My Bi Valentine

The resurgent feelings were exactly the same as the day I'd seen so much of Michelle's body, the yellow bikini enhancing her appeal.

A lewd mind-reel flashed across my consciousness, fantasies forming in my head until Michelle, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside me, glanced at her watch and said, "Drink up your coffee, Alan. I don't mean to be rude but I have a couple of things to do before my first appointment."

I tried to stall her but soon found myself on my feet, the erection painfully constricted inside my jeans. I could feel the cold seep of pre-cum smeared over my underwear and hoped the stain wouldn't show.

"Are you all right?" Michelle asked, the question causing me some concern until I realised she meant my emotional state rather than any embarrassing damp patches. I didn't think I could take any more humiliation brought on by a map of Africa appearing on the front of my jeans.

"I'm good," I croaked, thankful for the length of my tee-shirt hanging just far enough mask my arousal.

"As long as you're sure," Michelle murmured from a few feet away. "We can be friends, you know, Alan. You don't have to avoid me and you don't have to feel silly." Throwing me a bright smile, she added a chirpy, "You can even come round for a coffee and a chat every now and then ... If you like."

What I wanted most at the time, if I couldn't fuck her of course, was to make an exit without causing myself any further embarrassment. It was only just gone 8 a. m. but I'd already suffered enough for a month, let alone a morning.

"That'd be good," I mumbled, slouching for the front door.

I grabbed my coat and was about to twist the handle when Michelle's murmur stopped me.

"Alan," she breathed.

I turned back to see her smiling and she flung out both arms. "Give me a hug before you go."

Without thinking I stepped into the embrace, my arms encircling her. I'd always had the impression Michelle was bigger than the woman I held in my arms. Perhaps I'd been influenced by her generous bosom and exaggerated height due to her habitual heels, but holding her close, her scent wafting between us, the heat coming off her body and with Michelle's breasts pressed against my chest I was surprised to discover she was quite petite.

I could easily pick her up and carry her to her bedroom up the stairs.

Then, my senses overwhelmed by such intimate proximity, I nuzzled my face against Michelle's neck, kissing her skin, teeth brushing her throat.

"Oh God, don't," breathed Michelle. "I shouldn't have asked for a hug. I'm so close to kissing you, Alan," she moaned. "I want to but I can't cheat." She pulled back and held me at arms' length, holding my eyes with her hot, heavy-lidded gaze. "I won't cheat," she said through clenched teeth.

The reminder of her boyfriend filled me with guilt and I found the backbone to step away. "I'm sorry," I mumbled. "You were so close and..."

I saw Michelle's throat work with her own internal struggle. She held up a hand, eyes closed, cheek turned to me to silence my apology. "I shouldn't have asked you to hug me," she croaked, opening her eyes. With the glazed look gone, she added, "It was my fault. I was stupid to do it." Michelle offered me a watery smile. "Thank you for the card, Alan," she said. "Happy Valentine's day."

Then I was outside with my coat dangling from my hand, breath puffing in clouds as I tried to make sense of it all.

Two

Fortunately I had an easy morning: a couple of oil changes and some other mechanical tinkering I could manage without concentrating. To focus on something more complex would have been impossible due to my drifting attention, my thoughts turning constantly to Michelle and the what-might-have-been scenarios.

Then there was the issue of her confession near the door: she had been close to kissing me.

I hugged that secret to me, savouring the happiness of knowing there was a chink in Michelle's armour.

It had been a most revealing yet confounding twenty minutes in Michelle's company and my mind continually turned over what she had said, the recollection of how close we'd come to kissing persistently pushing to the fore. There had been some progress -- at least I knew how she felt and had somehow mined a nugget of pure gold, extracting the promise of a date from Michelle if it ever went wrong with her boyfriend.

Tormented by being so close yet still so far, I worked automatically and suffered through the morning until the tea-break at half ten. Then Michelle's influence slewed my world again, the jolt coming as I walked past the office and John the manager called out to me.

John smirked when I paused at his door. "A lady came in with this for you." He held an envelope up and waved it. "Looks like a Valentine's card, Alan." Leering at me, John indicated I should enter his domain. "You mucky dog," he said, winking when I stepped in to take the proffered envelope. "She's old enough to be your mum ... but what a looker! I hope she's teaching you the good stuff." John winked again, clicking his tongue at me as I turned to leave. "Half your luck," I heard from the office. "Wish my missis looked half as good..."

