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Message-ID: <39634asstr$1039057814@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Nick Scipio <imperatorSPAM@BLOCKmindspring.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} NEW: Impatience (MF, nosex, mild pett)
Date: Wed,  4 Dec 2002 22:10:14 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Author: Nick Scipio
Title: Impatience
Universe: Jazz Club
Summary: "There's a line for the women's room," she said to me as she
shut the door behind her. She grinned mischievously at the sound of
the click when she pressed the lock. "I didn't feel like waiting."
Keywords: MF, nosex, mild pett
Revision: 1.0
Archive: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/scipio/
Mailing List: Scipio_Stories-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
FAQ: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/scipio/www/faq.htm

*****************************************************************
STANDARD DISCLAIMER

The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment. It
contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you are
offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO NOT read
any further.

All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to any
persons, places, individuals or situations is purely coincidental. The
author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities
described in this story.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the
written permission of the author, Scipio
(imperatorSPAM@BLOCKmindspring.com). This story may be freely
distributed with this disclaimer attached.

Copyright (C) 2002 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

*****************************************************************

Impatience
by Nick Scipio

It was the week after Thanksgiving and the countdown to Gabriel's
Christmas party had begun. It was always on the first Saturday in
December, and it was a big event among our circle of friends. It's a
slow time for our business, which is why he spent almost all his time
decorating his house. At last count, he put up something like 24 fully
decorated Christmas trees, ranging from a few five-foot trees to a
trio of monsters in the living room that topped twelve feet.

So I was surprised when Gabriel asked if I wanted to have a drink with
him at the Jazz Club. It was Tuesday, and I'd planned to stop by after
work, but I thought I'd be alone. With Gabriel along, I knew I'd end
up listening to the party menu, again. He _was_ my friend, however, as
well as my business partner, so I was more than happy to have his
company.

We arrived shortly after they opened, and the bartender was pouring
our whiskey before we had even rounded the railing at the top of the
stairs. Gabriel headed for the couch and I relaxed into the comfort of
my favorite easy chair. The weather had turned cold and stormy, and I
was still chilled from the short walk into the restaurant. There was a
fire burning in the fireplace next to my chair, and I was happy for
the warmth. The Macallan would go a long way towards warming me as
well, and I took a sip, letting the sherried liquid roll over my
tongue. Warm on the outside, warm on the inside, I thought to myself.

I began the comfortable ritual of packing my pipe as Gabriel launched
into his favorite topic of conversation.

"I just got the Shari's Berries I ordered," he said.

"Shari's Berries?"

"You know. I told you about them last week."

I shook my head and used the pipe to gesture for him to explain.

"The strawberries dipped in gourmet chocolate?"

I shook my head again.

"The ones that look like little tuxedos?"

"Oh, right. I remember now."

Gabriel seemed satisfied, and I lit my pipe, puffing contentedly as he
talked about the chocolate-dipped fruit. I settled into the padded
luxury of the chair and savored the flavor of the Cavendish. Gabriel
began chatting merrily about the Northwest Smoked Salmon from Harry
and David, and I nodded at the appropriate times.

As Gabriel talked, I gazed out the window; the weather had turned
decidedly ugly by the time I was halfway through my first glass of
Scotch. Dark, wind-whipped clouds had moved in, and the forecast
called for scattered snow showers before midnight. So I wasn't
surprised that the bar was filled with only a smattering of patrons. I
_was_ surprised to see the leggy brunette and her friend coming up the
stairs.

The week before, they had both been at the bar, enjoying an after-work
drink. I'd imagined that it was simply a one-time-only girls' night
out, since I'd never seen either of them before. After the brunette
had purposefully given me a glimpse of her well-trimmed pussy, I
hadn't expected to see them again, either.

But there they were, and the two seats at the end of the bar were
free, just like the week before. They sat down, neither of them
sparing a glance my direction, and I turned my attention back to my
pipe.

As Gabriel talked about the Fat Witch brownies he'd ordered from
Chelsea Market, I once again studied the brunette. She was wearing an
elegant suit of dark pinstripe fabric, a white dress shirt, and a
patterned red tie. The skirt was cut to mid-thigh, and showed off her
tanned, elegant legs. The form-fitting jacket hugged her trim stomach
and accentuated her breasts, and I found myself mesmerized by her
figure.

Truth be told, I was hoping for a repeat of the previous week's
teasing, but she never looked my way. So I quietly resigned myself to
enjoying the memory. She chatted with her friend, crossed and
uncrossed her long legs, and occasionally brushed her hair back. I
simply watched her, with only half my attention on Gabriel and the
Scharffen Berger chocolate he was talking about.

I was most of the way through my second drink when I felt the need to
use the restroom. I set my pipe down, took the last sip of my
Macallan, and excused myself. I knew that when I returned, another
Scotch would be waiting on me and smiled to myself at the thought. I
walked past the brunette and her friend and headed downstairs without
a backward glance.

There were two women waiting in line to use the women's restroom, but
the men's was unoccupied. I stepped inside and turned to shut the
door. Just before it latched, I felt resistance, and when I stopped
pushing, it swung towards me. I stepped back, prepared to politely
tell the man at the door that the room was occupied, and then froze
mid-step.

The brunette stepped into the restroom and her eyes met mine.

"I didn't feel like waiting in line," she said, a mischievous twinkle
in her eye.

Her voice was a higher than I'd imagined, but rich and smooth.

