She got legs.

I saw her legs before her face, before her body, before her smile. Long, shapely legs, one crossed over the other which elongated the one that dangled. She was wearing tights. The colour of her legs didn’t match the tone of the rest of her skin. Fuck, I wanted to brush my hands over them, feel the nylon and the shape of her legs. She caught me looking and looked at out of the window. A knowing smile edged onto her face and although the smile wasn’t directed at me, I knew it was mine. She stroked her hand down the length of her leg and back up again, took a long sip from her wineglass and got up.

My heart began to pound. What if she was coming over? What the fuck would I say? She was obviously out of my league, but maybe she’d toy with me and then laugh and walk away. Shit, she started walking over to me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. And then she walked past me to the bar, left a twenty on the till and walked out of the door.

I catapulted out of my chair, put on my jacket and took one goodbye swig from my whiskey. I motioned to the bartender and threw some money onto the bar and began to follow her. Those legs moved like a cat, elegant and deft. With a glance behind her she turned the corner a few moments later I made a left into where she’d disappeared. “Fuck!”.
“You’re following me”
“No, I… I “
“Yes you are, don’t let cowardice set in now, not when you’ve been such a brave little tiger.

The bitch was arrogant, and beautiful and utterly desirable. She made me feel like I was fourteen again and weakened by my chemistry teacher in high school. I think that’s where this came from, this aching lust for women in stockings, Ms Smith, Bambi-like Ms Smith, with her dulcet tones and silken long blonde hair, a completely different creature than the one before me now. This vixen was a predator through and through and half repulsed half intrigued I just felt a compulsion to touch this huntress’ long hosiery covered legs, to smooth my hands up to the top of her thighs and feel the humidity of her cunt breathing through the material onto my skin.

Fuck this shit, I thought. This xanthippe wasn’t going to make me feel like some kid, not when she’d enticed me here to obviously toy with me. I threw her up against the old brick wall of the alley she’d drawn me down, her back slammed against the wall and her breath escaped from her lungs with a shrill. My hand didn’t smooth those luscious legs, they spun her around, lifted up her pinstripe pencil skirt and tore a hole just big enough to force my cock through and into her cunt. She wasn’t exactly ready so I had to spit on my hand and push a glob inside her, covered my cock in another slaver and forced my way in. My foreskin felt that tiny rip it does when a woman’s either dry or young. My fist grabbed a mound of her hair as I pulled her back onto me in short, sharp jerks. The rise of orgasm well inside my balls and the throb preceding the burst of semen pulsed. One enormous wave of pleasure later and I spilled my entire load deep inside her, wiped my cock on her panty hose and walked away with a smug grin on my face.

That bitch had the last laugh though, two weeks of antibiotics later and the gonorrhea was finally out of my system. Still I suppose it was worth it, those fucking legs were like gazelles’ wrapped in nylon.