Chances

Beneath the smoke, the vapor, the smell of garlic and onion, there's someone turning the heat off upon checking on the saucepan. The food isn't anywhere near ready, but something has changed the plan, a deviation from the course.

I clean my hands on a towel which was lying nearby as my feet get to the door. I peep through the device at the door to suddenly feel a mix of nervousness and excitement: she's there, at the other side, out of the door. I clean my hands again and lazily set my hair straight (which just won't do but is the whole purpose, otherwise I'd use a comb!) before unlocking the door and opening it.

"You're here early!" Just like a kid who has no filter, I hear the words leave my mouth. She smiles – perhaps she's used to all of this awkwardness? – and looks down to her hands that are holding things inside a box. Kitchen utensils and grocery, it seems. That's my queue to move out of the way and point her where the kitchen is. Yeah, she couldn't know where it was since she had never been there before. She hadn't been around in a long time.

"I've got this recipe... And it would be better to do it in here already, so I wouldn't have to move things around, different temperatures and all." She sounds different, precise, yet as adorable as I could remember. My feelings get me lost so I can't even venture to ask her how did she get my address, nor how did she go past security to just knock on my door. Does it matter? I think not.

There's this thing in the air, I guess it has always been there... ever since we had shared what we felt for each other, and pretty much decided not to act on anything for several stupid reasons. That had happened about two years ago, when I was getting back on my feet after the dissolution of a five-year relationship. She hadn't been much different, still recovering from a break up that had left her incomplete. We, then, became good friends although there was some sexual tension and a spark here and there. She was also on the verge of leaving town and we worked side-by-side, five days a week. As I said, we decided not to act on anything for several stupid reasons.

Right now the "thing in the air" had gone from interesting and fun to something cold and perhaps bitter with a pinch of awkward. I took my time to watch her work the ingredients of her recipe while browsing through diverse topics that keep conversation flowing. It wasn't difficult talking to her, or being near her. It had always been very pleasant, even when both of our spirits were crushed. Her showing up at my doorstep, nonetheless, was strange. Especially if we consider that she had returned to town a day ago and that all of her innumerous friends were possibly trying to see, visit her.

I excuse myself to go to the bathroom – nature calls – and can get a glimpse of her there, in the kitchen I barely let anyone use but me. I ponder if I should feel lucky or anything, really, to have her at my place so suddenly, so unexpectedly. It feels slightly uncomfortable and exciting at the same time, but it's important to stop wondering before any expectation is built – that's why the glimpse is fast and alone time in the bathroom seems necessary.

On the way back to the kitchen I proceed cautiously, attentive to the kitchen sounds that have diminished yet are still there – why am I being cautious? I don't know, I just am! I find it better not to get too close because there were feelings involved, I had feelings for her when she was around, and when she left, and when she said she was coming back. I, then, lay against the door frame at a distance, asking about what she's doing and getting didactic and cheerful responses. Just like that everything seems lighter and I learn that my feelings and instincts can't be trusted. Maybe I'm the one casting the dark and heavy clouds on the matter, as if sabotaging myself and any possibility of rekindling our friendship. The whole situation seems fairly normal, despite of the fact she got past the building's security – but she has always had her ways, hasn't she?

"So... do you want something to drink? There's water, maybe some coffee left..."

"I've helped myself already, thanks"

"See? My hostess skills are still as crappy as you can remember!" I laugh and so does she. Yeah, all that heaviness and whatever weirdness I thought might be going on must, really, come from my head. Gotta see a therapist to figure it out, perhaps. Whilst the thoughts run through my head, I watch her as she gets back to her business. I pour myself some water and ask her if she needs any help or tool, but she says she's good. Yeah, she definitely is. I excuse myself and trail my way to the living room that is just a few steps away, sitting at the black couch and flipping through channels on the TV, occupying my mind.

I'm hardly over checking the TV schedule when I feel maybe a gust of wind on my hair? I raise a hand to straighten it, finding another set of fingers. I look up to see her standing behind the couch, giving the TV a weird look and then moving her eyes towards mine. Tension builds up inside of me.

