Captivating Stranger at the Coffee Shop

I didn’t want to do it. I told myself. So then, why did you? I asked the image in the mirror. What kind of person are you to take advantage of someone who was seemingly innocent and already in a relationship?

I couldn’t answer those questions, except to feel the same need stir in the groin area of my body that is usually the betrayer of my misdeeds. I was recalling seeing this stranger standing in line at the coffee shop, and admiring the good choice of attire, from how it had accentuated all the right body parts, which had my heart thumping. As I walked up behind and began a conversation, just two customers at the coffee shop, the sense of humor of this stranger, was fresh and spontaneous. A sense of humor has always been a turn-on for me if it comes naturally and not too over-the-top, and the conversation we were having was easy, natural, and had me laughing. I was totally turned on, in spite of seeing a ring on this stranger’s finger, and knew I had to back off.

“Married?” I’d queried, just to continue the conversation and, to make sure I wasn’t going to walk away from something I could, perhaps, have more of if I wanted.

The look on the stranger’s face at my question was of surprise and uncertainty, as if unsure how to respond. What was it? I wondered. Why the look? Will I hear a lie, or what?

I waited in anticipation, looking in the stranger’s eyes for any tells. And then came the “No!” I had hoped for. But then, “Not yet,” was added.

Mmmm! Was the “no” sufficient enough, or should I be honorable and ask what was meant by “not yet”? I looked at the hand with the ring and asked, “Engaged then?”

“Well, not really engaged,” the stranger responded somewhat hesitantly, “It’s more like engaged to be engaged if that makes sense.”

“Sure, I get it.” But didn’t really. And before I could say more, our coffees were put down in front of us at about the same time, one being a latte and one a cappuccino.

“Do you have time to sit and drink your coffee here, or do you have to dash back to work?” I’d asked.

“No, I have time to sit.”

That response had brought on a sense of excitement and some hope for fulfilling an idea that I had been wanting badly to pursue.

As we walked toward a back table, I couldn’t help feeling captivated by this stranger’s way of walking, showing a grace, yet sensuality just by moving. Good lord, I could feel my own body react to ‘my new friend,’ and, although the conversation continued where we had left off before the ‘marriage’ question was asked, I couldn’t remember exactly what all was talked about, as my mind had been on ‘plotting mode.’ I just know that talking had been easy and fun and funny. But since I was able to listen, respond and plot out a plan, I was ready to implement that plan when it was nearing time to leave, with coffee finished and the clock ticking toward ‘return-to-work-time’.

As I had hoped, drinking coffee did what it usually does, and that was make the bladder full and needing to be relieved. We both chuckled at those base needs as we got up, ditched our cups in the tub provided, and walked toward the back at the sign marked: Restrooms. My body was on fire.

As with so many restrooms in this day and age, these were unisex, so we could have gone to either. But since the stranger had gotten behind me, I just stopped at the first door. As I watched the other door, a bit further down where the stranger had entered, just about to close, I stepped up and pushed it open, and walked inside. I locked the door behind me.

A surprised look was on the stranger's face as I entered, but not one of fear, I was happy to see. I moved in closer and brought the stranger’s face to mine as we locked lips eagerly and passionately as hands groped and then pulled and tugged at attire. Hands on breasts and then a mouth, while other hands stroked at the very hard member that seemed ready to explode. Quickly one was faced toward the mirror across the sink as the other rammed from behind with the staff that had been all too eager to seek refuge from the cool air into the heat of wetness.

“Oh, God!” was heard, along with deep moans of pleasure. But soon the rams came faster and faster and then harder and harder just before the final ecstatic screams, muffled by sheer will, came bouncing off the tiled walls to end in mere moans of “Oh my God!”

Those memories made me hot all over again. Am I sorry for what I did? I should be, but I’m not. Will it happen again? I’m not so sure, one way or the other, except for being certain of one thing, I will keep going back to that coffee shop in hopes of seeing the stranger and maybe finding out his name.