Incredulous, I scuttled along the corridor and went outside into the chill February day. I didn't want the others to start on about the card. Right then I needed to open it in private. I would get enough stick from them later once John's big mouth spread the word.

Everything lurched and twisted inside me when I scanned the handwritten scrawl inside the card. My heart leapt and my stomach flipped while anxiety and fear combined in a visceral curl. I felt the adrenalin surge, my pulse tub-thumping in my ears. Even my sphincter clenched when the meaning hit me.

The card shook as I read: Dinner tonight? Phone me. Michelle. I saw a mobile number and breathed an epithet of amazement.

***

By the time I made the call I had the phone number memorised. I'd dithered, my mood oscillating between stratospheric euphoria and the depths of fear. Somehow, caught in a tumult of emotions, I worked on until lunchtime, sliding out through the back door to make the call at least six times in the interim. I snuck out with the intention of phoning Michelle firmly planted, always balking before pressing the send button. All morning as I worked on, my nerves tightened while I played conversations in my head. Then the hour for lunch was an agony of indecision, my mobile a constant in my hand, my fear rendering the device useless.

By then, thanks to the predictably indiscrete John, the word had gone round and I was the butt of outrageous banter. I took the hits, each jibe and supposedly humorous comment winding me tighter. Eventually, finally, only a minute or two before work recommenced, unable to countenance the strain of indecisiveness any longer, I let the call ring through.

...And hit voicemail.

When the recorded message began I panicked and hung up, fumbling with the phone in my agitation. Bending to collect the thing from the floor I cursed myself. "Don't be such a wanker," I muttered. "This is what you wanted. Just do it."

So, sucking in a deep breath I tried again, leaving a somewhat stumbling message about having received the card and how dinner sounded fantastic.

As agitated as the proverbial cat on the hot tin roof I waited for a response, with my phone bleeping ten minutes later. I was leaning into the innards of a BMW at the time, busy doing nothing much since I was too fraught to work on anything meaningful.

When I heard the notification tone my heart literally skipped a beat, pulse accelerating like a jet-fighter off an aircraft carrier. I used a call of nature as an excuse to retrieve the text, the use of phones being strictly prohibited in the workshop. I was actually flouting the rules by having the device with me but was in such a state of high agitation I couldn't leave it in my locker as convention demanded.

Inside the cubicle my hands shook so much I almost dropped the phone into the toilet pan. I cursed and forced myself to take deep breaths, calming myself sufficiently so I could press buttons in the right order with no major mishap.

And there it was, my fate decided. Michelle's response was: b hEr @ 7. I hav wine. Michelle xxx.

"Oh shit," I breathed, nerves dancing a jig in my guts. The allusion to the wine confused me -- surely she didn't mean...?

Scared witless by the possibilities I checked the time, wondering how I was going to keep sane with just under five-and-a-half hours until the dinner date with Michelle.

***

Somehow I got through the day and almost sprinted from the workshop as soon as it was time. At home I bathed and shaved and clock-watched, time passing with maddening recalcitrance. Finally, at five minutes to the hour I couldn't bear to wait any longer, leaving the house, my mood switching at least half-a-dozen times between our gate and hers.

With the moment on me I walked towards her front door as though going to my own execution.

A gamut of emotions fought for supremacy: it was Christmas and the dentist all mixed up in one huge seething ball of trepidation and excitement, which only got worse when Michelle answered my knock. Everything surged when I saw her, huge welling of dread and keen excitement so strong I almost threw up.

"Well, hello, Alan," murmured Michelle, amused eyes glinting at me from behind the rimless, rectangular windows of her spectacles. "I'm so glad you came."

I stood there and gawped when she stepped aside and angled the door wider. The power of speech had left the building and I was unable to move. The best I could manage was to stare, agog.

I could tell by Michelle's expression my response was exactly what she'd hoped for. Her choice of dress had achieved the desired effect and she smirked at me.

Michelle's head tilted as she looked at me and said, "Are you going to stand there all evening? It's cold, Alan; you'll freeze if you don't come in."

In a daze I stepped into the house, stunned by her entirely modest but very provocative denim skirt, the hem falling to an extremely flattering point on Michelle's thighs. My reaction owed less to brevity than the zip running suggestively perpendicular and dead centre along the front of the skirt. One pull upwards and she might as well not be wearing it.