"You left me alone in the kitchen to be here doing nothing? I'm offended!" She pulls a bit of my hair, as some sort of punishment following her words, and curves the edge of her lips in a simple smile – not too obvious since she was supposed to be offended, after all.

"My plan was actually to drag you outta the kitchen, away from those sharp knives, wooden blocks, glasses..." I smile as well, keeping it playful whilst she goes around the sofa to sit and give another weird look at the TV. "I was looking for a tennis match or something... Maybe you've learned a bit about it already?" I lay my head against the back of the sofa, leaning to her side to meet her gaze.

"Maybe I did!" She manages to sound confident and a bit cocky. "What about you? Have you finally managed to run or you're still lying to girls when you 'go for a run' that is actually a jog?" Her imitation of me has always been priceless, and that memory is amazing. I laugh, remembering that once I invited her for a run and, within 2 minutes, I was already giving up as she kept a sprinter pace.

"I guess I still cannot follow your rhythm, but, well, I could manage to get rid of some weight, right?" To make a long story short, let's say that I was just a lame-sometimes-fast walker.

"Yes, you look better." Her hand was still on my hair, as if playing with it despite of its shortness. My head was still lying against the back part of the sofa – that place people usually rest their arms on.

"Pfff!" I let the air out of my mouth, disapproving her choice of vocabulary "Better? I was hoping for 'juicy' or 'hot'... Better? Really? Pffff!" The playful tone is there, short laughter and smiles as well. I can't even remember I was tense.

"Afff... You're still doing this 'pfff' thing? That's so annoying!" she moves the palm of her hand from my hair through my face, pushing it back a bit.

"Oh, babe... I have a whole collection of annoyances for you. There's the 'pfff', the 'okay'... The 'Hm'... The thumbs up and, of course...." I had removed her hand from my face, holding it with one of mine "Punching the air as a way of celebrating! A. Whole. Collection!" I kiss her hand three times while marking my last three words. She rolls her eyes at my performance, yet being betrayed by a smile at the corner of her lips.

"So you're basically the same?!" By the tone underlying those words – a pinch of sarcasm – I take a moment to get a hold of the general picture: she arrived way earlier than anyone else, worked for about 20 minutes in the kitchen and is now chit-chatting on the couch and caressing my fingers? Maybe I got it all wrong – which is my thing; but if there's a 5% chance, even a 1% possibility, I would take it.

"You tell me!" I pull her hand towards me and sit on my side, astutely enough to place the other hand on the couch and help my torso approach her, to brush my lips against hers and smooch. And get something that doesn't involve recoiling or apologizing. She kisses back and the childish attempt of a kiss quickly turns into something else. A mix of "I miss you" with "I knew it" and some "OMG"s.

A good kiss is capable of setting many things off, and the room temperature – which ever it was – just got warmer. I had straightened out my spine since the initial idea (which was to steal a smooch and get back to the original position faster than the possibility of a hand slapping my face) had gladly failed. By quickly getting on my knees and sitting at my feet – as Japanese people do on tatamis – I was able to free my hand that supported my now-finished leaning over, so those fingers met her neck and the base of her jaw whilst lips and tongues amused themselves in a kiss that didn't break despite of all of that moving. She had gotten closer as well, remaining sideways and placing both a knee between mine and a hand on my thigh.

Kissing is sometimes about taking turns. I wanted to taste her tongue to its length and was able to suck on it before she got to bite and suck the outer part of my lips. It's also about sharing, as when pace and pressure combine so breathing occurs, saliva doesn't thicken and tongues can caress each other. That sends a very good message across the body and my loins tell me to go further.

I get up from my feet, still kneeling but now at a taller level, which causes her to straighten her back and tilt her head back in order to maintain the kiss going. My first instinct/impulse was to just get her laid on her back and proceed to be on top, but that would be moving too fast and appreciating too little. So I caress her jaw with my thumb and let her other hand go free as I need mine to slide from the other side of her neck to her collarbone, breaking the kiss to follow that path with my lips. She moves hers to one of my shoulders, getting the tank top to one of the sides as she lets some teeth touch the skin – causing me to take a deep breath and my body to let my arousal visible for eyes to see and hands to touch.

