corner of my eye. I turned in time to see a slim, young blonde woman approach the stool next to mine, the only empty one left. Long, luscious, swirling yellow-gold hanging all the way down her back. Black short dress, petite, slim, a nice little smile just turning up the corners of her lips.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” she asked, with a slow drawl that sparked an ember inside me.

“Not at all, In fact, I’d welcome the company. That is, unless you’re planning on gluing your eyes to that damn TV screen like everyone else in here.

“Where y’all from?”, she asked, grinning.


“I thought so. You got that funny accent.”

I laughed, wondering if she thought my accent was as much of a turn on as I thought hers was. I doubted it though, as she was so young and cute, and I was middle aged. They tell me I’m handsome and somewhat young looking for my age, but 48 is still 48 and this girl couldn’t have been much past 30, if even that. I decided to be bold and just come out and ask her.

“And you think I talk funny.” I replied with a grin, “Well, I suppose you’re right, but I wonder if my ‘funny California accent’ affects you the way yours does me?”

“I’m sure, sir,” she replied with a wonderfully wicked smile, “that I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

That little smile, the way one of the corners of her mouth raised up elicited a similar “raising up” of an altogether different part of my anatomy. Damn she’s cute, I thought, as my eyes wandered down, taking in her whole appearance. Below the seductive smile was a slim, graceful neck that I wanted to bury my face against, to kiss, to lick, to bite gently until it brought, hopefully, shivers up and down her spine. And that hair… beautiful, lustrous, long, shining satin sheets of yellow gold that I wanted to wrap myself up in and spend the night—hell, the next week or two. Further down, a hint of cleavage under the slightly low cut top, not so much as to appear sluttish, just tastefully so. My mind translated that to tastily so, and I wondered what her nipples were like—pink or reddish brown, small or large, firm or soft. If I could ever get my lips on one of them I knew they’d be hard… gotta stop this… she’s young and so cute, she could have her pick of any of the young, muscular jocks in this bar, and I’m just an older fellow with an overactive imagination. No way is she looking at me the way I’m looking at her. No way.

My eyes continued their journey of imagination anyway. Slim waist with slight hips blossoming out from it. Her hands were clasped in the center of her lap, and I imagined snuggling my face there. And below that… where the hem of her short black dress had ridden up slightly because of her sitting on the bar stool—her feet dangling inches from the ground—equally slim but well-formed thighs, smooth, soft, and I was dying to touch them, yearning to stroke them, tickle them, and most of all, desperately wanting to feel the inside of each of them—one against each ear.

She was just a little slip of a thing—not much, if any, over five foot-tall, and she couldn’t have weighed more than şirinevler escort about a hundred pounds or so. But what was unusual about her was that her legs were so long and lithe. A genuine set of those I want them wrapped around me twice kind of legs. Generally, shorter women tend to have short legs, but not this woman.

The moment of silence became heavy, almost as heavy as the humid Dallas air that still managed to hang heavy in the air in spite of the air-conditioning, although at least the muggy air was cool. I reached up with my hand and wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead that had no business being there in the air-conditioned barroom. It was getting hot and sultry in here, but I knew it was from internal sources.

I raised my face, embarrassed, when I saw that she had taken note of my roaming eyes. That wasn’t like me. Sure, I notice nice looking women, but I rarely ogle like that—not so outwardly, openly, obviously. But this woman had an affect on me that was different. She exuded sexuality… no, not sexuality… not so sluttish as that. More like sensuality. Subtly, softly, with a touch of cuteness that reminded me of a six month old kitten. The impression of a catlike quality about her shimmered just under the surface. But it was there. Oh God, was it there. Cats are such sexy animals. Sleek, lithe, sinuous, yet soft and infinitely carressable. And they love a smooth caress, usually responding with a subtle enthusiasm, literally wrapping their softness and sleekness around your hand—the way this woman was, probably unintentionally and unknowingly, wrapping me around her damn little finger.

My thoughts were deliciously interrupted by the electric charge of her fingernails brushing erotically along my left upper arm, and unexpectedly, I now saw in her expression that she had not been offended by my wandering gaze. In fact, her tongue flicked slowly across her lips and she smiled in a way that told me she had appreciated it.

“What is this symbol?” she asked, staring at my upper arm intensely as her hand shifted from fingernails to fingertips, lightly exploring the tattoo. The electric shock went into high voltage as she continued to torture my skin with soft, delicate strokes and circles, lingering and touching longer than necessary, “It looks familiar”.

“Oh, my tattoo? It’s called a Claddaugh. It’s an ancient Irish symbol from the village where my dad’s family is from. The hands represent friendship, the heart love, and the crown, loyalty.

Her fingers slid down my arm and she took my hand and raised it a bit, staring at the gold band on my finger.

“I’ve heard that. I’d sure like to be your friend, and I’m sure you have a good heart, but… I was kinda wondering about the loyalty part.”

