Up

We had met 10 minutes earlier, and now we were at a crowded West End bar, going up a steep, narrow staircase. I was enjoying the full curve of her bottom, encased in a tight skirt. With each step she took, I could glimpse a stocking top and the outline of the suspenders underneath when the cream fabric stretched with her movement.

She felt me looking at her - stopped, turned half-around and smiled. "Didn't your mother teach you that it's rude to walk behind women like that?"

"I know. I'm being rude. What did you expect?"

Later, in a quiet corner of a beer-scented pub she waited while I fetched drinks. When I returned and put the glasses down, she turned to me, smiling like she did back on the stairs.

"Would you like a proper look?" she asked, the dark skin of her hands contrasting beautifully with the paleness of the skirt when she stroked the tops of her thighs, fingertips moving teasingly towards the hem.

She pulled her skirt up her thighs, exposing herself to me with a look of shy expectation in her eyes.