Warning!: Consumptions of product may result in a violent need to use the restroom. Do not try this at home. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

There's Something I've Kind Of Wanted To Do...

Two teenagers left after-school theater practice through the back door.

"Oh, cool!" she had breathed when they walked into the darkened cafeteria. Vauge outlines of tables and their orbiting chairs had floated up from the blackness, desolate, carrying the memory of movement and voices and light. Two green exit signs glowed from their perches on top of the doorframes. It was cool.

They had talked. He held her close, and they joked about their situation. They were alone. His eyes glistened in the dim light, drawing her attention and enrapturing her. She whispered into his ear, her voice having drawn back from the touch of his fingers on her throat.

They played a game. She stood frozen as he kissed her lips, her eyes alert and open, mouth closed. After a while he stopped, and she tested him back. As soon as her tounge hit his lips, he melted into her and kissed her back. She drew back and they smiled; he had lost.

Time drifted silently on, and they drank in eachother's company. Laying on a chair and her head in his lap, she grew dazed and sleepy. They, embarrased, joked about how close she was to this, how near he was to that. In joking, the ideas stuck in their minds. Jokes became thoughts. Thoughts became what ifs. What ifs became considerations. Considerations...

The thoughts dancing around her mind evaporated, her memory closing down at the touch of his hand on the collar of her shirt. She knew she could move, and he knew he could stop, but neither of them did. Slowly, gently, his fingers went beneath the fabric, and slid forward. Her heart beat faster, her flesh grew hot, and her breaths started comming in sharp, rapid spurts, almost audible.

He felt her change and slowed down, expecting a signal to stop. Lips parted, she raised her head to face his and gazed into his eyes, and right on through his head. Her irregular breathing continued, and she stared up, weak, into his features. He watched her, seeing no expression, as he moved his hand further, slowly, softly, beneath the fabric of her bra. She closed her eyes, and her heartrate sped up again, taking in all the senses but interpreting nothing, not even the sound of her own breath. He stroked her, feeling her skin against his, feeling her shuddering against his body. For a short moment her logic started up, found nothing, and fell back, thinking, 'I don't understand...'

He stopped gradually, and drew his hand back, although she didn't know he did until he spoke. He felt her breath soften, saw her eyes open. Locking gazes again, he spoke his worry.

"It sounded like I was hurting you... I thought you were going to slap me."

She embraced him, and spoke, letting her words bypass her mind for once. "No..." she breathed quietly. "You didn't hurt me..."

He remined her of a sheepish joke she had made, wanting to know what he felt like, underneath his clothes. They both knew that after that, she could.

"You love to be even, don't you?" He smiled and nodded.

"Give me a minute..."

She sat up in her chair, and turned away from him. Running her hands over her face, she tried to cool herself off. She knew it was useless. Behind her, he sat patiently, waiting for her lead, his blood heating. She turned halfway back, looking at him looking at her. In that instant, when her brain gathered itself together, she felt a wave of love for him, realising that if it were anyone else in his spot, this would never have happened, or would happen much, much worse.

She faced him, the both of them sitting down. There was a faint, unintentional smile on his lips. His eyes were ready. She steeled herself and reached forward, downward. Her hand touched him lightly, through the slightly damp cloth, and his heart thumped. Almost entranced, she ran her fingers over the shape. Thoughtfully, almost easily, but still through the undertone of rushing blood and pounding hearts, she spoke and he answered. She voiced a comment, he gave a confirmation.

She drew back, and they stood up together. She reached out again, touching his stomache and moving downward, and was stopped by his belt. He undid it, speaking. She nodded silently. They knew she wouldn't remove it herself. Focusing on his chest with her eyes, her hand eased down into his pants, taking in the expected feeling of the wiry black hair, and continuing down. Her fingers ventured too far to the side, and he guided her back. Once she felt smooth skin, she looked up into his face, anticipating a change. None came. His eyes had been deep and nebulous, as dark as their surroundings, unfocused on the visible world. In response to her questioning look, he met her gaze as she traced her fingers over the soft, stiffened surface. He smiled slightly at her; her face had become red, almost glowing with heat. When he voiced this, she brought her hand away, breaking contact, and they spoke again.

She turned away for the sake of movement, and he embraced her from behind, his arms comming to rest just below her shoulders. She breathed deeply as his hands slid downward, a little akwardly from the position. She stopped him and turned around, and he tried again, his hands comming up underneath her shirt. Their progress was halted by the elastic of her bra.

"It's too tight," he murmured.

She looked gravely at him. "You have no idea."

