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Once in a Blue Moon

Meowth Dec 27th, 2011 98 Never
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  3. It was nothing special. The chipped paint a bland shade of metallic silver, the four hubcaps – only three matching – and the empty spot in the dashboard where the radio had been swiped from the original owner; it was a small little two door sedan, and anyone not caught up in the glory of simply owning a car would have been ashamed to be seen in it. I opened the driver seat door, sat down on the old, torn up interior, and put the keys in the ignition. It was a piece of crap, but it was my piece of crap, and it was one more piece of crap then most other people in my school had; and with those thoughts in mind, I managed to find contentment.
  5. My car slowly crawled to a stop and I looked up at her bedroom window. The light was on – not the lamp sitting by the window, but rather the black light on a wall perpendicular to me. It was faint, but I could just barely make out the faint purplish-blue aura that seemed to coat the walls of her room. I hit the center of my steering wheel, a loud yelping noise coming from the car. I saw her run to the window and wave at me; she then disappeared from sight. I sat in silence, waiting, the windows rolled down because I had no air conditioner and my foot tapping to a random and fabricated beat because I had no music. I saw her leave the front door of her house and quickly make her way towards me. I watched her body sway with each step, her breasts lightly bouncing and her hair swaying.
  7. I drove, taking no heed of the people around me, my foot pushing the gas pedal far harder than necessary. We were in no hurry; after all, even going a fraction of our current pace we would have arrived with time to spare, but it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t about getting there on time. There was something to be said about the feel of the wind, the look of the world, and the sound of the engine at those speed. There would be moments where you would have to ask yourself what was in motion: was it you or the world? You could feel your heart beat move with the speedometer, and truly the faster you went the more alive you felt. I remember taking a hand off of my steering wheel and grabbing the beer out of my only remaining cup holder and taking a swig of it – warm.
  9. It only took minutes – no, moments – for us to arrive at the theater, and it was only when the car came to a stop in the parking lot at its front did time finally catch up with us. We were early and we knew it. The ride at normal, legal speeds was only minutes, and we were traveling a speed that would make the light shining off of the moon jealous. We sat there, making casual conversation, me flirting, and her being flattered. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small box encased in plastic. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it up.
  11. We soon left the car and headed up to the theater. I brought a small box of candy and bought her a soda – Milk Duds and large, respectively. We sat their munching and drinking, waiting for our movie to begin, and steadily the theater filled up. The movie was a popular one - that much was becoming evident. I occasionally stole glances at her, some subtle, others not so subtle, but each just as rewarding as the last. She was short, but slim, too. She had black hair that reached to her shoulders and deep blue eyes that seemed shy and reclusive by nature. She was wearing a radiant, blue, strapless shirt that seemed to start just above her breasts – ones that were displayed quite nicely, I might add! – and ended around her thighs. Clinging sensually to her legs were black tights, and they came down to about her ankles before stopping.
  13. She asked me what I kept looking at, almost teasingly, and I told her nothing, but I did so with a purposefully feigned, casual air. The movie started, and we both watched, still eating, drinking, and stealing glances at each other – was she looking at me, or was I crazy? Steadily, our glances died down as we became increasingly fixated on the screen before us; but I did, after a time, find myself distracted. Her legs: they seemed to be moving, possibly even rubbing against each other. It was slow, infrequent, and mostly subtle, but I, despite all of those minor tidbits of rudimentary information, found myself fascinated and distracted – my interests and imagination aroused.
  15. Time went on, not paying attention to the whims and concerns of me, of her, or of anyone in that theater, and appropriately enough, so did the movie. We continued to watch it, but I saw her demeanor changing, her actions losing their once evident subtly. Her legs seemed to be rubbing against each other with a greater frequency; I saw her hand resting on her upper thigh – her fingers rubbing the fabric of the leggings compulsively – and I saw her foot occasionally break into a fit of silent tapping. My mind seemed to deliberate, but it seemed as though the verdict was in: she needed to go to the bathroom.