I let a hand go off her neck to brush over her boobs and reach her lower back while the other palm gets to the couch as I start leaning forward, pushing her to lie down and set it into motion. But that's when there's a plot twist and she bends over, definitely not meeting the couch with her back.

We look at each other, lips off the necks, but no words get to be said or heard. She doesn't want to lie down? Ok, let's try something else. From still kneeling – and nearly feeling some pain due to that position – I get to sit on the couch and place my hands around her waist to pull her over to my lap, which was already in motion from her part. She gets her hands around my head, holding some of my hair firmly to the aching point, but just not enough to actually cause any discomfort. That's when things get more interesting.

My hands on her waist go up through her back, from under her blouse. We had stared at each other's eyes a bit before she got my head to lean to one side, exposing the neck on the opposite side, where the biting and kisses started to be placed. The angle didn't allow me to use my lips for a while, so I had to make the best use of my hands. I run my fingers over the lace of her bra as one hand finds the hooks on the back while the other explores the valley between her boobs – which, with a snap, become free from that garment. The hand on the back goes up until her shoulders and back of the neck, trying to find out any zipper or buttons to let all that clothing free, only to know that her exhilarating kisses would have to be briefly interrupted.

I mean to move both the bra and the top up, to take them away over her head, but she doesn't seem to care about it as she moves to my ear – which is a fatal blow. I interrupt everything I was doing mostly because my heart seems to stop. She bites the lobe and keeps my head still in a way my only response is a husky, low moan, leaving my mouth. I take a deep breath as if to cool my body down, but it ain't possible. I had recovered some of my senses and got my hands to caress some more of her skin, pulling her blouse up again although she didn't seem any interested in letting go of my ear – which, by the way, makes me breath heavier.

I gasp as she reaches my breasts from over my tank, still playing with what seems to be my upper body g-spot, now joined by my hardened nipples. I move my hands to cup her boobs and give them a firm squeeze whilst I lie on my back against the arm of the couch. That breaks her action on my neck and gives us enough space to get rid of clothing, and that's precisely what I get to do. I also take advantage of her arms up: after removing the bra, by the time the blouse was at her wrists, it was possible to trap her hands simply by holding the cloth there and coiling it around both her articulations. It wasn't something too tight or impossible to break if she wanted otherwise, which happily didn't seem to be the case.

I sit back up with a smile at the corner of my lips (it is true that the Scorpio rising gets me to play both the distant-courtship and the overtly-sexual games), making a brief visual contact before leaning over her to switch what my hands were doing for my lips, licking every inch and every curve of that voluptuous bust, yet careful not to touch the nipples. She lets a moan out (music to my ears!) and slightly squirms on my lap, hands pulling my hair again (perhaps I'm just beginning to like this). I get to rub one of my cheeks against a nipple while moving back up to the base of her neck, letting my teeth brush against its extension up until biting her chin. Meanwhile my hands are back in the game, from her torso to her breasts, rubbing on its sides until she moves her pelvis in anticipation (sorry, no dick there).

It's about time to pinch her hardened summits and meet her lips with mine, so after some nipple stimulation and tongue-sucking she would be very aroused to let her pants fall without ceremony and proceed to the main course. Would be.

BEEP.

I stop, we stop.

BEEP. BEEP.

We are back to the world of the living, me frowning my eyebrows whilst trying to identify what could that sound possibly be. She, on the other hand, gets herself up as if she knew it. So she rushes to the kitchen – yeah, she possibly knows.

I take a deeeeeeeeep breath and straighten my hair, still getting my brain to work, looking around to the TV that was on, to me that was on and to her blouse and bra next to the sofa. The Libra inside me would probably ponder and give her some time to cool down, but the Scorpio has taken the stand and won't be waiving its place that easily. So we (Scorpio, Libra and me) get up and go to the kitchen as well, in time to find her turning the oven light off. I get a glimpse at the gas knobs to find them all lined up, all of them off.

