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NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 02 Mar 2005 10:48:06 -0600
From: Nick Scipio <nick_scipioSPAM@BLOCKyahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} RP - "Impatience" by Nick Scipio (MF, mild pett)
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Date: Wed,  2 Mar 2005 16:10:03 -0500
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Author: Nick Scipio
Title: Impatience
Universe: Jazz Club
Summary: "There's a line for the women's room," she said to me as 
she shut the door behind her. She grinned mischievously 
at the sound of the click when she pressed the lock. "I 
didn't feel like waiting."
Keywords: MF, mild pett
Revision: 2.0
Word Count: 2,200
Web Site: http://www.nickscipio.com/shortstories/jazzclub/
FTP Site: ftp://ftp.nickscipio.com/shortstories/jazzclub/
Discussion Forum: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Scipio_Forum/

*****************************************************************
                       STANDARD DISCLAIMER

This piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment. It 
contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you 
are offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO 
NOT read any further.

All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to 
any persons, places, individuals or situations is purely 
coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse 
any of the activities described in this story.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without 
the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio 
(nick_scipio@yahoo.com). This story may be freely distributed 
with this disclaimer attached.

Copyright (c) 2002-2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

*****************************************************************

Impatience
by Nick Scipio

It was the week after Thanksgiving and the countdown to Gabriel's 
Christmas party had begun. It was always on the first Saturday in 
December, and it was a big event among our circle of friends. 
It's a slow time for our business, which is why he spent almost 
all his time decorating his house. At last count, he put up 
something like twenty-four fully decorated Christmas trees, 
ranging from a few five-foot trees to a trio of monsters in the 
living room that topped twelve feet.

So I was surprised when Gabriel asked if I wanted to have a drink 
with him at the Jazz Club. It was Tuesday, and I'd planned to 
stop by after work, but I thought I'd be alone. With Gabriel 
along, I knew I'd end up listening to the party menu, again. He 
_was_ my friend, however, as well as my business partner, so I 
was more than happy to have his company.

We arrived shortly after they opened, and the bartender was 
pouring our whiskey before we had even rounded the railing at the 
top of the stairs. Gabriel headed for the couch and I relaxed 
into the comfort of my favorite easy chair. The weather had 
turned cold and stormy, and I was still chilled from the short 
walk into the restaurant. There was a fire burning in the 
fireplace next to my chair, and I was happy for the warmth. The 
Macallan would go a long way towards warming me as well, and I 
took a sip, letting the sherried liquid roll over my tongue. Warm 
on the outside, warm on the inside, I thought to myself.

I began the comfortable ritual of packing my pipe as Gabriel 
launched into his favorite topic of conversation.

"I just got the Shari's Berries I ordered," he said.

"Shari's Berries?"

"You know. I told you about them last week."

I shook my head and used the pipe to gesture for him to explain.

"The strawberries dipped in gourmet chocolate?"

I shook my head again.

"The ones that look like little tuxedos?"

"Oh, right. I remember now."

Gabriel seemed satisfied, and I lit my pipe, puffing contentedly 
as he talked about the chocolate-dipped fruit. I settled into the 
padded luxury of the chair and savored the flavor of the 
Cavendish. Gabriel began chatting merrily about the Northwest 
Smoked Salmon from Harry and David, and I nodded at the 
appropriate times.

As Gabriel talked, I gazed out the window; the weather had turned 
decidedly ugly by the time I was halfway through my first glass 
of Scotch. Dark, wind-whipped clouds had moved in, and the 
forecast called for scattered snow showers before midnight. So I 
wasn't surprised that the bar was filled with only a smattering 
of patrons. I _was_ surprised to see the leggy brunette and her 
friend coming up the stairs.

The week before, they had both been at the bar, enjoying an 
after-work drink. I'd imagined that it was simply a one-time-only 
girls' night out, since I'd never seen either of them before. 
After the brunette had purposefully given me a glimpse of her 
well-trimmed pussy, I hadn't expected to see them again, either.

But there they were, and the two seats at the end of the bar were 
free, just like the week before. They sat down, neither of them 
sparing a glance my direction, and I turned my attention back to 
my pipe.

As Gabriel talked about the Fat Witch brownies he'd ordered from 
Chelsea Market, I once again studied the brunette. She was 
wearing an elegant suit of dark pinstripe fabric, a white dress 
shirt, and a patterned red tie. The skirt was cut to mid-thigh, 
and showed off her tanned, elegant legs. The form-fitting jacket 
hugged her trim stomach and accentuated her breasts, and I found 
myself mesmerized by her figure.

Truth be told, I was hoping for a repeat of the previous week's 
teasing, but she never looked my way. So I quietly resigned 
myself to enjoying the memory. She chatted with her friend, 
crossed and uncrossed her long legs, and occasionally brushed her 
hair back. I simply watched her, with only half my attention on 
Gabriel and the Scharffen Berger chocolate he was talking about.

I was most of the way through my second drink when I felt the 
need to use the restroom. I set my pipe down, took the last sip 
of my Macallan, and excused myself. I knew that when I returned, 
another Scotch would be waiting on me and smiled to myself at the 
thought. I walked past the brunette and her friend and headed 
downstairs without a backward glance.

There were two women waiting in line to use the women's restroom, 
but the men's was unoccupied. I stepped inside and turned to shut 
the door. Just before it latched, I felt resistance, and when I 
stopped pushing, it swung towards me. I stepped back, prepared to 
politely tell the man at the door that the room was occupied, and 
then froze mid-step.

The brunette stepped into the restroom and her eyes met mine.

"I didn't feel like waiting in line," she said, a mischievous 
twinkle in her eye.