My breath drew in sharply and the temperature in the room increased. Is it possible? Is this adorable young woman actually flirting with me? Inviting something? Does she feel the spark like I do?

I didn’t answer the question. I was too shocked by it, and my mind filled with possibilities and possible ramifications. She reddened slightly and dropped her hand back to her lap. I wanted it back! I had embarrassed her and I had to make amends.

I noticed that she had not yet ordered a drink, as the bartender was oblivious to her entrance, his eyes glued to the game on the television set above the bar just as steadfastly as all of the customers’ eyes were. How can that be? How could any man miss that lovely, lithe swirl of gold and black because of a goddamn basketball game!?

“Can I, uh…” I asked with a stammer, “buy you a drink?”

“I’d love one,” she responded, “I’m parched. I’m not used to this mugginess.”

“I didn’t think you were from around here,” I said, “I mean, your accent has TEXAS stamped all over it in capital letters… but not Dallas. They sound more citified if you know what I mean, faster, and… less concentrated.”

“I’m from a small town I’m sure you’ve never heard of near Midland–West Texas. It’s hotter there, but it’s dryer. Not so humid.”

“I know what you mean. I’m not used to it either.”

I turned and cleared my throat to get the bartender’s attention and raised my near empty glass. He sidled over, still watching the game over his shoulder. Finally, he turned around fully to face us.

“What can I…” his voice freezing momentarily as he took her in as I had earlier, “…get you?”

He didn’t even glance at me. It was like I wasn’t there. He was talking to me, but he wasn’t taking his eyes away from her even for a moment, and he was smiling flirtatiously at her. I chuckled inwardly as I realized that he had somehow, entirely forgotten şirinevler elit escort the game.

“I’ll have another 1680,” I said, and glanced at her inquisitively.

“I’ll have what he’s having” she stated and immediately returned that infuriatingly cute smile in my direction. The defeated intruder shrugged his shoulders and left to prepare the drinks. Apparently she had no interest in the studly, handsome, young bartender. Why? It suddenly flashed through my mind… She’s a hooker! The black short dress. That’s why she’s interested in a middle-aged man like me! My mind raced through the possibility. No she’s not. The accent. The embarrassment of lingering too long with her fingertips on my arm. The adorable, soft smile. No trace of greed, just interest. Sassy… but classy.

The bartender returned with our drinks. We lifted our glasses and clinked them together before taking a sip.

“Whoa,” she exclaimed, “this stuff is strong…” taking another sip, “but it’s really good. What is it?

“I like to celebrate my cultural heritage, like the tattoo. It’s Jameson’s 1680, the finest Irish whiskey I’ve ever found.” I took another sip and shifted on my stool to face her more directly. Something was happening and I wanted to see it through. She shifted also, her hem rising even a bit more as she did so, and faced me. She leaned in closer—close enough that I was becoming more intoxicated with her musky perfume than with the strong whiskey. I wanted to touch her badly. Her face, her slender neck. Everywhere.

So what brings you here to Dallas?”

“My wife’s in banking. In fact, I’m supposed to meet her for lunch in about an hour in the mall. Anyway, she’s been here for two months, and originally, she was flying home for the weekend every Friday night and flying back here on Monday mornings, but now, her work’s gotten so intense that she doesn’t have time to come home on the weekends anymore. Some kind of Y2K compliance thing. Her boss felt guilty and flew me out here for a week.”

The ringing of my cell phone interrupted the conversation. I unclipped it from my belt and glanced at the liquid crystal display before answering with the push of a button. The display showed my wife’s work number here in Dallas. I pushed a button.

“Hi Baby.”

A moment later the call was finished.

“No lunch today,” I said, replacing the phone on my belt, “important meeting.”

I would normally have been disappointed at the cancellation, but somehow, I wasn’t this time. I didn’t dream things would advance any further, but I was enjoying the company of this incredibly sexy woman. It was exciting.

“That’s too bad, I know what you mean. My husband’s out here on business and I seldom see him. And when he finally gets through with work, he’s pretty much exhausted.”

“Yeah. I’m a schoolteacher, and so I’m off all summer, and she’s out here. It kinda sucks. But hell, now I’m out here and it’s not much better. She’s damn near working around the clock.

“No, I’m mean too bad she can’t meet you for lunch,” she said with a subtle smile, “um, I don’t suppose I could borrow your cell phone, could I?”

I handed her the phone without comment and a moment later was hearing one side of a short, but startling, conversation.

“Hi Honey, it’s me, Sherry. I’m afraid I’m going to miss our lunch date today. I met the nicest person here in the mall and we’re gonna go out for a shopping excursion.”

She clicked off the phone and handed it to me. Then, with a seductive smile as she placed her hand on my thigh, she spoke.

“What’s your name?”

“Dave, but my friends call me Teach.”

“And you can call me Kitty. C’mon, let’s go. My room’s right upstairs.”

