I try to catch my breath as the rain pelts my windshield. My heart races as I turn the key in the ignition. I can’t tell if my skin is wet with rain or sweat. I can’t tell if my stomach is going insane over something I ate or just responding to adrenaline. I purse my lips to hold in the nervous laughter I can feel threatening to explode from my belly. I let out a yelp instead, startled by my phone ringing. I grip the steering wheel to pull myself together before answering.
“What the actual fuck?!” my best friend would like to know. And it’s true, after the text I sent her I owe her an explanation.
“It’s not a big deal dude, I was on a date.”
“With who?! And why would you not tell me about this guy way back when you started talking to him?”
I know why I didn’t tell her. Only two hours had passed since I had let her know he even existed. I told her his name, sent a selfie of him, told her where he was from, and sent a screenshot of the text he had sent me earlier telling me where to meet and at what time. I included his phone number and told my friend to text me no later than 9:30pm to check in. I remind her that those are simply the smart dating habits of a modern millennial.
“Ok,” she concedes, “can you please catch me up?”
As I pull out of my parking spot in front of the coffee shop, I begin telling her the story that lead up to me pulling into that spot in the first place.
The café was almost empty when I walked in, so I really don’t know who I was trying to fool as I opened my laptop in an attempt to appear inconspicuous. I spy on the guy at the table in front of me. I couldn’t help but think that I should be at a table with a guy like him. He was cute. Hipster cute. A little nerdy. Probably my age. Working on a novel, a dissertation, or a collection of poems about the types of barley used in beer. But I’m wasn’t there to sit at tables with guys like him. Not tonight.
I was so nervous that my hands were trembling too much to type so I quickly gave up and wrapped them around the coffee mug for warmth before taking another sip. Caffeine was probably not the best idea.
As I closed my laptop I decided eavesdrop on the girls sitting at the table beside me. One of them was crying on her friend’s shoulder because her boyfriend dumped her for voting for Trump. Two years of her life, wasted. Her sympathetic friend sips coffee, listens, and nods as she whines. He could have been the one she says.
Again, I couldn’t help but wonder if that should be me. I should be having the same problem. I should be heart-broken. I should be dating. But I am not. Not really. I am sitting at the coffee shop trying and failing to look at ease.
I was going to keep him a secret, but at the last minute every single Lifetime Original Movie I had ever seen came flooding back to me. I realized that if I didn’t want to be found in a ditch somewhere it would be wise to tell someone – anyone – where I was going to be. So, I texted my bestie. I lie. I tell her I am going on a date with a man I met online. I tell her he and I have been talking for a while. What I don’t tell her is that he’s more ten years my senior. I don’t tell her our conversations still make my cheeks burn. I don’t tell her that he –
“Whoa. Hold the phone. He’s how old?” she interrupts to ask when she finally hears me confess the number.
“Forty-one? And you don’t feel like that’s a little bit out of our age range? Just a bit?”
But I didn’t. If anything, the more we got to know one another, the more I realized that I liked the difference. At the same time, the bestie had a point. I’m supposed to be dating to find the elusive “one.” You know “the one.” The one I’m going to marry, start a life with, pop out a few kids for, get into debt with, fight about our in-laws over, and live happily ever after forever and ever amen.
But he wasn’t The One. Maybe the hipster boy in the corner could be, but the man I was meeting was only – one. And I liked it. His age wasn’t the only thing that stood in the way of a fairy tale ending. There were other factors I wasn’t ready to divulge.
“Ok ok ok.” She interrupts me, “Whatever. We get it. But you mentioned pictures. Please don’t tell me you’ve sexted this guy.”
The first thing I noticed when he walked in was that he was easily the tallest man in the coffee shop. I sipped on the latte in my hands to regain a sense of composure. I had no idea what to do. Should I stand up and wave? Shout hello? Did he see me? Could he tell that I was me? Did I look like my pictures?
My picture! My stomach turned lurched again at the memory. The butterflies and nerves I had been battling all day resurrected. I knew the coffee wasn’t helping, but I took another sip.
Sending a nude or two never feels like a bad idea until you realize you will be meeting the person you sent it to face to face. As if meeting for a simple date isn’t stressful enough. I had spent so much time focused on that I had forgotten that this man had actually seen my cunny. I know it may not sound like a big deal. But it is.
Technology had offered me a wonderful safety net up until this point. I had spent so much time sitting on the sidelines that I don’t know the first thing about playing the field that is our postmodern sexual society. Most people figure this shit out in high school or college. It’s a little awkward learning these ropes as an adult. There is a lack of composure people are more prone to forgive when you’re both sixteen. But the internet has provided a way for me to express and discover my sexuality without the pressures and expectations that could come if I were to be so uninhibited in person. It can be such a relief to confess my multitude of sins to someone – anyone really – and know that they have are in the same space to make a few confessions of their own.
The conversation with this eveing’s date eventually crossed the line from objectively sexual to subjectively so. Words, desires, lusts, orgasms, and eventually, well-posed nudes were exchanged. I didn’t think much of it until he asked to meet me in person a few days later.
I realized he would have to meet me. Not online me. Not uninhibited me who has no problem telling strangers that I occasionally like to hide in the bathroom at work with my hand down my pants and rub my clit. No, he was going to have to meet the me who hides her vibrator behind the most boring books on the bottom of her bookshelf in the hopes that no one ever has reason to look behind those books.
I began to retrace every word I had ever sent in order to outline a disclaimer. No matter what I had said in the heat of the moment under the safety of distanced, I knew there was no way I was actually going to do anything with this guy, no matter how much I liked him. No, there would be no sex. No making out of any kind. He was not welcome use his fingers to gently tease and pinch my clit, no matter how wonderful it sounded.
