CHOCOLATE LEGS
By Linguist64
All Rights Reserved by Author
I grew up in Memphis. I've always been the observant type who learned
early how to appreciate those special little things about a woman that most men
miss. One of my favorites is the look and smell of chocolate legs coated in Vaseline
on a hot summer day.
It was just that sort of thing that caught my attention the other day. I was
driving in my car after a round of golf. I had plans for the afternoon that were
sketchy at best: go to my office and check my voice mails, go home and wash the
dust of bad golf from my skin, settle down for the evening with a nice glass of
wine and crash.
It was hot that day, the air in my car isn't working so I had the windows down
and warm air was flowing through the interior. It created the most wonderful
sense of mental haze I've had in a while.
I drove through the neighborhood rather than take the freeway to my office. In
the summer especially, the city has the greatest view. The heat seems to have a
liberating influence on the women. They liberate their breasts from their bras
and the imprint of the entire spectrum of nipples and cups is pressed firmly
against the white fabric of those long dresses with the
equally long splits that have come to represent the new "uniform" of
the hood rat or they strain against shirts and blouses of all kind cropped to
show a bit of midriff that peeks out from between the blouse and the micro mini
skirt that rises to show a hint ass cheek and so much be pulled down every
few steps.
I drove through the hood taking in the sites and baking in the heat when I saw
"her". Unlike most of the other women I had seen on my tour, she was
not in "uniform". She wore the nicest summer skirt set with a cropped
top that did not allow her midriff to view the world. Her skirt was long enough
to settle just above mid-thigh on her lovely chocolate legs. But it was those
chocolate legs that drew my eyes to her and made them linger.
As I drove past, I could feel myself staring and didn't care that she saw me. I
slowed, until I caught her image in my side mirror. And as I looked back to take
in as much of her as I could, she grabbed the side of her skirt and raised it
slightly, fanning herself with it. I was hooked.
Although I was raised in the inner city, my mother always had a kind of elitist
attitude. She transmitted that same attitude to me. So in the fractions of a
second in which thought takes place, I waged a war with myself.
I told myself that I had passed up far too many opportunities with gorgeous
women just because I assumed they were "beneath me". And myself
responded, "They were. And if you pick this woman up, it'll be a quarter of
a mile before the police and the press have a field day with you, and where
would
your reputation be then??"
My mind was doing battle, but my hands were pulling the car to the side of the
street waiting. I sat watching her walk up the sidewalk on the other side of the
street. Still she raised the side of her skirt to fan herself and I heard the
insistent screams of my "better self" become so much white noise.
"Where are you headed?", I asked as she was finally near enough for me
to call out without being too conspicuous.
She looked over at me as if she had not understood so I called out again,
"Where are you going?"
As she crossed the street to the passenger's side of my car, I realized she had
heard me. Speaking, I think, half to me and half to herself she kind of
muttered, "Shit, I'll take a ride. I ain't crazy. It's hot out here."
By the time she had finished her manifesto, she was firmly planted next to me in
the car. Once she was inside, I had a better chance to look at her. My eyes had
not deceived me. She was probably in her early to mid 30's nicely formed, well
groomed, the smell of fresh Vaseline hanging in my nostrils.
Under normal circumstances, I pride myself on being the consummate gentleman. I
go out of my way to make everyone, particularly women, feel at ease in my
presence. Today was really no different. I wanted this woman who I had just
invited to be my passenger to feel at ease, but there was something about those
chocolate legs that just made me want to touch her.
I watched her sitting there, not quite settled, still hot. Again she grabbed the
side of her skirt and raised it some while spreading and closing her legs,....
both in a fanning motion. Somehow, it gave me the impression that this outfit
seemed foreign to her. So as gently as I could, I reached over and eased up her
skirt.
"Go ahead, get comfortable." I said.
My action had been confident, easy and done in one smooth motion that stopped
just short of impropriety. But even though I had stopped, this intoxicating
woman kept the hemline rising until it exposed a pair of the simplest white
cotton panties.
I looked into her face to see what might be going on in her head. She smiled at
me a bit nervously and said, "My friends would think I'm crazy."
But there she sat, in the passenger's seat of my car, legs spread apart, panties
exposed. I reached over and touched her. First her lovely chocolate brown thighs
whose length I stroked from knee to crease. And as my fingers reached the soft
fabric of her panties I knew that I had better put the car in motion so some
neighbor on the block watch committee wouldn't report me to the police.
