London Style 1

I love the look of that oh so practical sun hat over your long dark hair. Watching you walk towards me in your practical white sun dress, offset with the black belt and the very practical hat that so frames your face, the comfortable heels giving you just that extra pop of height and putting just a bit of a classy sway to your walk. The gold bracelet catches the sun and completes the ensemble. You look like a proper London lady out for an afternoon tea, slumming it here among the colonists in Washington DC for the day.

We lean in for a quick kiss, oh so chaste, oh so proper, and you bite my lower lip, which is not proper at all. My hand on your hip I can feel the absence of panties under that dress and wonder exactly what you had in mind for us today.

The noon sun in July in DC is no place for a well-bred lovely London lady to linger, so we walk casually along the street, talking together, hands intertwined or arms around one another. You keep finding a reason to bump into me, to press yourself against me, and I eventually stop and simply grab you and pull you in for a long and proper kiss, proper London lady be damned. You melt into it, supple and willing, and then pull away and start walking, letting me see you sway again as I catch up.

You duck into the shadowy cool of a hotel lobby and I figure we will be grabbing some tea at the restaurant or, since the sun is over the yardarm, a drink at the bar, but you surprise me by having walking directly to the desk and picking up your Day Use room key.

We have a suite, and you planned this all along. You lovely little minx you.

Key cards obtained you give me an over the shoulder "come hither" look and saunter to the elevator bank. The door has slid silently open by the time I get there and in a second it closes behind us, leaving us alone with the hundreds of mirrored reflections watching from the elevator walls, each watching, each  wondering what we will do next.

You move over and kiss me, teasingly, your hand playing on my ass as you do so. As the elevator doors open you slip your bag into my hand with a "hold this a moment, will you" and then you are out of the elevator, striding away. Your backside swaying, your hands in front of you.

Twenty feet down the empty noontime hotel hallway, me trailing behind in wonder, and you've undone enough buttons to shrug your shoulders and have your sun dress glide off of you. Stepping out of it without breaking stride you continue walking to our room, asked save for a very practical sun hat, comfortable heels and jewelry. Venus in the hotel hall.

You're not a proper lady at all.