Mind Caviar Fiction "The Girl in Booth Five" by WhiteSatin

WhiteSatin has been writing erotica since 1994. She hosts an erotic website called Nights In White Satin in which the following story first appeared.

Author's Quote: Good erotica to me is like foreplay. One builds up the passion, the energy slowly and deliberately, then allows the reader to slip over the edge into ecstacy.

Correspond with WhiteSatin.

The Girl in Booth Five
by WhiteSatin

It’s Tuesday night, 10:00 p.m. on the button. I know she’s waiting for me, just like every Tuesday. It’s our date night. I tried to come on a Saturday once a long time ago, but she had a line of suitors out the door, so I never did that again. Nope. Tuesday nights are all ours. 10:00 sharp. I try to be a very conscientious date: never late, always dressed nicely, as I think she wants me to be. Yeah, I scrub myself extra good for my Tuesday night dates with my girl. I run my hand across my chin to make sure my skin is nice and smooth. Someday, I’m going to work up the nerve and kiss her, not just quietly dream about it like I always have.

I make my way down the hall cloaked in a muted yellow light until a neon green numeral comes into view. Number 5, this is my girl’s place. My palms are sweaty tonight. I can barely turn the knob to open her door. I finally manage, after wiping my hand on my neatly pressed twill slacks. It’s always so dark when I first walk in there and take my seat. I wonder sometimes if my girl is afraid of the dark, or if she’s gotten used to it by now.

A few minutes pass and the darkness fades, revealing a small run-down bathroom bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. An antique tub with clawed feet rests in the center, filled with mounds of bubbles. My girl has done the best she can to make it look nice. A big green tropical plant sits in the corner. It’s only a little wilted-- I guess from lack of water, but it brightens up the dingy yellowed expanse of peeling wallpaper. Candles are lit, scattered all over the counter and on the floor, providing the only light inside the tiny space. I smile because I know my girl’s done it just for me. Tonight is a very special night, after all. Our anniversary. One whole year of Tuesday night dates. We’ve never missed a single one.

It isn't long before music begins to play, and in walks my girl. She hums softly. She pulls at the belt of my favorite burgundy robe; she lets it slip quietly to the floor. God, she’s beautiful. Her skin is as fine as porcelain. I reach out, and I can almost feel it. But I stop myself. It wouldn’t be proper to just grab her when we’ve never even kissed. No, I’ll just be content to watch, but... someday.

As she steps into the froth of bubbles, she reminds me of the Roman goddess Venus, rising from the sea. She picks up a small white pitcher from a table next to the tub, dips it into the steaming water before pouring the contents slowly over her breasts. Her nipples stiffen.

I love to watch her like this. Sometimes, I close my eyes and pretend it’s me bathing her. And, just like my girl, as she pours one pitcher-full after another over her soft white skin, I would run my fingers gently over the swell of her breasts. Moving down to her tiny waist, I would circle my arm around her and reach between the vee of her thighs to stroke the tender petals of the flower that blooms there. By the time I open my eyes again, she is already squeezing perfumed soap onto her round bath sponge. I’ve missed the last part of her wetting herself down, but that’s okay. I have memorized everything my girl does, so I never really miss anything.

Resting her foot on the edge of the tub, she starts with her left toes, moving the sponge in tiny circles as she soaps her body for me. The sponge moves up slowly, sensuously, never deviating from the tiny circles, almost as if she’s afraid she’ll miss a spot. I know someday, after I finally kiss her, she’s going to let me hold that sponge, and I promise not to miss an inch.

The sponge moves gracefully up her thigh and she pauses for a moment, as if she’s waiting to make sure that I’m paying attention, then she moves the tiny circles to her lips. A look of exquisite pleasure comes over her face as she closes her eyes dreamily. She lingers there with her sponge, her free hand moving to her breast, rolling her nipple gently between her index finger and her thumb, her eyes still closed, but the sounds of soft mews filtering through the music.

I sit mesmerized, watching her as she pleasures herself just for me. She’s never taken this long before, always just teasing me. She must be imagining it’s me; she remembered our anniversary.

Her body quivers and I too am trembling as she lets the sponge drop and she continues the tiny circles with her fingers. It won’t be much longer... I can feel it building. I breathe in deeply, trying to regain my composure. I can be patient and wait until I get home. Right now, it’s my girl’s time. My eyes never leave her, as the circles grow tighter and more intense, her back arching slightly as the first wave overcomes her. The mews turn to moans as her hips rock gently, and I smile, knowing that someday that’s going to be me touching her. Bracing herself on the edge of the tub, she slips down into the water, rinsing away the soap as she disappears from view.

My legs are a little shaky as I get up from my chair, and it’s hard to walk. Taking in a few deep breaths, the shaky feeling lessens and I leave my girl’s place still smiling. Yep, my girl has really outdone herself for our special day. As I get to the main lobby, a man behind a dirty glass window nods to me and I return the gesture. Pushing the exterior door open, the muted darkness of my girl’s place gives way to the neon lights of the city.

I think I’ll send my girl a dozen roses tomorrow for being so wonderful tonight. Maybe I’ll even take them to her myself. I wonder if she’ll let me kiss her then?