  17. I tried to watch the movie, but it was hard to keep my focus on it. My mind frequently wondered astray and I found myself chronically thinking of her - and her situation. Whether it was fantasy, consideration, sympathy, or questioning, I thought intently. Finally, it seemed, she whispered to me she had to pee; and at this point, I should add, the movie was almost over, which I told her. She seemed relived, which left me thinking that she would indeed make it without issue – a bittersweet thought in a mind such as my own. I knew why she didn’t go; we were trapped. Attempting to leave our spots would result in walking through a small army of people, and I could tell it was something she was not eager to subject herself too.
  19. When the movie finally came to an end, I wondered how she would act, how she would behave. Would she move with great haste, or would she go about things more causally? It seemed that the latter was the apparent choice in her mind, and she acted as though her need was nothing notable, and I believed this. My thoughts did, in fact, change when I saw her expression upon reaching the bathroom, or at least the line to it. She looked at it, a mixture of surprise, regret, and slight horror on her face. Her legs were together, the soft, black material of her pants ever so tantalizing. She told me she didn’t want to wait and that we should go. I didn’t argue, and while I did not explicitly desire her suffering, there was a wave of excitement within me. I knew she had to go, and I knew he had needed to for quite the time. The soda I had bought her, quite frankly, the best money I had ever spent.
  21. It was when we entered my car, out of the indiscriminate gaze of the public eye, that her desperation showed more thoroughly. Her legs rubbed frantically, her feet tapped tenaciously, and her hand sat upon her lap, slowly moving closer and closer to her legs. With no arguments from her, much like earlier in the night, I sped down the road. I had become so well-adjusted to speeding that, while it still pleased me and brought me excitement, I did not feel the same anxiety I had in less experienced times. This was a problem, because the focus that should have been given to the road was being divided up – much of it going to her desperation. I saw her hand slip in-between her legs and press hard, and it was at that moment I looked back up at the street and saw a car before me, stopped. I pressed down on the breaks, my mind processing thoughts so quickly I was unable to identify what they were. All I saw was the yellow break lights of the machine ahead mixing and contorting with the reddish glow of the stop light. I opened my eyes and we had stopped, inches away from the person’s rear end – disaster averted, even if narrowly. I looked over, with her hands were still pressed down hard she had gone forward; her mouth was agape. I asked if she was alright and she just nodded to me, absently. I cursed at myself, and when I got done feeling angry, I started to think: had she wet herself? I looked down at her pants - only for a moment, not wanting her to suspect anything – but it was too dark to see. Her hands were covering it all, anyway. I drove home - much slower and considerate of my surroundings. I tried not to allow myself to be distracted, but her squirming had, quite suspiciously, stopped entirely.
  23. We pulled up to my house; with my parents gone, she would be spending the night with me. I got out, and she followed, staying behind me. I saw her hand was still by her legs, almost as if it was shielding something, but that did not seem completely likely. I figured it was merely out of compulsion, but it was also possible she held it there out of a persistent, yet less-distinct, show of desperation. I opened the front door and we walked in. She headed straight for the bathroom the moment I turned around, and politely, I waited for her return. She came back minutes later, but in different clothing. She had all but stripped, wearing nothing but one of my shirts – one that hung down to her thighs.
  25. I excused myself to the bathroom; and while I was not lying, I only partially needed it for that. What I truly desired was the truth. My mind seemed to plague me with questions. I entered my room, the bathroom we both used right off of it: directly in front of me. I was about to enter when I looked over and saw her small bag of things that she had left over on her last visit. I felt somewhat guilty, somewhat wrong, but I felt curious and excited tenfold. I walked over to the bag and unzipped it. I looked inside, and sure enough I saw her things. I moved her shirt out of the way, and lying before me were the leggings – still tantalizing. I looked in them, a pang of anxious energy going through my heart. I saw her panties – pink and bikini style. I could see a larger dark spot on them, one that seemed to extend far up the back end.
  27. I couldn’t help but reach forward and touch them. I then wondered how much she had truly gone, and judging by the look of her underwear, the thought she had went enough for it to permeate through did not seem ridiculous by any means. I removed the panties and felt the inside of the leggings. They were soaked. I lifted them out and held them up to the light. I saw, glittering in the light, moisture on the back end. I felt adrenaline power my heart; I was felt as though I was speeding, making the moon-light jealous.
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