"Is it done?" I ask, approaching both her and the oven, kind of trying to see what was in there but not interested enough to bow and check on it. She places the heat resistant gloves next to the water filter, waving her head in a positive answer. "Good, 'cuz we are not." She hadn't moved or turned around, so I can only imagine her surprise (if she got surprised) when I embraced her from behind, naked from my waist up – fair and square.

Not standing on ceremony I got a hand to mildly cup one of her breasts, placing the still stiff nipple between two fingers, throughout the time the other hand freed up one of the sides of her neck, allowing my lips to brush avidly against her skin. As a response she placed one hand on top of mine over her chest and wiggled her back against my torso, hardening my tits once again.

I move my mouth up to one of her ears, biting and sucking it not so gently as before, the hand that was on her neck going down to the button of her shorts and proceeding to let it fall to the ground. She pressures my hand with hers, as if telling me to better squeeze her boob, which I decline since teasing them seems hotter; so I move my index and middle fingers, which are around her pencil-eraser-sized nipple, alternating rubs and pinches. She leans over me, breathing heavily and frantically, her free hand getting to the waistband of my sports pants from one of the sides and to the rear, digging her fingernails on my butt cheeks as my hand gets on >there<.

I gasp, aroused by the not-so-painful-yet-delicious feeling post-nail-digging and she moves her waist and lets some muffled moan out as I slide two fingers over her hood to find her lubrication pool and slide over back to the roof that coverts the clitoris. It's not out there yet, which means I have to work it altogether, so I lock my lips on her ear again and rub her breast with my whole hand, letting the thumb brush against the nipple while the index finger of the opposite hand gets wetter in her own juices and back up to where the clit is hidden.

"There's this thing about women..." I pause more than I speak, since my breathing pace is chaotic and uneven "... that you don't know which feels better, you know?" I keep on sliding the index finger into her inner lips, going up to the sides of the now-hardening clit and getting more wetness from the opening. Her breathing is all over the place, the hand that was on top of mine moves to her free boob and the one on my butt moves to my waist, nails digging up at the top of my thighs. She seems to get some air to speak something just when I get my palm to roll over her nipple and index finger to thrust a little into the slippery opening of her womanhood, the thumb of that very hand circularly going over the c-spot.

"So I go for both..." I finish my saying (sometimes the urge of speaking comes when maybe I should be quiet... have to learn to control that!) as she lets a mix of a moan and a breath out, which generally means it's working more than fine. Her waist wiggles against my shorts and her body bends backwards. Her hands that were on me move again to my hair, not so soft anymore, as my hand on her sex starts picking up pace on both fronts: clitoral and vaginal stimulation, the first being slightly firmer and faster than the latter.

Circular movements with the thumb knuckle seem to provide me with a better response – she breaths superficially at every strike – whilst rubbing the index fingertip at the border of her opening causes her body to move, inviting it in. Joined by the constant but not evenly-paced foreplay on her boob and nipple, it feels – and sounds – like a symphony, like an orchestra where different people and instruments play different past to have an altogether fantastic outcome.

Her breathing starts getting even more superficial, although her exasperating takes longer than her inhalation. I open up my eyes to admire how her chest goes up and down, breast moving in a delicious manner, as she breaths and responds to that stimuli. It sounds like she's about to come from that thumb rubbing against the sweet spot, so I retard the rhythm, moving the finger to a side to delay her orgasm a bit by shifting to the index finger on the border. Her body responds against me, surely not liking that decision, but everything happens for a reason. As a consequence she pulls my hair like never before, causing me some pain and making me take a deep breath not to go back to what she thinks was the best – since that is yet to come.

Ding dong. It's 9pm of a Saturday night. I check myself on the mirror by the door and open it to meet my dearest couple of friends, Irina and Carl, who had been already allowed to come upstairs by the security guard. We happily greet each other and, as always, we go to the kitchen where I can check on the sauce I was making and Carl may open the bottle of wine they had brought.