“Why go to the bar with the girls, when she can get drunk off love at home?”
Tired. Not sleepy, but that full body exhaustion that takes over after a long stressful, and thankless work week. That is how I came home.
The tired that says screw the dishes, I can wash them in the morning. And, to hell with the hamper, my clothes can stay where ever I drop them tonight, when I find the energy to take them off that is.
Sitting down to take off my shoes there comes a kiss to the back of my neck, and two strong hands on my shoulders. A few massaging rubs of the tense muscles, then a whisper in my ear. “Need a hand?”
You slide the tie from my hair letting it flow down. Your fingers trail down my arm as you circle the chair to kneel down in front of me.
Slowly your hands cup my left thigh, rubbing your way down to my calf, then my ankle. With one fluid motion you remove my shoe.
A deep breath and a smile that must have been hard to miss grace me. You answered it with a playful, “Aw you liked that, did you?” And then shifted, to give my right leg the same treatment.
The feel of your warm hands through tight denim, tickled and enticed. I could feel energy slowly coming back to me.
My breath deepening, as the rub down turned into belt tugging. As the latch released I raised my hips to ease zipper pulling. You on your knees in front of my grinning like a child unwrapping a Christmas present, began to shimmy my jeans off and to the floor.
The warmth of your touch now unhindered against my skin, sent shivers of anticipation up my spine, while leaving trails of energizing fire across my flesh.
Behind your eyes a hint of desire mixed with playful scheming. Your eyebrows raise as you grin, “Are you too tired for me tonight?, you as with a wink.
“Never.” I said leaning forward toward you.
Wrapping my hands around your neck as if to give you a passionate kiss, I grin. Swiftly I grab two handfuls of your green polo shirt and yanked it up over your head.
“Oh, you wanna play, huh?” you ask sarcastically, whilst struggling to escape my mini trap.
I hopped back ward and then out of my chair. Pulling my t-shirt down like a short dress that covered all but the smallest triangle of my white cotton panties.
“If you want me,” I giggled. “you’ll have to catch me.”
As you toss your polo shirt to the floor, you grab the sides of the chair. You stretch your back flexing you chest muscles beneath the white under shirt I had so hoped you weren’t wearing.
You cracked your neck, raised an eyebrow and asked, “Strip tag?”
Strip tag was a fun exercise. Like the childhood game of cat and mouse, strip tag required running and tagging your opponent, only when tagged you must allow the tagging party to remove an article of your clothing. And, what comes off is entirely taggers choice.
“OK,” I replied. “Strip tag, and your it.”
“Then I suppose you better start running,” you said rising to your feet. Slipping and sliding in my socks, I took off down the wooden floored hallway toward the kitchen. In my head, I was weighing the options on whether to make the game easy for you, or truly make you work for it.