The Only Difference is the 'S'

"Want a lift?" I shouted. "No blow jobs involved!"

She giggled throatily and climbed in.

"Thank you." She said, as she fastened her seat belt around her narrow waist.

"No problem." I told her. "I enjoy company when I'm driving."

"Well, thanks again. But if you keep stopping for me, I'll end up owing you something."

"I'm sure we can think of something if need be."

She favoured me with a quick smile at that, but she didn't rise to the bait and we settled back into a nothing conversation.

The journey ended outside her place, but this time she kissed me before opening the car door, and this time it was longer. Long enough, in fact for me put my hand around the back of her head and pull her closer. Long enough too, for her tongue to find its way between my lips and explore my mouth. But then, just as I thought things were making progress she broke free, slipped away from my restraining hand and was gone again.

The next night she was at the bus stop again, and this time I had the distinct impression that she was waiting for me rather than a bus, at least I hoped so. We sat quiet this time, each I think, wondering what would happen tonight when we reached the end of the journey. I decided to give things a little push in the right direction, or the right direction as far as I was concerned, and so I placed my free hand on her bare thigh, just south of the hem on her short skirt.

Her skin felt wonderfully smooth, still cool from the night air, but gorgeously silky and softly firm, if that makes sense. She made no complaint, but she did place her hand over the top of mine, as if to say 'that's fine but no further'. That was ok by me, at least she hadn't pulled it away, and we rode the rest of the way in silence with me soaking up the almost juvenile sensation of resting my hand on her leg. It wasn't until I needed two hands to bring the car to a stop outside her place that I moved my hand, and it was a journey that I thoroughly enjoyed.