As I drove I stroked her mound. I could understand why she had seemed so in need
of air. She was on fire. And each stroke of my fingers on the contours of her
treasure yielded such delicious results.
We didn't bother to talk. It didn't seem appropriate. She just laid back against
the headrest and soaked up the attention. I stroked the outside of her mound
careful to avoid the lips. I had a plan.
The entire time, I was trying to remember some secluded place in the shade where
I could further indulge this fantasy. So I navigated the car to one of the parks
nearby and drove to the back where the big old shade trees keep some of the heat
at bay.
Concentrating on driving was difficult since I was devoting a ton of energy to
my "work". But I managed to find a spot that I thought would shield us
from all but the most prying of eyes and exultantly, I shifted the car into park
and turned off the key.
By the time I got to the park, I had stoked her lovely pussy lips for a while. I
was careful not to allow my ministrations to be invasive. And as I finally
settled into this space in the park, it was not lost on me that those simple
white cotton panties were now wet with her juices.
I lifted my fingers from my passenger and raised them to my nostrils. Her scent
was so sweet. I watched her in my periphery as my tongue darted out to taste
what had come to be a lovely afternoon treat.
She seemed to like that I was enjoying her so much because with out my asking,
she turned her back to her door, raised her lovely chocolate legs so that they
stretched across the center console and her feet rested on my lap.
Though her feet were together in my lap, she had opened her thighs so that I had
easy access to explore this sweet summer fruit. So, I reached over and began
anew to stroke those glorious chocolate thighs. This time I used both hands on
both thighs and took great pains to stroke the outside, the top and
the inside finally setting my hands to work at her center.
With my right hand I again stroked her treasure which was now seeping with her
juices. With my left hand I reached up past her pubis to her stomach which I
discovered to be surprisingly tight.
It didn't matter to me that some of the things I was seeing and feeling seemed
out of context for my environment, I wanted to experience all of this woman. So
using the forefinger of my right hand, I slid under those white cotton panties
and began, flesh on flesh, to stroke the source of my passenger's wetness.
At first I simply brushed my fingers over the entirety of her pubis. Having
large hands and fingers, this wasn't too difficult to do (I wear a size 15
ring). I could hear the sound of a guttural moan emanating from my passenger. So
I stroke the outer edge of her lips with my fingers taking note of where
in this mix her clit could be found.
With each stroke from top to bottom, bottom to top, I went just a bit deeper
inside. And once I was deep enough to have access, I accentuated each stroke by
lingering at her clit until finally on one such bottom to top stroke, I rested
on her clit with my middle finger and massaged her there.
I was listening to all the signs she was giving. I wanted to make sure that I
was pleasing her. She told me by the way her hips seem to twitch intermittently,
by the way her voice kept trailing off in mid moan, by the way her hands
caressed those lovely chocolate thighs and periodically my hands as I touched
her. A large part of her was in another place. I had been
her conveyance to a place that I couldn't go with her. I was glad to be of
service.
Without removing my hand from her pubis, I changed my position in my seat so
that I was up on my knees behind the wheel. I wanted to taste this summer fruit.
She was aware of my move and spread her legs all the more to accommodate my
access. I lowered my head and began to kiss her while I still stroked her lips
and clit. First I kissed her undisciplined bush, playing in the hair with my
lips and tongue. She moaned even deeper. Then I began to lick the outer lips
with my tongue all the while stroking her with my finger.
When my tongue finally settled on her clit, it was as if I had touched her with
a hot iron. Her hips lurched and she gasped a huge gasp of air. My left had that
had been busy stroking her stomach and thighs was now hard at work on her
breasts. I had fairly easy access under her cropped top and I felt her
nipples harden as I stroked them and pinched them with my thumb and forefinger.
I continued with her breasts as I allowed my tongue to explore her below.
She began to move her hips in motion with the rhythm of my tongue. And as she
moved I slid my middle finger into her wetness. Again, she gaped as if breathing
were becoming difficult for her. I took it as a sign that I was accomplishing my
mission and continued. Finding the rhythm of my tongue and
her hips, I began to stroke her inner wall at that same pace. Giving steady
attention to her breasts, her clit and her inner walls I began to pick up the
pace.
The movement of her hips signaled that she was with me, actively involved in my
efforts to serve her. Her breathing continued to become more labored. Her
motions started to take on a frantic quality. I got the feeling that she was
on the verge of a tremendous orgasm so I accelerated my pace even more. This
time I was pinching her nipples more vigorously, stroking her clit with my
tongue firmer and faster, frantically fucking her with my finger. I felt her
walls tighten around that finger, Again she gasped, her muscles shook and
twitched involuntarily and suddenly,..... instantly, she simply relaxed. The
only sound I heard was the sound of a groan of relief.
