Friday Night Drinks
2007-04-30 @ 8:17 a.m.

On Friday night, Steve and I went out with a few friends, hitting some local bars. I went straight from work and, lucky for me, happened to wear to work that morning an outfit that Steve loves. It's a simple outfit, a black, above-the-knee, pencil skirt with a white shirt and flats. Nothing special but Steve loves it for some reason.

Most of us are physically attracted to our boyfriends, husbands, significant others. That's one of the initial reasons they occupy that role in our lives. I've always been attracted to Steve. Why is it, though, that on occasion, that attraction gets ratcheted up a notch or two? It's like seeing that person in a different way.

Simple horniness isn't the answer. That itch can be satisfied at almost any time without the need to see someone as more attractive than usual. In addition, my turn-ons come mostly from touching and verbal ques rather than the visual.

Well, no need to act like a graduate student and dissect a mystery until the it becomes as mundane as a commodities report. Ambiguity and chaos can be good for the soul.

Steve looked....hot! To me, at least. And apparently to some others. He was wearing his waist-length duster, a plaid shirt and jeans. Like me, nothing special. His five-o'clock shadow darkened his face and gave him a rugged look that has, from time to time, caused me to pant like a Collie that's just run a marathon in the August heat.

When I walked into the bar, Steve was with a few friends. Two women were talking to him and, I think, flirting. One, a very attractive blond, laughed at something he said while simultaneously grabbing his forearm. Guys, if you don't know, that move is telegraphing interest.

When I walked up, Steve threw his arm around me, gave me a kiss and introduced me. The two woman were polite but quickly lost interest.

"Thanks," I said.

"For what?"

"For treating me like your girlfriend and not a pal."

When you've been together for awhile the 'friend' in girlfriend can eventually take precedence over 'girl', making things just a bit to buddy-buddy in the relationship. Not a bad thing, when you're lounging on the couch, stuffing yourself with pizza and watching a few movies. In public, though, it's nice when he lets people know I'm his girl.

Eventually, we got separated, becoming involved in two different conversations. We remained in close proximity to one another. Two men, friends of Steve's friends, engaged me in conversation. This soon turned to flirtation, the amount of that activity being directly proportional to the amount of alcohol consumed by the men.

One guy was kind of fun and witty with his flirting. Definitely misdemeanor flirting only. The other was more serious, more First Degree, felonious flirting. When both left to get more drinks, Steve approached me.

"Having fun?"

"Yes," I replied. "I'm just glad it's the weekend."

"You tired tonight?"

I looked up at him, as coquettishly as possible. "What did you have in mind?"

"Shall we go back to your place?"

"I'm ready when you are," I replied. And I was ready.

"Want to invite your new friends?"

I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. "I only want you. And it's probably not a great idea to bring two strangers back to my house."

"That's fine with me," he said. "It has been awhile since we've had a play date, though."

"Soon," I said. "I promise."

"The attention you're getting is turning me on."

I discreetly reached down and brushed the front of his pants. There was a bulge.

We stayed for another half-hour. Steve watched as the two men returned to continue the flirting. At one point, the more serious flirter, ushered me out of the way of a rowdy group trying to squeeze by us. He placed his arm around my waist, his hand coming to rest just below my waist, where one's ass begins it's gentle rise. I think he was inclined to leave his hand there, but I scooted back to my original position.

Steve told me he caught the man's move. It turned him on. I then found out how much the flirtation turned him on. We had some good, old-fashioned, rip the clothes off and toss them in the corner, no time for foreplay, grabbing my own ankles, head knocking against the headboard sex that night. And some more in the morning. There was, however, plenty of foreplay, and aft-play, in the morning.

So that was good.