He watched as she pulled the neck opening of her shirt down over her shoulder. "Look," she said, and proceeded to do the same thing with her bra strap. He let her take his hand and place it on her shoulder. He ran his fingers over her skin, feeling an indent where the strap went. They lightly agreed it was terrible, and he made a joke about how it was her fault for weighing them down, and what if he decided to pull the other side of it off?

She smiled and told him it wouldn't work. Without really realising the intention of the action, she calmly removed her shirt and showed him the back of the bra, and how it was held together, betting he wouldn't be able to undo it. He took her up on it, and she stood quietly as his fingers worked with the hooks and loops on the underside of the fabric. It came loose after a few seconds, and she took it away, slowly and intensly becoming aware of her lack of cover.

"See?" he said, "They're huge."

She gave him a brief, friendly smirk for the satisfation of a reaction, then moved closer to him, head bowed. He looked at her, guessing her intention.

Quietly, she said, "I... want to know what it feels like... to hold you..."

He started to take off his own shirt, but she held onto it, and whispered, "You don't have to."

Still holding onto his clothes, she leaned against him, and he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her soft chest against his. After a moment, hardly audible, she reminded him of a joke he had made about squishing her. She told him it was okay to do so, but he had already guessed. She let go of him and he backed away slightly, going down on his knees. He reached forward and her heart rate quickened, turning her red with heated blood.

As he touched her skin, she closed her eyes, and felt his hands slowly caress her. He was gentle, not really groping her like the word they had used would imply. He kneeded and stroked her chest, feeling the soft, smooth, warm skin on his hands. As she took in the feeling of the touch, her breathing staggered, slowly becoming sharp and quick as it had before. He wanted to back off at the sound, still feeling like he was doing something she would hate him for. Silently, he stopped.

"There's something I've kind of wanted to do..." She nodded numbly in acceptance, calming down enough to open her eyes to see what it was he was doing. His eyes closed and he leaned forward until his mouth was against her skin. She managed to suppress a moan as his lips parted and he slid his tounge over her chest. His heart beat loudly as he tasted her flesh, her eyes unseeing as his warm, wet tounge moved. A small part of her brain comprehended what was happening, and suggested a sentance to her voice.

"I have every reason to call you a baby now..."

He laughed, and pulled back. When he stood up, she reached for him, feeling tired, but then an electronic noise startled them both. He recognised it as his phone, and pulled it out of his pocket. She voiced what they were both thinking; "Nice timing."

It was his brother. He had called because her parents had called his house, asking if she was there, worried because she hadn't called to be picked up from practice. They had been calling all her friends' houses. His brother asked him if she was there with him.

She gestured, grinning at the irony. He answered, grinning back, but still keeping a confused tone in his voice, "No, she went home."

She nodded in approval, and he said goodbye and put his phone away. He said she should get dressed, and she quietly agreed, asking him to help, and looking sleepy. With a little difficulty, and some trying to push the task off on the other person exchange (her argument on the grounds that they're too hard to put on from the back), he redid the clasps on her bra, earning a barely audible, heartfelt "Thank you... thank you..."

He had her lift up her arms to put her shirt back on, but she resisted, making him think for a suprised second that she wanted it to stay off. She took the shirt in her hands and showed him how she normally dresses, pushing her arms through the sleeves one at a time, then pulling it over her head. He realised what she was doing, and they continued.

They embraced before they headed home. He went to kiss her, but she stopped him, a look he didn't really comprehend on her face. She pointed past his shoulder. "Come on, just one more time?" She gestutred silently but violently behind him, and he looked back.

Her father stood in a small pool of floresent light at the other end of the cafeteria.

Both instantly alert and awake, he froze in fear, and she tried to look normal. "Hi, Dad," she called perkily.

"Is that you?" her father answered, and the two relaxed; his eyes weren't acutely adjusted to the dark room as theirs were.

She stepped away from him, teetering slightly, and waved her arm in the air. "Over here!"

They gathered up their coats and backpacks, and gave eachother one last, long hug, before splitting up and walking out opposite doors of the cafeteria.

She apologized for having her cell phone off and worrying her family as she got into her fathers's pick-up. Her father accused her of kissing when she was with him in the dark, and she admitted it reluctantly. Her father forgave her, as long as she promised to keep her phone charged next time.

As they drove along the quiet street, she hoped that he remembered to buckle his belt before he got home.

The End.

Go change your underwear and get back to work.

Hidden moral of the story, and something to think about:

Sometimes people are lying when they say, "I'm just kidding. I would never want to do that." They may be hinting at something that they'd never tell you straightforward. It's not always the case, though.

Leave a reveiw, you know you want to! I would love to know what you think.