"Happy Valentine's day," Michelle purred behind me, closing the door to seal me inside her lair. Moving past me, she added, "I have wine, or beer if you prefer. I'm assuming you'd like a proper drink? But you can always have coffee or tea, if you like."

She moved to the kitchen, with me following in a fugue.

Michelle stood in front of the big American-style fridge and folded her arms, her stare confronting me as she asked, "What'll it be, Alan?"

I roused myself and requested a beer, forcing my eyes away from the skirt and its incendiary zip. As my attention moved north to Michelle's face, I took in the jade-green, short-sleeved, button-fronted blouse, the style incongruously reminiscent of something a clerk might wear to work -- only a hell of a lot sexier when worn by Michelle, the high heels accentuating the erotic effect.

Michelle grinned at me. "Beer it is," she smiled, turning towards the fridge.

With her back turned I took the opportunity to glance at Michelle's derriere, her rounded buttocks thrust back slightly as she angled her pelvis and reached in to grab for beer and her bottle of wine. The shape of her legs sent a ripple of yearning through me, the shoes enhancing their aesthetic appeal. I was an ardent fan of Michelle's well-turned ankles and calves and long, lean thighs.

"Here you go," said Michelle, leaving me with the can cold in my hand while her heels pecked across the tiled floor. She pulled the cork and poured wine, closing her eyes in appreciation of the first sip. "Right, shall we go through to the lounge?" Michelle purred, expression questioning.

Still recovering, I emitted a less-than-articulate, "Uh ... Yeah ... Sure."

Michelle chuckled and moved closer, reaching out to stroke my arm. "Come on then," she crooned.

In the lounge we sat down, me in the chair I'd occupied in the morning while Michelle arranged herself on the sofa.

"There's your card," Michelle murmured, indicating a splash of colour next to the BOSE. She leaned back, reclining, watching my face when her skirt rode higher.

Feeling very much the prey I gulped beer, waiting for her to say something while Michelle sipped wine, her gaze feline over the rim of the glass.

Eventually, she spoke. "I suppose you're wondering...?"

I blinked at her and, not yet able to speak, forced her to expand with, "About why I've invited you over. About Zach and what I said. I expect I've confused the hell out of you?"

To be honest I hadn't thought about Zach at all, my mind had been too full of his girlfriend, but I gave a start at the mention of his name.

"Zach?" I croaked. "But...?

"It's all right, Alan," Michelle assured me. "I've spoken to him and he's fine."

"Huh-he's fine?" I gasped. "Wuh-with what?"

Michelle smirked again, sipping wine, somehow contriving to slide further into the sofa, her skirt slipping higher.

"With this," she cooed and then added a glittery-eyed, "With you being here with me. With us."

It had been a day of repeated surprises, with this latest just one more body blow in a series of hits. I was digesting the implications of this snippet when Michelle slammed another punch at me.

She eyed me in her feline manner and purred, "You want to fuck me, don't you?"

My scrotum tightened while my cock thickened automatically. Gape-mouthed I stared at her before summoning the mental capacity to croak a strangled, "Oh God. Yes. Yes please..."

"Tell me," she continued, eyes lasering into my face. "Do you think about me and masturbate? Is that what you do, Alan? Do you think of me in my yellow bikini and stroke your cock?"

"Ooh," I whined, speechless.

Michelle fingered the same dark beads around her neck, expression lupine. "You do, don't you? I bet you imagine us up to all sorts of filthy stuff while you wank." She placed the wine glass onto the coffee table and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "It's okay. I want you to tell me about it. Go on," cajoled Michelle. "Tell me. You can be honest. You can be as graphic as you like. I don't mind."

"Please," I gasped. "I ... I can't..."

She pouted and asked, "Why not? You've come over here with the express intention of fucking me. I'm going to see your cock anyway, Alan. If I asked you to wank in front of me, you'd probably do it. Why can't you just tell me about what you imagine us doing? If it started the day you saw me in the bikini, you've been wanking about me for months."

And I had. It was true. But for some reason I couldn't bring myself to tell her all the lurid details. It would have been difficult enough to reveal such a private part of me to the Michelle I knew, but the woman sitting opposite me wasn't her. This was a stranger with the honeyed voice and shining eyes. I'd never heard Michelle swear before; this was a completely different and hitherto hidden side to her and I didn't know how to react.

