Hand on Thigh

A Story by wolfshrew

f*****g blissfully

I just returned from a walk, it wasn't the best kind of walk.
It wasn't the type that was filled with utter relaxation and disregard
for location. I wasn't with someone I am all that familiar with, but
the conversation went well enough, he carried it more than I
would ever attempt to.

The other night I was drinking some beers while my roommates had
some friends over, my current state of mind had me a little more friendly
than I usually am(meaning I didn't automatically retreat to my bedroom)
A friend of theirs that I have been around quite a bit, but do not know
invited me to join him on the couch while everyone began to watch Cruel Intentions.
I had one beer left that I offered to share with him, so we sat closely
passing it back and forth every couple cluster of minutes. He hands me
the red stripe, his hand finds my thigh and I sit there and watch Ryan Phillipe
and Reese Witherspoon f**k, blissfully.

I am very aware that hand on thigh is what led to this walk,
but luckily the walk led to nothing. I couldn't have even pretended to have
been interested if I wanted to and I continuously try to decide if
that is an issue for me or not. Because it is everyone(almost) that
can put their hand on my thigh during Cruel Intentions while I smirk
as a tear rolls down Sarah Michelle Gellar's cheek and my brain doesn't
register their pointless f*****g touch.