Lynn and Leif Forevermore Ch. 02

They talked long over coffee. She was a different kind of chick. She knew a lot about the New York Music scene. She knew her way around the hip hop, r&b, and jazz clubs, but she was not obtuse to the indie rock scene. She knew several bands that he had as mutual acquaintances.

But, what had him most smitten with her was her irreverent, goofy sense of humor. She didn't think anything of bursting into fits of giggles, she had a ready smile, and a cute, smart mouthed, quick tongue. Her face was very expressive when she was being silly, and he found her sense of humor contagious. She didn't display it to him right away, but two cups of coffee into their nightcap, she had him chuckling too.

"Can I touch it?" she asked softly.

"Why Lynne, I thought you were a lady," said Leif.

"Not that stupid, your hair," she quipped, punching him square on the shoulder.

"Oh, my hair. Well sure, you can touch it...only if you let me touch yours," he added with a grin.

She leaned close and touched his hair.

"I've never touched a dreadlock before....it's neat," said Lynne with a chuckle.

She blushed hard now, and her chin dimple revealed itself, and he was smitten with her even more.

"Ugh, I'm going to be sick, how much longer," sighed her friend Janelle playfully looking at her watch.

"I'm surprised that you've never touched a dreadlock before," he added smiling.

"Why? Because I'm black? I might be black but none of my friends have any dreadlocks that I know of. Braids, yeah. Dreads no...you're my first time," she added, taking more of his locks between her hands.

"Do you like how they feel," he asked softly, with a hint of seduction in his voice.

"Ummm.....they feel okay," stammered Lynne.

Her face flushed, the way that his would flush, and clearly, his overture made her shy. He found it so endearing and sweet.

"Now it's my turn to touch your hair," added Leif softly. He leaned towards her and gently took a handful of her hair into his own hand. He leaned forward, caressing it softly, then murmured,

"I've never touched a black girl's hair before. And I always wondered what it would feel like. Your hair is soft and silky and it smells good too," he leaned forward and took a sniff. Then he was amazed at how goofy he sounded.

"Well why wouldn't my hair be soft and silky. Ugh, I hate when white guys make comments like that Leif...I don't want to be your tour guide to black women," said Lynne crossing her arms.

Everything seemed to be going so smooth until he commented on her hair, and she seemed defensive about this, but he didn't want to strike out with her. She was cute, and funny, and so he felt like he should speak from his heart.

"I.....I never had the opportunity to date black girls when I lived in California. There weren't any around in my neighborhood. But if I'd seen any who looked like you, damn it...I would have been real interested in dating her. Look, I don't want you to feel like you have to be my tour guide to black women. I....I don't know why I said that. I mean to me, a pretty woman is a pretty woman. Color doesn't matter. Just never knew any black women is all...honestly. You're real pretty. And talking to you, because you're funny and shit, makes you even prettier. I'm going to give you my number," he added.

He took a napkin from the table and wrote his number on it in clear, legible print.

"I'd walk you home but we just met, you probably don't want to give me your address," he asked softly.

"Not....not yet Leif. I....I like you a lot...and I enjoyed our coffee but I think it's too soon for any of that. It's been fun, but we're gonna go home now. Maybe I'll see you around," said Lynne.

He memorized the inflection of her voice and played it over and over again. It sounded like a question. Like she wanted to see him again, and not as though it was a brush off.

He hoped she used that number. The only reason he didn't ask for hers, was that he didn't want to make her uncomfortable.

***

After they got out of earshot and had crossed the street opposite the coffee shop, Lynne looked at her friend.

"That Leif guy was cute as hell," said Lynne as they walked down the street, arms linked.

Janelle just laughed.

"What, you didn't think he was fine. I mean, he looks like a hippie, but he was mad cute, with those pretty blue eyes. He kinda reminded me of a dreadlocked Paul Walker," said Lynne.

"I'm just.....I'm laughing because....well, I don't really know him, but I know you two were vibing. And....and in an odd way, I can see you with him. I don't know. I mean, if you want to get to know him a little better. You....you're weird enough for each other," said Janelle with a chuckle.

"Weird enough," said Lynne.

"Oh come on, you know you are weird. You're a black hippie yourself," she said with a chuckle.

"I'm not a hippie. I mean, I went to Yale for crying out loud...I studied history. I don't think I'm a hippie, I'm too interested in that stuff to be a hippie. Lot of good those degrees in history did me, because I'm singing in nightclubs, but...after I finished I didn't want to teach history. I'd rather sing. Anyways, I don't think I'm a hippie. I'm free spirited, but you're reading me wrong. Besides, we don't know if he's a hippie either," added Lynne.

"You aren't a hippie? Let's see shall we, your poetry readings. Your candles and incense. Your plaid shirts, flowing dresses and scruffy black boots. You're the recycling queen. You can vegetables that you grow in a little garden on your stoop. I don't know anyone else who does that. And as far as him being a hippie, look at his hair. If he doesn't have a garden, he will if he sticks with you," said Janelle.

Lynne just laughed and laughed.

