My Time with Sammi

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“Bollocks,” I heard myself saying, as the A4 sized folder slipped from my under my arm and fell to the floor in the middle of the Starbucks. As I bent down, I quickly looked around, hoping no one had heard me, maybe I had said it under my breath, I rather ambitiously thought.

I heard a nicely modulated, male voice say.

“Hey, let me help?”

I didn’t look at the owner of the voice.

“No, no it’s ok,” I said panicking a bit as I knelt down and tried picking everything up as quickly as I could.

“It’s ok, I also do things like that”, the voice went on.

I thought it was a bit condescending and replied in an off hand manner. “Really, well would you ever?” As I picked up some of the papers.

I felt, more than saw that someone was kneeling beside me. I glanced to one side and saw you on one knee. It was almost as if you were about to propose, I thought nearly giggling. You was reaching under one of the tables, helping to pick up the papers, folders, envelopes and other stuff.

“Oh fuck,” I said to myself when I saw that several photos had come loose from the pack they had been in. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck and fuck again”, I breathed as I watched you pick them up.

You couldn’t possibly avoid seeing they were photos, you probably couldn’t avoid seeing they were photos of a scantily clad woman and I didn’t think you could avoid seeing that she was wearing an all black outfit. By itself that might not have been a problem, but when the outfit was black stockings, suspender belt, bra and thong and nothing else, apart from black, shiny, high heels and a sultry, but slightly embarrassed smile, a slight problem did arise. I hoped like hell, though, that you did avoid seeing that I was that woman. But, on the other hand, my embarrassed mind rationalised, if you thought they were of someone else what would you think of me having photos of scantily clad women. That conundrum called for another salvo of fucks under my breath.

I looked at you and saw you staring, almost intently, at the woman in the photos, a wry, impish unbelieving, grin on her face. You didn’t say anything, but handed them to me.

“Yours, I believe.”

“Yes thank you,” I replied feeling flustered and embarrassed, as we remained crouched looking at each other.

“I’m so clumsy, I must have had a really blonde moment there.”

“Not surprising,” you said flashing me a warm smile before adding somewhat flirtatiously. “With such gorgeous blonde hair.”

“Well that doesn’t make me an airhead,” I snapped a little too fiercely.

“Not at,” you smiled seemingly not a bit put out as you went on “Just momentarily clumsy, as we all are at times.”

I suddenly realised that you probably couldn’t avoid seeing that my low cut top was gaping. You could not also avoid noticing that the above the knee, tight, denim micro skirt had ridden up my legs. Moreover, due to the position we were in you could not probably avoid, even had you wanted to, looking down my top and up my skirt. That made me once more mutter under my breath. This time I tried both several bollocks and a few fuck, fuck, fucks; that made me feel a little better, so I added another couple of bollocks and two more fucks just for good measure. It didn’t alter the fact, though, that unintentionally I was putting on a real display for you and then, I realised, it wasn’t just for you, for I had a whole audience of the Starbuck customers and staff.

Still bent down, sort of sitting on the back of one foot with that knee almost touching the ground and with my other leg bent at ninety degrees or thereabouts, geometry was never my strong point, I glanced at this “helpful” stranger. You caught my eye and smiled.

“Hi” you said brightly as if meeting a girl bent over in Starbucks flashing her boobs and legs was the most natural thing in the world. It took me off guard.

“Oh hi,” I said back, getting into the vernacular and almost putting my hand out to shake your hand.

Then it hit me, and with quite a jolt. It hit me that there were other things you and the audience most certainly could not have avoided seeing. It hit me that you would have seen my cleavage, for under the gaping top I wasn’t wearing a bra; after all I hadn’t intended to be groveling around on my knees in Starbucks?

It also hit me that you could not avoid noticing that I was wearing stockings just like the woman in the photos. Then, when I noticed the direction of your gaze, it also hit me that you probably saw that I was wearing similar coloured panties to the girl in the photos. I realised then, that most of fucking Starbucks had the same bloody view.

“What a fucking shambles,” I thought.

“We all do such things,” you said a sparkle, or was it a twinkle, I never know the difference, in your eyes as you got up and took my elbow helping me to stand. As I straightened up, you looked me up and down as I pulled the tee shirt back in place and smoothed the skirt back down my thighs.

I stared at you as well.

