blog.writingdirty

Jack Stratton. New Yorker, writer, foodie, poly, skeptic, dandy, daddy, switch.
Stories at writingdirty.com
Books at books.writingdirty.com
Hear me at the dirty boys reading series
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That Kind of Thing (Excerpt)

His apartment was in a somewhat bad neighborhood, but it was large and rather spartan and had a huge bookshelf. She felt bold and adventurous and accepted the bourbon he poured her and stood by the window wondering when he would kiss her.

He sat in a large leather chair and sipped his drink and watched her as she looked out at the city.

“Pull up your skirt,” he said casually, but not at all jokingly.

She scoffed.

“I’m not one of the girls in your stories,” she said with a laugh.

“No?”

She put the drink down on the windowsill, unsure what to do.

“You seem nervous, you don’t have to be. You’re beautiful and smart and you can do as much or as little as you want here. I want you to pull up your skirt and show me your legs, show me your thighs, but you can say no and we can sip our drinks and look at my books and talk about a million other things. But I want you to know I’d like you to pull up your skirt. I’d like to see if you wore pretty panties tonight. I think you did.”

She squirmed and let out the tiniest moan.

“Maybe,” she said into her shoulder.

“Did you wear them because you wanted to show me?”

She felt like she was going to cry and she wasn’t sure exactly why. She had the hem of her dress in her hands and she pulled it up a few inches.

“I want you to show me all your secrets. You read my stories, but I haven’t gotten any of yours. Don’t you want to show me all your pretty parts?” he said softly. He sounded kind and mean all at once and it made her head spin. The bourbon was strong and sweet, it wasn’t the kind of thing she drank, but it felt like the right thing to drink at that moment.

“I want to, but I’m scared,” she said and she pulled her dress up more. The window was open a little and she felt the cool air on her thighs.

“It’s okay to be scared,” he said.

“Pull up your skirt now,” he said.

She did. She pulled it up, feeling silly like a little girl.

“Your panties are wet.”

She felt her face grow hotter.

“Pretty pink panties with a wet spot,” he sighed.

“I’m sorry,” it was all she could think of saying.

He chuckled.

“I like that you are sorry,” there was a honesty and a little surprise in his voice.

“Now take them off for me,” he said.

This book is now available on writingdirty.com as an ebook or audiobook.

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