I was dazed and confused, thoughts whirling while Michelle kept on, relentless.

"I'd like you to tell me about what goes on in your head while you do it," she was saying, her tone low and narcotic. "It turns me on to think about a lovely young man fantasising about me while he tugs his cock. In fact, if you don't want to tell me, I think I'd like to watch you instead, Alan. Would you do it for me, babe? Please, won't you show me?"

Michelle shut up then. She sat there all sprawled out, limbs loose while her hot-eyed gaze challenged me. It went on for half-a-minute or more, the spring inside me winding tighter.

I don't know what would have happened if her mobile hadn't chirruped. I might have succumbed and unzipped and yanked at myself or, just as easily, I might have fled. As it is I'll never know because the trilling phone broke the tension, with the pressure of Michelle's focus on me abruptly relieved when she glanced away.

"It's Zach," she said, the information sending a jolt of apprehension through me. "Hello, gorgeous," she purred, holding the handset to her ear while returning her gaze to me once again. "Yes," Michelle said, grinning, "he's here. The poor love seems scared to death ... I don't think he was quite prepared for what he found."

Michelle's eyes widened in response to whatever it was her boyfriend said next, her grin shifting a gear to a lopsided smirk as she replied with, "You're wicked. Hold on, I'm just putting the phone down a sec."

While I boggled, Michelle rose and calmly unfastened the zip. With the weight of yet another shock piling on top of the others, Michelle slumped back onto the sofa, leaning back as she picked up the phone. "Okay," she giggled. "It's done." Then she blatantly spread her thighs to reveal underwear packed with plump vulva, exposing hold-up stockings into the bargain, a double-whammy which brought forth an involuntary gasp.

"Oh God," I groaned, completely overwhelmed.

The fact Zach was some kind of perv slowly percolated into to my consciousness. Astonishment burgeoning throughout, I listened to Michelle's side of the conversation, lust flaring as puppet-master Zach pulled invisible strings.

"He's staring right between my legs," Michelle gurgled. "Jesus, Zach, this is so bloody filthy." A pause followed. "What?" she asked, with her eyes so round I could see the whole of the irises. "You dirty bugger," gasped Michelle, nevertheless hooking a finger into her underwear and yanking the gusset aside. "There," she breathed, face scarlet. "He can see me. I'm doing it, Zach, you pig. Yes, my pussy, I'm showing it to him."

Her expression exactly mirrored my feelings. I saw it all written in the heavy eyelids and slack face. Michelle looked at me without really focussing, the maelstrom of shared carnal experiences churning inside the pair of us.

The dam burst inside me when I saw Michelle's labia already slick with desire. It was the lewdest sight of my life so far: a mature woman so obviously ready for sex and dressed like she meant to get it. I lurched to my feet and unbuckled my belt, fingers going straight to the buttons of my flies. The jeans and underwear went to my knees, an erection like a club springing up.

"Jesus!" I heard Michelle yelp. "He's got his cock out. Oh, Zach," she moaned, a finger slipping across the bud of her clit. "It's lovely. He's big and hard..."

She'd said she wanted to see me stroking my cock, so I stroked my cock. I took hold of myself with one fist and jacked the whole length of my erection, a low groan coming out of me on a wave of pleasure.

"I've got to go, Zach," Michelle murmured into the phone. Then she blinked, a puzzled look clouding her features as she snapped an indignant, "What?" Another burst of something from her boyfriend and Michelle continued with, "Yes, Zach, I know. You don't have to remind me ... Yes, I'll control myself -- to a point." Michelle stared at my cock as I deliberately teased her with a slowly cranking hand. "But he wants to fuck me, Zach, and with what I'm looking at right now I think I want him to. God," she groaned, eyes rolling, bottom lip caught between her teeth, "I'd love to sit on that thing. It's so bloody thick. It's a gorgeous cock..."

Michelle ended the call and tossed the phone aside. She shifted her rump against the settee, squirming so she could pull her underwear aside more readily.

"Sit down," growled Michelle, fingers slipping over her scarlet, glistening sex. "Let me watch you," she mewled, wincing. "Go on, Alan, wank it. Show me, babe. You watch me and I'll watch you."

I complied, fisting my length, all reticence evaporating as a hot rush of desire flooded through me. "I want to put it in," I mumbled. "Please, Michelle, can't I just fuck you."