To say the least, you were mature, probably in your mid to late fifties I guessed. But then, as I looked at you I thought you could be anadolu yakası escort older or younger, I’m hopeless with ages. Nevertheless, you certainly seemed old enough to be my father, even my granddad, but then, hey, so could Eric Clapton!

“Hey, lets have a coffee or something?” You asked in a nicely modulated, lilting, voice with an American or was it Canadian burr.

“No, no thanks, I’d better be going”, I mumbled.

“In a rush to get somewhere?”

“Well no. not really.”

“So why not just sit down, relax and have a latte or espresso, after all that is why you came in wasn’t it?”

I realised that I had not got as far as ordering anything before making such an utter fool of myself.

“Er, I’d rather not, not in here,” I stammered.

“Huh?” You said raising your eyebrows as our gazes met.

I smiled. “I think I’ve done enough damage here, I feel a little embarrassed.” I said pulling the still gaping, top more tightly round me, and standing up almost ramrod-like, straight wishing I wasn’t flashing quite so much cleavage. I could feel and see come to that, your eyes drifting to my chest. I realised then that my bastard nipples were betraying me again, the sods. Must be the friction I thought, assuming that nothing else was happening to me to make them become erect.


“Well you know.”

“Oh that?”

“Yes that,” I said looking around.

“What all of those lucky guys you mean.”

“Precisely, I’m not that used to flashing my bits to all and sundry.”

“How about a drink then in the bar over the road?”

Without hardly thinking I replied. “Sure a quickie then, if that’s ok?”

You smiled broadly and replied cheekily, but not smuttilly, “Always a time for a quickie.”

Unconsciously I laughed at that. “You know what I mean.”

“Only too well,” you replied rather seriously, making me wonder what was coming next. “But always before a quickie I insist on one thing.”

“What? What’s that?” I asked rather dumbly.

With a broad smile, knowing that you had ‘got’ me, you said.

“I insist on being on first name terms first. Hi I’m Gene.” You smiled extending your hand. I shook it replying.

“Hello Gene. I think that’s a good idea too, I’m Sammi or Sam if you prefer.”

We shook hands. It was only then that I remembered all of bloody Starbucks was looking on us. I wondered what they were thinking? Maybe that I had just been most comprehensively picked up? I was almost rather surprised not to hear a round of applause as you do when someone exhibitionisticly proposes in public.

We walked out, me clutching that bloody folder with the photos in, very tightly.

“So, that bar over there ok for our quickie?” You asked jokingly, well presumably jokingly.

“Sure, let’s go.” I replied feeling strangely nervous as I felt you take my elbow in a chivalrous way as we took on the early afternoon traffic in Times Square.


We stepped out of the Starbucks out onto the street; I let you go ahead through the door. You stopped and half turned to look back at me and it was my first good look at you standing up and in a good light. I paused and looked. You were very pretty, shoulder length blonde hair, I’d always been partial to blondes, very pretty face with an impish little smile. The top you were wearing, while covering you quite well, did let a small amount of backlight through and I could see the faint silhouette of your left breast and erect nipple. Your skirt was short, but long enough to cover those stocking tops that were so tantalizingly displayed in front of me just seconds before. Gorgeous legs.

“What are you looking at now, haven’t you seen enough already?” you asked.

“Just admiring the total package, standing up”.

“Like what you see?”

“Very much and would like to see more”.

“Take is easy, one thing at a time, let’s get that drink”.

We strolled across the street and I opened the door to the bar. You were ahead of me, and I watched the tantalizing sway of your very shapely behind as we walked in.. “Let’s sit over there in the corner”, I offered. “Sure” you replied.

You slipped into the booth first, and I caught another quick glimpse of dark stocking tops, and I gave you a small smile.

I sat in the booth beside you as the waiter approached the table. I ordered a glass of Cabernet, and you asked for a Pinot Grigio. Good choice, I think, exactly what I would have thought.

As the waiter left, I ask,

“So, I am totally intrigued by what I saw. Not at all what I would have expected for someone like you to be carrying around.”

“What do you mean by ‘someone like me’?”

“Oh, please, no offence, it’s just that it was quite a pleasant surprise to realize that the photos I was looking at, and the pretty young lady beside me, were one and the same.”