The question at this point was,... exactly how do we exit stage right from one
of these things. It was not a question I would have to worry about.
I looked up into my passenger's face. Slowly but in a constant motion, she sat
up in the seat, and smoothed her skirt as best she could. On her face,.... this
look of abstract horror as she looked out the window on my side of the car.
I was afraid to turn around but I knew it was something I had to do. Not knowing
quite what to expect, I joined my passenger in a shared horror as I turned to
see one of the fine men of the local police department standing nervously
outside my car.
The judge who had been listening to my tale, finally looked me in my face. He
released the heaviest sigh I had ever heard. And simply shook his head in
disbelief.
"Mr. Johnson," he said when he finally spoke, "this has got to be
the most incredible story I've heard since being on the bench, and believe me,
I've heard some incredible stories. The report of the officer who was found in
the car with you corroborates what you've told me here today."
I breathed a sigh of relief all my own upon hearing that.
"Your attorney," the judge continued, "and the prosecuting
attorney for the city have agreed that it would not serve the city or you if we
processed this thing through regular channels. Officer Lewis, who was supposed
to be working vice in that neighborhood, obviously performed indiscreetly in
this instance
and the integrity of your social activity in this community would certainly be
damaged."
I was listening but the thing that kept repeating in my head was "Her name
is Lewis. I wonder what her first name is?"
"In light of these rather 'interesting circumstances'", the judge
continued, "we've decided to make this thing go away."
"Thank you your honor." I said quickly.
"Wait a minute.", he shot back in an equal hurry, "Mr.
Johnson,... Rev. Johnson," he said looking me squarely in the eye in a
manner meant to reinforce the seriousness of the situation, "I want to
recommend you get to the bottom of whatever this is that's going on in your
life. Left unchecked,
this episode could be the first of many in a downward spiral. Only you can make
sure that doesn't happen. Next time you won't be so lucky as to stumble onto a
vice cop and we won't be able to make the consequences go away.", he said
as he rose to his feet.
I rose slowly, making sure that my final standing position would be a firm one.
Again I thanked the judge and we shook hands as my attorney and I left the
judge's chambers.
We walked into the hall, silently moving toward the door. The attorney, a
longtime friend of mine, need that I was beating myself up on the inside and not
in the mood for congratulations or small talk of any kind. But as we approached
the door, there she was.
She had just come inside the courthouse. Unlike that other day, she was dressed
in her police uniform - tailored blue jacket, white blouse, and blue
uniform slacks covering those glorious chocolate legs. I could only imagine that
she had come to answer some disciplinary committee. I felt sorry that I had
compromised her so.
As we got closer to each other, I slowed and turned to face her. She stopped, signaled
for the officer accompanying her to go ahead. "I'll catch up in just a
second." she said waving him on.
My friend the attorney, catching a sense of the moment offered, "I'll wait
for you outside."
Thanks.", I said, not looking back in his direction.
I extended my hand to the officer standing in front of me, and just as if this
were our first time laying eyes on each other, I looked deeply into her eyes and
introduced myself. My name is David,.... David Johnson."
The officer, looking a bit bashful at the strength of my introduction, returned
my grasp - tenderly - and said, "Hello David. It's a pleasure to meet you.
My name is Rebecca Lewis,..... I work in vice."
I couldn't help it. That last line made me break into the biggest smile and we
laughed a bit together. And I reached in my pocket and pulled out a business
card. Taking the pen from the inside breast pocket of my suit, I added my home
number to the business number printed on the card and handed it the Rebecca.
"Here is my card," I said, "I would love the chance to get to
know you better. Please call me."
Rebecca let her eyes linger on the card, grazing her fingertips across the
raised letters printed on it. She drew her bottom lip into her mouth, made the
slightest sucking sound and shook the card contemplatively before she finally
responded, "I think I just might do that."
With that, I tipped my head in her direction as if I had been wearing a hat and
we each started to walk in our respective directions. It was the mischief in me
that took over for the briefest of moments as I turned and blurted out in the
officer's direction, "I look forward to seeing those delicious
chocolate legs again."
As I stood watching her walk away, she never stopped or turned but she did seem
to slow as her walk took on a playful air. I am gonna see her again,...soon.