Venice July 2017.
St Marks Square was the usual bustle even on a Wednesday night...there's cetainly something unuttered by spoken word between the unaccompanied women of a certain vintage. Their uniform is the tell tale sign even more so than the intent look in their eyes.
They're fellow bisexuals out for the night with a purge as their desired outcome. They're dressed to kill, intent and don't fuck around - metaphorically.
I had mislaid my way from my then heterosexual partner. Sadly my phone had little signal - a drill I've played out a myriad of times.
There's a need to be fulfilled when you're an actual bi as opposed to one of the curious folk. It's an extension of being much like breathing and one can go a little crazy without the purge- just ask my boyfriend
She was slightly taller than me at 5ft 10, pixie styled bleach blonde hair and about a size 12 - ample breasts but I couldn't tell by how her dress clung to her. She wore a gun metal grey sequin dress that ended ( or began) midway to her thigh. Her shoes were peep toe and she wore smokey smouldering eyes. What she didn't know was that she was leaving with me. Where I didn't know but that didn't matter.
No time for fucking about, we were on the clock. I walked over, we locked eyes - her hand extended and we smiled that smile, a slight curl of our lips and the relief from us both was palpable albeit never mentioned. Hard to call the dom at this stage as we were a physical match and both uber confident - something that always seals the deal.
She was a prosecco drinker as was I but we weren't there to drink and talk pleasantries.
We sat side by side and I could smell her body lotion, not perfume - this scent was signature. I could tell after a few short minutes that she was much like me, living the domesticated outwardly heterosexual life, a professional on business and that I was her project and focus for the night. She like me didn't bother taking off rings on her finger , always a great indicator of a seasoned bisexual.
Her jewelled hand made it's way between my legs without prompt. Game on. My breath definitely hastened as she chuckled and threw her head back a little. Damn! She claimed my usual spot on top but I had ZERO complaints. There was nothing left to do but to run my nails down her open back dress, move her craned neck and mouth to mine. Not before she ran her fingers over my waistband of my shorts. She had boycotted my sweetspot and had left me on the hop. She was playing the long game and I forgot about being on the clock..game on...
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