Her voice was a higher than I'd imagined, but rich and smooth.

"Sure," I said. "Be my guest."

I stepped towards the door, preparing to leave, but she leaned 
against it, her hands on the knob behind her. The door latched, 
and then with a start, I heard the click as she pressed the lock.

Her lips quirked into a teasing smile as her eyes smoldered, and 
I wondered what she had in mind. My penis began to stiffen, but 
the uncertainty of the moment kept it from doing more.

Her eyes flicked to the toilet and then back to my face, and she 
arched an eyebrow at me. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked.

"No." I looked her in the eye and measured her reaction.

She didn't flinch. "Then don't let me stop you."

I'd gone to the bathroom in front of women before, but all of 
them had been long-term girlfriends, not women I'd just met. I 
hadn't even really _met_ this woman, I thought to myself with a 
rueful chuckle. I arched my eyebrows at her, as if to say, "Are 
you sure?"

She merely looked at me, an unreadable expression on her face. I 
took a step towards the toilet and lifted the seat. As I 
straightened, she moved towards me. She pressed herself against 
my right arm and I felt the swell of her breasts through the 
fabric of her jacket.

"Here," she said, steadying herself with a hand on the small of 
my back. "Let me help."

She deftly lowered my zipper and reached inside my chinos. With 
only a slight pause to undo the button on my boxers, she 
extracted my tumescent member. Once she had me out, she held me 
firmly and gazed at me expectantly.

I felt the stream of urine surging up my shaft, and she expertly 
directed the flow into the water. When I was done, she shook me 
gently and then bent to tear off a short length of toilet paper. 
She delicately wiped the tip of my penis, removing the last 
vestiges of urine, and dropped the crumpled paper into the bowl.

When she didn't immediately tuck my penis back into my boxers, I 
looked at her. Her hand still on my manhood, she grinned and 
began to stroke me slowly.

"Mmmmm. Thick," she said. "I like thick."

I continued to expand under the ministrations of her insistent 
fingers, and she absentmindedly moistened her lips. I cocked my 
head at her, wondering how far she was going to take things.

"We'd better put him away," she said with a slight pout, "before 
he gets too big for his britches." She grinned wryly at her own 
joke and ran her hand along the top of my shaft. She nimbly 
tucked my length back in my boxers and refastened the button. 
Then she cupped the lump in my shorts fondly and withdrew her 
hand. "There," she said brightly, as she zipped me up. "Back 
where he started."

She gently pushed me back and then lowered the toilet seat. 
Without preamble, she pulled her skirt up and sat down, not 
bothering to flush first. I caught the barest glimpse of her 
trimmed pubic hair as she sat, and then I heard the hiss as she 
began to urinate. She closed her eyes and smiled at me. When she 
was through, she wiped herself and stood. She smoothed down her 
skirt and turned to flush the toilet.

She stepped towards the sink, and I marveled at the surreal chain 
of events that had led to this moment. I joined her at the sink 
and we companionably washed our hands, neither of us saying a 
word. She handed me a small stack of paper towels and I dried my 
hands. When we were done, she turned toward me and her eyes 
smoldered again.

I stepped forward suddenly and pressed her body against the door 
jamb with my own. In heels, she was nearly as tall as I was, and 
I had to bend only slightly as I moved my lips towards hers. When 
they met, she melted into my arms. I pulled her close and her 
mouth opened, allowing my tongue to explore, darting against 
hers. When I pulled back, we were both breathless.

"I knew you'd be a good kisser," she said dreamily, her facade of 
control momentarily banished.

Her pink tongue darted over her lips and she drew a deep breath. 
When she opened her eyes, they glittered mischievously.

I was just bending to kiss her again when I heard the lock click 
as she turned the doorknob. With a coquettish arch of her 
eyebrows, she stepped forward, pushing me back, and opened the 
door.

As it opened, we looked up to see the scandalized expressions of 
an older couple who were waiting for the restrooms. The brunette 
didn't pause as she headed for the stairs. I blushed as I passed 
the shocked couple, but resolutely followed her.

When we reached the bar, she turned to me and smiled.

"Thank you very much," she said, her eyes twinkling.

"You're welcome. Any time."

"I'd better get back to my friend."

I opened my mouth to speak. She looked at me expectantly, but I 
didn't know what to say.

She smiled wryly and stepped close, nearly touching me. "Thank 
you again," she said.

"It was my pleasure."

"Have a nice night."

"You too."

With that, she turned and walked back to the bar. I watched the 
gentle sway of her hips as she moved, and smiled to myself.

"What was that all about?" Gabriel asked, when I sat down.

"Hmmm?"

With a toss of his head, he indicated the brunette.

"Oh. There was a line for the restroom, so she wanted to use the 
men's room. I let her."

"She got impatient, huh?"

I looked at him blankly, and then nodded.

"Humph," he snorted.

I know it should be a criminal offense to do what I did next, but 
I simply had to do it. I picked up the fresh glass of Macallan 
and downed it in one gulp. I set my glass down and caught the 
waitress' eye. The bartender began to pour my fourth drink as I 
picked up my pipe and relit it.

"So I was thinking about Walkers Shortbread Fingers for the...," 
Gabriel began, picking up where he'd left off before I'd gone to 
the restroom.

I wasn't paying a bit of attention to him or his Shortbread. My 
eyes were on the brunette at the bar. She turned once and our 
eyes met. We shared a smile and then she turned back to her 
friend.

Impatience.

I sipped the Scotch the waitress had set in front of me and 
puffed on my pipe. I closed my eyes and savored the tastes, the 
aromas, the sensations.

Impatience.

It was better than any drug.

-----

Copyright (c) 2002-2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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