“Well, yes, I suppose. But that was so damn embarrassing, and then I couldn’t gather them all up, and then I squatted down, and you saw all the way up…., Oh God, I’m so embarrassed again.”

“Calm down. It’s Ok. You’ve gebze escort got to know that I’m dying to know the story behind those photos. They are obviously of you, and look like they are professionally done. Care to tell me something about them?”

The waiter brought the wine over, and we took the glasses and clink them together, and I said, “To Sammi, ……, Oh shit, I’m sorry, trying to come up with something witty and cute, but I didn’t think there is anything I could say that wouldn’t embarrass you or make me look like an idiot, so how about — To a new acquaintance?”

You just smile and say “To new acquaintances, cheers, Gene”.

“You were just starting to tell me about the photos…”

You paused a little, and then said, “I do this part time. I model for a photography club to help pay some of my school expenses. I do it once a week or so, they pay me about a hundred or so, depending on what I wear and how I pose. I like to keep some of the better ones for my collection or portfolio. At least the ones where some body part doesn’t look too fat or out of place”, you chuckled. Looking at you though, I couldn’t see how that would be possible. Your body was very well proportioned. Average size or maybe a little larger boobs, your butt was definitely nice and tight looking. No issues there.

So you proceeded to tell me a little but about your modeling, schooling, pass-times. It was a relaxed, natural conversion. You were quite friendly and outgoing, even flirtatious. There is the odd bit of double entendre in the way you spoke. So I was wondering why that is, I was easily old enough to be your father, and maybe even then some. My kids are older than you, I would think. Were you coming on to me a bit? How should I have responded, should I have responded?.

“Gene, I’ve been prattling on about myself for far too long, why don’t you tell me about yourself. What do you do, where are you from, why are you here?”

“I’m here on business, three more nights, flying home Thursday. I only had meetings this morning, so am free for the rest of the day. I’m staying just up Broadway at the Marriott.” I continued to tell you a bit about myself, my work. You looked genuinely interested. You were looking me in the eyes, smiling, inserting a question now and then. I’d started to think that there must be a way to keep this going.

I was getting nervous. I’ve never been much of a ladies’ man, and often a little awkward and uncomfortable when things got flirtatious. I’d had maybe three “close calls” in the past. One was a coworker (employee actually), that came on to me about six months after she was married, telling me that she had some unfinished business to take care of. That ended very strangely. Had one fling that almost happened with a woman I met in a bar while on a business trip, as was she, and there were some sparks going back and forth, but the conversation just didn’t progress well, so we called it a night, and went our separate ways. So here I was in kind of the same situation and not sure how this was going to play out.

I suppose in any encounter such as this a guy always has an end game that involves a bed, or sex or some type, possibly even in a vertical position, who knows. Obviously the trick was going to be how to go through the conversations, send the right signals, watch for those same signals coming back, and escalate the story line to the desired conclusion. You seemed friendly enough, seemed to be at least somewhat interested in me and about my life. I was getting myself a little too uptight here. I needed to take a break.

“Sammi, you up for another glass of wine?”

“Sure, Gene, I’d love to”. Your eyes smiled at me. Ah, a good sign.

I waved to the waiter, and he acknowledged with a nod and went back to the bar. I needed to take a quick pause here and collect my thoughts, and settle myself down a little.

“Sammi, I need to go off to the little boys’ room, be back in a minute, Don’t go away.”

“Not to worry, I’ll be here”.

So I got up, took a few steps, and looked back at her. God, you really were lovely. I think there is something that happens when you connect with a woman at some level, that she almost changes visually, at least in the eyes of the beholder. She looks a little prettier, the hair just a little shinier, the legs a little more slender, and her boobs, oh yes her boobs. No a lot larger, just more delicious. I could make out the outline of those luscious globes as the light from the windows passed through your blouse. Fucking awesome!!!

I made my way to the back of the bar and went into the men’s room, leaned back against the wall, and took a deep breath, wondering, “What would you be thinking about all of this? Do you want it to go somewhere? How do I maneuver this situation to get closer to you, to get you more comfortable with me?” Really good questions.


I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t have a clear idea of how this would progress, where it might go, indeed where you wanted it go and more to the point where I wanted it to go. You were nice, easy to get on with, polite, caring kartal escort and considerate and you were intelligent; all virtues in my mind. But your age. I am far more into older guys than men my age, but have never been with anyone over forty five; I guessed you could be sixty. Did that matter? I suppose that depends on what we both wanted from the other. What would sex be like with a ‘senior citizen’ I wondered for I have no idea really on how rather more advanced age affects sexual performance.