"Okay I'll be a hippie. But you're the real social activist. I'm surprised you're cool with him talking to me, and not ready to go marching on the hill," said Lynne.

"Oh come on. Just because I'm into activism and I write a blog on civil rights and stuff doesn't mean that I'm not a sucker for a good love story. Besides, that...that whole mess back there at the coffee shop with Leif, it's part of what Martin fought for, the right to love everyone. I'd be a hypocrite if I told you not to give the guy a chance. Just because I'd only date my strong black brotha's doesn't mean anything, he seems to be on the same wave length as you," said Janelle.

"What in the world does that mean? I like him. I think he's cute...you think I'm a traitor if I like him or something. I think that's a bunch of shit Janelle. I mean, so...so I've never looked at white guys before...some have asked....but I just always said no. But people are people. He's so adorable. He's funny and he's charming it's like...I mean, in a lot of ways, he's like a little boy...maybe he is a hippie. He's just so transparent with his feelings, and he's honest. I think he's like a breath of fresh air. He's...He's so much the opposite of Martin. I'm glad for that," said Lynne.

"Well I am too. He was a stuck up Jerk, and he was interested in remaking you as Martha Stewart Junior. He didn't want you to be rough around the edges. And frankly, that's what I like about you. Muddy combat boots and all. You should call that Leif dude. I think he likes you. And you deserve to be happy girl," laughed Janelle.

"Walk me up," said Lynne.

"Sure," said Janelle.

They walked up the six flights of stairs that Led to Lynne's small, one bedroom apartment. Lynne loved having Janelle to walk her back to her apartment. Even though she was born and bred in New York, she felt a heck of a lot safer with her friend to watch over her now that she'd moved out of her parents home and lived in her own apartment.

Janelle walked her home after every gig, and made sure she was safe in her home before she walked home to her own apartment. Lynne promised to let Janelle have the sweet gig of being her personal assistant if she ever made it to the big time.

***

That night, Lynne went to bed as soon as she got home. Normally she had a glass of wine to unwind before she started the business of going to bed. Tonight, she felt like she needed something a little different to unwind. She peeled out of her plaid shirt and levis, and put on her favorite, comfortable New York Giants jersey. She loved to either sleep naked, or sleep with just the skimpy little jersey on.

Leif was totally handsome. She hadn't been able to make out much about the cut of his physique through his goosedown jacket, and his fleece sweater, but even though he was slender, his chest and arms looked thick. He seemed like he would feel very solid to hold onto. He had those deep blue eyes, and even those blond messy dreadlocks, added something to his looks.

His lips weren't full but they were shapely. Her mind started to wander, wondering what kind of kisser he was. It had been a long time, well over a year since she'd been intimate with Martin. But, just like when she was with Martin, she had no problem taking care of her sensual needs, on her own.

In fact, in some ways she preferred it this way. No one knew how to please her better than she could please herself.

She started to lightly trace her own nipples through the sheer, flimsy fabric of the jersey. They were rock hard, and aching, but she kept herself, on the edge like that. She liked her small, yet shapely breasts to be handled very gently. She hadn't yet experienced the caress that she would enjoy at the hands of another, but she knew how to touch herself right. Before she knew it, she was imagining that her hands, were Leif's and she traced up her thighs and over her stomach under the jersey.

Finally she couldn't resist anymore. Her right hand felt her damp curls. Just a soft touch, a little bit of pressure, and excruciatingly slow clockwise circles.

"Ohhh....damn, damn," she groaned under her breath.

She stopped and moved her hand. She was so horny nowdays that she could bring herself over the edge in just a few minutes. But she enjoyed drawing out the deed a little longer, as it led to much more explosive orgasms.

She took her damp fingers out of her curls, and put her fingers softly, gingerly in her mouth. This tasting of herself was something she was doing recently. She was curious about what she tasted like from an abstract point of view. She would die of embarrassment if anyone knew she was doing this. She could not work out anything unpleasant about her taste, or smell, but Martin had been unapologetic about not wanting to go there. In fact, he'd never wanted to have sex anywhere but the bed- he was afraid that her scent would leave behind some kind of odor.

Was it any wonder that, even when they were dating, she masturbated furiously, in heat, in secret, long after he was asleep to provide herself with the sensual ecstasy and excitement that she craved. The penetration was difficult, and she didn't like it, but she was always hot and bothered for foreplay which, never seemed to last long enough, and never seemed to be "nasty" enough.

A part of her believed that she would never find sexual pleasure equal to the satisfaction she could bring herself, and without that pleasure, it rendered having a man almost useless.

She didn't want to think anymore. She opened and closed her lips teasingly with her fingers, gently massaging around her clitoris with her index and middle finger.

When her clitoris was hard, rigid and aching, she smoothed a bit of her wetness over the hood, closed her legs, and rubbed her damp curls gently until she felt her thighs quiver and quake with release.

The moan, "Oh Leif baby," escaped her lips before she even realized that she'd been moaning and fantasizing that he stroked deeply inside of her.

Leif. That stranger. Damn it he was so cute she was sexually fantasizing about him. She hadn't played with herself to sexual fantasies of an actual person, and not a rock star or movie icon, since high school.