"Sure," I said. "Be my guest."

I stepped towards the door, preparing to leave, but she leaned against
it, her hands on the knob behind her. The door latched, and then with
a start, I heard the click as she pressed the lock.

Her lips quirked into a teasing smile as her eyes smoldered, and I
wondered what she had in mind. My penis began to stiffen, but the
uncertainty of the moment kept it from doing more.

Her eyes flicked to the toilet and then back to my face, and she
arched an eyebrow at me. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked.

"No." I looked her in the eye and measured her reaction.

She didn't flinch. "Then don't let me stop you."

I'd gone to the bathroom in front of women before, but all of them had
been long-term girlfriends, not women I'd just met. I hadn't even
really _met_ this woman, I thought to myself with a rueful chuckle. I
arched my eyebrows at her, as if to say, "Are you sure?"

She merely looked at me, an unreadable expression on her face. I took
a step towards the toilet and lifted the seat. As I straightened, she
moved towards me. She pressed herself against my right arm and I felt
the swell of her breasts through the fabric of her jacket.

"Here," she said, steadying herself with a hand on the small of my
back. "Let me help."

She deftly lowered my zipper and reached inside my chinos. With only a
slight pause to undo the button on my boxers, she extracted my
tumescent member. Once she had me out, she held me firmly and gazed at
me expectantly.

I felt the stream of urine surging up my shaft, and she expertly
directed the flow into the water. When I was done, she shook me gently
and then bent to tear off a short length of toilet paper. She
delicately wiped the tip of my penis, removing the last vestiges of
urine, and dropped the crumpled paper into the bowl.

When she didn't immediately tuck my penis back into my boxers, I
looked at her. Her hand still on my manhood, she grinned and began to
stroke me slowly.

"Mmmmm. Thick," she said. "I like thick."

I continued to expand under the ministrations of her insistent
fingers, and she absentmindedly moistened her lips. I cocked my head
at her, wondering how far she was going to take things.

"We'd better put him away," she said with a slight pout, "before he
gets too big for his britches." She grinned wryly at her own joke and
ran her hand along the top of my shaft. She nimbly tucked my length
back in my boxers and refastened the button. Then she cupped the lump
in my shorts fondly and withdrew her hand. "There," she said brightly,
as she zipped me up. "Back where he started."

She gently pushed me back and then lowered the toilet seat. Without
preamble, she pulled her skirt up and sat down, not bothering to flush
first. I caught the barest glimpse of her trimmed pubic hair as she
sat, and then I heard the hiss as she began to urinate. She closed her
eyes and smiled at me. When she was through, she wiped herself and
stood. She smoothed down her skirt and turned to flush the toilet.

She stepped towards the sink, and I marveled at the surreal chain of
events that had led to this moment. I joined her at the sink and we
companionably washed our hands, neither of us saying a word. She
handed me a small stack of paper towels and I dried my hands. When we
were done, she turned toward me and her eyes smoldered again.

I stepped forward suddenly and pressed her body against the door jamb
with my own. In heels, she was nearly as tall as I was, and I had to
bend only slightly as I moved my lips towards hers. When they met, she
melted into my arms. I pulled her close and her mouth opened, allowing
my tongue to explore, darting against hers. When I pulled back, we
were both breathless.

"I knew you'd be a good kisser," she said dreamily, her façade of
control momentarily banished.

Her pink tongue darted over her lips and she drew a deep breath. When
she opened her eyes, they glittered mischievously.

I was just bending to kiss her again when I heard the lock click as
she turned the doorknob. With a coquettish arch of her eyebrows, she
stepped forward, pushing me back, and opened the door.

As it opened, we looked up to see the scandalized expressions of an
older couple who were waiting for the restrooms. The brunette didn't
pause as she headed for the stairs. I blushed as I passed the shocked
couple, but resolutely followed her.

When we reached the bar, she turned to me and smiled.

"Thank you very much," she said, her eyes twinkling.

"You're welcome. Any time."

"I'd better get back to my friend."

I opened my mouth to speak. She looked at me expectantly, but I didn't
know what to say.

She smiled wryly and stepped close, nearly touching me. "Thank you
again," she said.

"It was my pleasure."

"Have a nice night."

"You too."

With that, she turned and walked back to the bar. I watched the gentle
sway of her hips as she moved, and smiled to myself.

"What was that all about?" Gabriel asked, when I sat down.

"Hmmm?"

With a toss of his head, he indicated the brunette.

"Oh. There was a line for the restroom, so she wanted to use the men's
room. I let her."

"She got impatient, huh?"

I looked at him blankly, and then nodded.

"Humph," he snorted.

I know it should be a criminal offense to do what I did next, but I
simply had to do it. I picked up the fresh glass of Macallan and
downed it in one gulp. I set my glass down and caught the waitress'
eye. The bartender began to pour my fourth drink as I picked up my
pipe and relit it.

"So I was thinking about Walkers Shortbread Fingers for the...,"
Gabriel began, picking up where he'd left off before I'd gone to the
restroom.

I wasn't paying a bit of attention to him or his Shortbread. My eyes
were on the brunette at the bar. She turned once and our eyes met. We
shared a smile and then she turned back to her friend.

Impatience.

I sipped the Scotch that the waitress had set in front of me and
puffed on my pipe. I closed my eyes and savored the tastes, the
aromas, the sensations.

Impatience.

It was better than any drug.

-----

Copyright (C) 2002 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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