But then again, of course, you might not want me. Sex may not be on your agenda although from the way you had ogled my chest and said things like ‘just admiring the package’ suggested it probably was and of course you are a man; is anything else ever on their agenda when they meet a woman. We aren’t like that or kid ourselves we aren’t. Although I am very much not into monogamy and I don’t feel restricted by typical sexual morality I have never had sex with someone within a few hours of meeting them, well I have once. Maybe you weren’t after that? Who knows?

The barman waiter brought the drinks to the table.

“Hi how are you?” The good looking guy in his late twenties I guessed said in what sounded to be an Aussie accent.

“Hi good thanks.”

“Hey you’re British.”,

“Wow, hey you’re Oz.”

We both laughed as for the umpteenth time this day a man’s eyes seemed glued to my small chest.

“You live here?” He asked putting the wine down and leaning forward so has face nearly touched mine; he was wearing a lovely aftershave I noted.

“No just visiting.

“With your dad are you?”

“Piss off” I laugh adding. “You work here.”

“Yes, but moving on in a week or so to guess where?”

“How can I? The world’s a big place.”


“Where I live.”

“Well maybe…..”

“Now now.”

I saw you returning and said to the waiter. “OK thanks a lot.”

He got the message and left but kept looking and smiling over as he served the other customers, cheeky sod.

You sat down and we sipped our drinks.

“So Gene, is there a missus Gene” I asked?


I left the restroom, and as I turned the corner back into the bar, I saw that our waiter was standing close to you, stooped over, leaning in a bit. I felt a pang of annoyance, or could it even be jealousy. I mean I hadn’t known you for not much more than an hour, but I felt some sort of attachment to you, we were clicking a little. His closeness seemed like an invasion of my personal space. As I approached he stepped back and went behind the bar. I came back to the table, and sat beside you, picked up my wine glass and sipped when you popped that question.

I paused a bit, thinking about how I was going to answer that. Clearly, I’ve shown that I was interested in you, and also clearly, there was a ring on my finger, so I couldn’t say no, so this is a bit of an awkward question. Why were you asking? Was this a deal breaker for you? Did this matter, or were you just curious, or were you just yanking my chain a bit. Looking at the bit of a smile, or maybe a smirk on your lips, I decide you’re just playing with me, to see how I handle the question. I decide to be honest, one of my rules to never stray very far from the truth, it only gets you into trouble.

“Yes, Sammi, there is. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering why a married man is chatting up a young single girl, and the conversation has not been platonic, you’ve been playing with me a bit”.

“As you have me”, I added.

You giggled a little, “Guilty as charged. Tell me about her…. And about you and her”.

You’re playing with me again, Sammi, I think.

I took a deep breath. “She’s quite pretty, kept her weight and body quite trim. We’ve been married a long time, more years than you are old I’m sure. Pretty happily for the most part. I do love her dearly. Haven’t played around on her even though there have been a couple times where circumstances were such that I could have and came quite close to letting it happen. I’ve no reason to think she ever has.”

“If you love her why are you trying to seduce me?”

Wow, I thought, that’s putting all of cards on the table.

“Don’t know for sure. You’re pretty, friendly, you seem to like me, or at least as much as you know of me so far. There is something about being desired by a woman, of being accepted in that way that is intriguing. It strokes one’s ego, I suppose, and then there is the way that you are so comfortable with your body, how you are confident enough to show me little glimpses, not being embarrassed, or shy, just relaxed. It really excites me.”

“Do you think you can actually cheat on her?” you asked as you leaned forward to show me the tops of your beautiful breasts, as far as the top bits of your pink nipples. Now I knew there is no way this was accidental, and you knew that I could see down your top, and you were staring right into my eyes.

“I really don’t know. I’ll be really honest with you here. I am so, so tempted by you. I’ve never really had the kind of back and forth sexual innuendo banter with anyone before. You’re so easy to talk to, and playful, and seem to be comfortable with your body. I know you’ve been giving me little flashes on purpose, toying with me seeing what my reaction will be, seeing if I’d get embarrassed. This is getting very close to a cross roads where I may not be able to say no.”

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