* * * * *

The elevator door opened and we entered. Kitty pushed the button for the 17th floor and turned back to me, an inviting pout on her lips. I had to do it. I stepped closer, leaned over, and put my hands on her cheeks, lifting her face to mine. I kissed her and she responded, opening her lips to allow my tongue access. We kissed long and soft, exploring each other’s mouths like a couple of virgins–tenuously at first, but steadily building in intensity. It was a wonderful kiss, and I didn’t want it to end, but I cut it off anyway, just long enough to reach behind her and press the stop button on the elevator’s control panel.

She shivered in my arms as my hand slid slowly, lightly down her back and came to rest along the top of her beautiful ass… just about the finest little ass west of the Mississippi. The kissing resumed, but with twice the intensity; sensuous, steamy, sexual pressing of the lips, dancing of the şirinevler escort tongues, and her palm came to rest on my chest. Currents jolted me as her hand described a circle that included both my nipples, enticing them to stand erect like tiny soldiers. The palm dropped to my groin and her tiny hand clamped itself onto my fully hard cock and squeezed, bringing me damn close to coming in my jeans.

I backed her up to the wall of the halted elevator, placed a hand under each of her armpits and lifted, bringing her up to my face level before pressing her to the wall. She dropped her purse, wrapped both arms around my neck, and lifted her legs to encircle my waist. Her mound pressed against the aching bulge in my jeans and my hands, now free of having to hold her up, dropped to cup, knead, and squeeze both her ass cheeks. My God, I was burning up with desire. I don’t know long it had been since I’d last been engulfed like this so quickly and completely.

Her actions told me she felt the same. Her mound rubbed my crotch with a circular grinding and she turned her head aside, breaking off the kiss to bury her face against the side of my neck, biting softly, but intensely, between her moans. Those moans were electrifying to me, sounding a bit like a mewing kitten and I felt a moan of my own rising up into my throat as imagined fucking this delightful little Kitty. I reached further down, softly, teasingly, tracing the line of her black thong with my fingertips as it separated her cheeks. Finally, between her legs, I felt the wettest damn panties I’d felt in a long time.

“Oh God,” she sighed sharply, “put me down or I’m gonna come.”

“How about both?”

I set her down on her feet, feeling a sight disappointment as her legs unfolded from my waist, but what I had in mind was pressing me on.

Dropping quickly to my knees, I lifted the hem of her dress and pressed my face to her panties. Her musky woman juices were soaking through the thin silk, exhilarating me further with the aphrodisiac effect of her sweet animal smell. I extended my tongue, holding it hard, rigid—a smaller version of the cock I wanted to press into her later—and placed it against the bottom of her slit. I drew my tongue up slow and hard savoring the taste of her through the silk. It was wonderful. Delicious. Hot. Wet. She shivered uncontrollably and leaned back against the elevator wall, placing her hands on my cheeks and parting her legs to allow easier access.

My tongue reached its goal and I could feel the hardness of her clit. I shook my head from side to side as fast as I could allowing my still firmly extended tongue to flick back and forth across her clit as rapidly as possible. Her moans were building, both in intensity and volume, and I hoped the elevator was reasonably soundproof.

I couldn’t wait any longer. Reaching up with both hands, I pulled the black thong down to her ankles, parted her lower lips with both thumbs, and pressed my face into her. Heaven. I inserted my tongue into her as far as it would go, pushing, prodding, twirling, exploring, but mostly, getting lost in the smell and taste of her musk.

Kitty’s hands tightened on my face as I raised my face back up to her clit. It was bare now, extended, and I encircled it with my lips to suck gently on it while my tongued flickered back and forth across it inside my mouth.

“Oh my God,” she cried out, her thighs trembling, “I’m gonna come!”

That only encouraged me more. As my face danced on her clit, I slid my hands slowly and softly up the insides of her thighs until they reached her shaved bush. Pulling her lips apart was easy with just my left thumb, as she was so wet and hot and almost fully open already. Extending the middle finger of the right hand, I slid it up inside her—suddenly and without warning. She gripped it hard with her inner muscles, now bucking wildly against my face and hand. She came hard and intensely as I sucked, licked, and finger-fucked her. She cried out, even louder than before, while pushing my face against her thrashing pubic mound with both hands.

When the bucking and grinding finally subsided and the cries and moans swindled to soft gasps and sighs, I lifted my face and looked at her, smiling. She indicated that I should stand by pulling my face upward. I did. She quickly bent, pulled up her panties, rose, and then put her hands back on my face. Pulling my face toward her own, I thought she was going to kiss me, but instead, she licked her own juices off my chin, lips, and moustache. What an incredible turn on that was. We were then interrupted by the sound of static as a scratchy voice issued from an overhead speaker mounted in the elevator’s ceiling asking if we needed assistance.

“No thanks,” she answered brightly, “My husband was feeling nauseous and we just had to stop for a minute or two. Must have been something he ate. We’re all right now, though.”

I pressed the button to continue up to the 17th floor.


to be continued…

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