Fantasy Fuck Friday: The Car Pool

I told Kyra I was afraid of getting kicked out of the Sex Bloggers Club for lack of eroticism and too much introspection. So she kindly prescribed that I try my hand at a "Fantasy Fuck Friday."

Our carpool meets at 8am. There are four of us -- Karl, Mariam, Dorothy and me -- but with everyone's changing schedules it's rare that we're all together. Today, Dorothy was travelling and Karl was working from home, so it was going to be just Mariam and myself.

She pulled up and as I opened the door I was struck once again by her graceful charm.

The word "beautiful" was invented to describe women like Mariam. Her Persian ancestry has gifted her with a luscious creamy cafe au lait skin and long straight hair the color of the roasted coffee bean. She is petite, seemingly no more than 100 lbs, with fine slender fingers that look like they were drawn in thin air.

Mariam is a year out of college, but with her slight build and unlined face, at first glance she could be a high school student. At second glance, her cheekbones and lovely nose speak of maturity.

I got in the car. Today she was dressed even more nicely than usual and I couldn't resist taking her in from head to toe. Her thick, shining hair was pulled back over her ears and over the top of her head, done up with something in back. I didn't notice what, because my eyes were drawn to the gold patterned scarf that wrapped itself luxuriantly around her neck and fell whimsically down her chest over a sort of maroon sweater. Her designer jeans concealed her thin legs but led directly to her long slender toes in their elegant shoes.

I told her that was a pretty scarf. "Oh, thank you!" she said appreciatively. We'd been riding together for months, but today she seemed to notice my lingering eyes. "You look really great today," I stammered. "Oh, you're so sweet!"

We made small talk as we drove the two miles to the freeway on-ramp, but I have no idea what we said. I was happy just to look at her. Mariam had been wearing large round sunglasses when she picked me up, but had pushed them back on her head to look at me, and she left them there. Her brown eyes seemed to glow in the morning sunlight.

Sometimes on the way in to work, we joke about just ditching for the day, going over to Santa Cruz or up to San Francisco. And I actually did think we might do it some time. The early sun was lighting up the green hills on our left, beckoning the way south to the ocean. So I said to her, playfully, "Hey Mariam, let's ditch work today and go to Santa Cruz." She laughed her musical, wind-chime laugh and looked at me a little longer than usual. There was a certain calculating appraisal in her eye. I was not seeing a teenage girl, I was seeing the mature young woman.

She laughed again and looked mischievous. "Ok!" she said as she called my bluff. "Let's go!"

She changed lanes under the Union Avenue bridge and before I knew it we were on Highway 17 heading south to the sea. "Good for you!" I said, and reached over to playfully pat her shoulder. As my left hand rested lightly on her sweater, she affectionately reached across with her left hand to squeeze mine. She kept it there.

Mariam squeezed my hand lightly and pressed it to her shoulder. In response I squeezed her shoulder and rubbed it gently. It seemed like minutes, but it wasn't long. Soon she needed her hand back for steering and it was gone.

But the blood was already rising in my face, I could feel myself flush, and a stirring between my legs. I squeezed her shoulder once more, and then dropped my hand to her right thigh. I gave it a friendly little rub, nothing that could be misconstrued, I'm sure. But I was thrilled when she dropped her right hand to rest on mine, then turned to me and smiled. "I've been looking forward to this," she said. But in place of the chirpy bright voice I was used to, I heard a more throaty, hungry voice.

All this had been unexpected, but not un-hoped for.

We continued to talk as we drove up the hill into the pines and redwoods, but I don't remember what we said. My hand never left Mariam's leg, and gradually it learned boldness, encouraged by her own tender, welcoming fingers. Working it's way up and down her thigh, and finally wrapping around it, my large hand could span almost two thirds of the way around her slender leg.

As I stroked her leg I looked intently at Mariam. Would she ask me to stop? My breathing was getting stronger and so was hers. Then I pulled my hand up her leg so that the joint of my little finger pressed right into the crotch of her jeans. She looked over at me with languid eyes, her lips curled in excitement, all she said was "Mmmm" as she pulled my hand in tighter, squeezing her legs together, my hand pressed between them, she began to move her hips, rotating them back and forward, rubbing me against her.

My restraint was vanishing. As we continued to wind our way up through the trees and traffic I twisted in my seat to face her. We smiled.

Pulled my left hand out from between her legs and grabbed her waistband. Then, swung my right hand over toward the button of her pants, but detoured to jam it between her legs, pressing as hard as could over her waiting vulva. Mariam squirmed, her hips writhed and she released a more urgent sound.

With both hands now, I popped open the buttons of her fly, exposing the simple thin black lace of her panties. They were damp.

My right hand began to explore, to feel, to press itself against her hungry wetness. First through the thin lace. Then sliding in under the edge, my thumb and forefinger began to explore the soft damp folds of Mariam's labia. It was already moist but my forefinger made a few trips deeper within and came back with more lubrication which was soon applied to her eager clit.

I was bracing myself against the seat with my left hand, but Mariam was slender enough that I soon found I could rub her right breast with my thumb while still putting some weight on my fingers. Mariam's breasts were small, but I could feel her swelling nipple even through the padding of her bra.

My right index finger was exploring more deeply now, while the thumb continued to massage her clit. Mariam was having a little trouble staying in her lane. Finally my finger found its way around her pelvic bone and upward. Soon it discovered a rough patch just opposite the clit. Mariam gasped. I rubbed and squeezed. Rubbed and squeezed. Her cloisonne earrings danced from her perfect ears, and I could see beads of sweat all across her face.

Mariam's right hand reached down. Grasping my thumb, she rubbed it on her clit just the way she wanted it. Her hips writhed as her legs squeezed back and forth, still constrained by the need to keep the gas pedal steady. "Oh god!" she cried. "Oh yeeees!" and she held my hand inside her as her body shuddered.

Mariam pulled the car suddenly to the right onto one of the many roadside turnouts that mark this mountain highway and stopped in the shade of several redwoods. Releasing her seatbelt, she reached over, sliding her hands up my outstretched arms and pulled herself closer toward me. Turning her face up, eyes closed, our lips met for the first time.