kmilf

"You have a tattoo?" Michael's jaw dropped nearly to the table. "Where?"
Denise smiled sweetly at him. "You didn't know?" She loaded a celery stick with spinach dip and popped it in her mouth.
"How would I know that?" Michael took a nervous sip of Merlot. "I'm your friend, but you've never mentioned that before." Mentally, he reviewed what he knew of her body. Not on her arms, nor her shoulders. He'd watched her shoulders often; capable and confident shoulders, soft but strong, as she hit a tennis ball or lined up a poolcue.
Denise shrugged. "I guess we've known each other long enough that I thought you knew."
Michael pondered. "So where is it then?"
Something seemed to be amusing her. "Guess."
"Guess? Why don't you just tell me?"
"More fun this way." She glanced at him from under lowered lashes, and sipped her wine.
Michael reviewed where women normally have tattoos. Denise didn't seem the type somehow. She was so sweetly wholesome, very much the girl-next-door, with her open, fresh face, lush curvy figure and glossy hair. She'd have a tattoo somewhere normal.
"Your hip," he suggested.
Denise appeared to consider. "Left or right?"
So I'm correct!" he crowed. "It doesn't matter which hip it is."
"I never said that." She fiddled with the stem of her wineglass, running a caressing finger up the stem. "Left or right?"
"Left." Michael sat back and folded his arms.
"Wrong."
"Prove it."
Denise glanced around the pub. They were in a booth at the back, and there was no one near them. Rising, she rounded the table, and slid into the booth next to Michael. Slowly, she lowered the waistband of her skirt. He caught a glimpse of rounded pale hip where a strip of ruffled black silk gleamed vividly against her skin. Who would have thought that demure Denise would wear such finery? The silk was a dramatic contrast against her creamy flesh, and Michael found he wanted to run a finger over those ruffles, smooth them against her skin.
"It might be further around," he said.
She shifted, and he saw the black strip was a silk thong, and instead of a glimpse of flesh he could see the curve of her derrire. But no tattoo.
"Happy now?" She arched an eyebrow at him quizzically.
"Right hip then."
"Is that your second guess?"
"How many do I get?"
"More than one. But if you don't get it in three, you have to let me claim my prize. So is this your second guess?
She looked cool and demure, sipping on the glass of Chardonnay. Droplets beaded the glass and his forehead. "Yeah. That's my second guess."
"Wrong."
He saw her cheeky grin. "Prove it!"
The skirt lowered again. Yes, the other side of the black silk strip, vividly erotic, sitting snugly against her rounded white hip. But no tattoo.
"Further down," he suggested, with an edge of desperation.
The skirt lowered, and he saw the tiny triangle of silk nestled in the vee between her thighs. But no tattoo.
Denise tweaked her skirt back into place and took another sip of wine. She peeked at him from under lowered lashes. "Not very good at this, are you, Michael? You've only got one guess left."
His breathing had short-circuited. Who had stolen all the oxygen from the room? Denise, his friend, his drinking partner, was sitting next to him, one curvy thigh pressing against his leg and all he could think about was her elusive tattoo. Maybe it was on her shoulder.... or a sweeping design spiraling down her full breast? His gaze moved to her chest. Her dark shirt was unbuttoned slightly and he could see her pale flesh curving sweetly down into an ebony-black bra. An edge of lace outlined her curves to great effect.
Even if he were wrong, he knew what he was going to say.
"Your breast," he said and his fingers clenched on his glass so tightly he feared it would shatter.
Her lashes swooped down and made dark crescents on her cheek. "Left or right?"
He could hardly breath over the tightness in his chest. "Left."
Denise moved slightly away from him on the seat. She made a quick glance round the room to see that no one was watching and she unbuttoned two more buttons on her blouse.
Michael could hardly breathe. Not only was the bra's vivid lace against her skin, it was also nearly transparent. He could see a dusky nipple outlined against the fabric, and the swelling pale flesh above the opaque black fabric below. Her skin gleamed pearly white through the vibrant lace.
But no tattoo.
"Wrong," she said. "I win."
He supposed she'd want some expensive top shelf cocktail as her prize.
Denise's tongue peeked through pink lips. "I should make you suffer for this," she said. "How much do you have in your wallet?"
"About eighty dollars."
She absently closed one of the button's she'd undone, but her fingers only fiddled with the second. By angling his body slightly away from her, Michael could see the midnight strap, and a froth of lace at the top of her breast.
"I wonder if that's enough?" she said. "I have expensive tastes in some things."
Michael shifted restlessly in his seat. Her fiddling had exposed a sweet glimpse of her right breast--the one he hadn't seen. He tried to see if there was a tattoo there.
Denise continued as if she were unaware of his fixation. "Well, if $80 is what you have, then $80 it will be."
Michael snapped back to the conversation. $80? Was she planning on drinking the bar dry? "What is it you want for winning?" he inquired.
Her eyes snapped promises at him. "I think for winning, you can take me out to dinner. And then afterwards, if you're good, I'll be sure you know exactly where my tattoo is!"


I want a tattoo THERE! YeeeHaw!