He promised to be the perfect gentlemen, but I know better. People are rarely that altruistic in the face of sexual tension. And so, although I was a nervous wreck, I agreed to meet.
“Hi” he greeted me with a smile.
“Hi” I replied with the nervous chuckle necessary to make this moment the perfect cliché. I stood up to give him a hug, at once both intimidated and comforted by the size of him. I’m a pretty big girl. There are nice names for it like thick or curvy, but in reality I’m just goddamn fat. When he hugged me though, he managed to make me feel – well – little. And there is no feeling in the world that I love as much as I love feeling little.
As he set his mug on the table he moved the chair that had been across the table from to an angle that allowed him to sit by my side and took my hand in both of his large ones, I felt a little bit of me give in. just a little. And the conversation began.
“What did you guys talk about?” My friend interrupts to ask, adamant about getting in every one of the details she had asked me for.
“Stupid shit honestly. Nothing of interest. Work. His plans for the weekend. Small talk. He asked me how my day went and what color panties I was wearing. Stuff like that. I did ask him how he was introduced into the kink lifestyle though.”
“I hate that you call it that.”
“Dude,” I replay with a sign, “that’s what it’s called”
“Anyway, what did he say? When you asked about his ‘origins.’”
“He said a woman he was sleeping with suggested he read Fifty Shades of Grey.”
“I love that book!”
“I hate that book.” I replied as I waited for the traffic light for turn green. The rain had not let up “Anyway, according to him, he reminded her of the main character”
“You’ve never even read the book. Anyway, you’re telling me you two talked about nothing and you did nothing. How eventful.” I could almost hear her rolling her eyes.
“Well, something kind of happened but its relatively nothing, you know? I feel like such a prude for even feeling like it was more than nothing.”
“Just tell me!”
I felt silly for loving how nice it felt to simply hold hands. It didn’t take long for me to realize that he had no idea how to read a palm nor did he have any genuine interest in my manicure. He only laughed when I said as much.
“I care about your manicure.” He said, slowly bringing the pads of my fingers up to his lips and kissing them. “I will admit, I am more of a fan of how you showed it to me.” He continued kissing my hands as the memory of my picture added to the heat between my thighs. I had thought it would be coy to ask if he would like to see my manicure last week when I had first gotten my nails done. Of course, my fingers were occupied holding the lips of my labia open when I sent him the picture.
“You’re blushing” he whispered. I hadn’t even noticed that he had gotten close enough to whisper. He tugged on a curl the hung over my shoulder on the rise of my breast. “Did you not like the picture you sent me?”
I bit my lip as I looked down. There was no point in hiding the blush.
“Little girl, are you avoiding me?”
I shook my head no without looking up.
“Then look at me when I’m talking to you.”
I hesitated only for a breath of a second, but that was long enough. Within that second his hand slipped under the edge of my dress and his long fingers gripped my thigh. My head shot up and I grabbed his hand but he didn’t miss the smile his little game left on my face. Instantly I both regretted and loved that I had chosen to wear that dress.
“You’re cheating,” I muttered as I grabbed his hand from my thigh and placed it on the table.
“And how am I cheating?”
“You agreed to be the perfect gentleman this evening. That was far from gentleman-like. Keep both hands here. Visible. Where I can see them. That’s the rules.”
“So now you’re the one making rules?” he asked, grinning like the Cheshire as he picked his hand up off the table and began to play with mine again.
“I’ve always been the one making the rules.”
He set the game aside for second to agree with me and to remind me that if at any point during the visit he really truly did cross a line, I should let him know; because he had no intention of doing me harm. “I’m sorry. I should not have squeezed your thigh.”
“Well,” I looked up at him, reassured that although I was playing with fire I had nothing to fear, and confessed. “It wasn’t so much that you were touching my thigh. It’s just that,” I hesitated, once again slipping into a flirt, “I know this may sound weird by my knees are really ticklish.”
As his laughter died down he gently slid his chair back from the table to look down. I followed his gaze and noticed the large budge in his pants. I couldn’t help but feel excited at the thought that I had seen that dick before. I knew exactly what was happening and It was all my fault. I felt his fingers graze my inner thigh as he rested his hand on me again. “I won’t squeeze this time. I promise.”
I tried to cover my grin with my hand but he stopped me before kissing me on the cheek. Our conversation continued as we lightly cuddled on the coffee house bench. I could feel him shift in his seat from time to time as he attempted to rearrange the boner growing in his pants. It all at once scared me know I could do this to a man and at the same time it made me only more giddy and happy.
I grew more comfortable with him as the night went on. I had always known that there was no longevity between him and I. This, whatever it was, could never be more than occasional clandestine meetings in search for a fix, so maybe that’s why I did it. I had nothing to lose. I had never really said the word aloud to anyone before.
I turned to him and asked, “Daddy?”
He looked at me directly in the eyes and with smile asked, “Yes, kitten?”
“Would you get me a glass of water?”
That was it. That was all I wanted. Water. He stood up, somewhat stiffly, and went to the counter to order my glass. As he walked back I couldn’t help but wonder if it was just me or it the bulge had grown. He played my hair and tickled my legs as I enjoyed the water.
“Is Daddy making you hot kitten?” I blushed again, so there was no point in lying. I looked at him and nodded my head. “Then there is something I would like you to do for me.” he smiled when he felt me shiver as he whispered his request; his breath making the skin on my neck both cool and hot at once.
When he finished giving me my instructions I placed my cup of water back on the table. I could feel him watching me as I stood up and made my way to the bathroom. I shut the door behind me and wondered what the fuck I was thinking as I pulled down my panties and let my fingers slide into my slick slit. It felt so good. I had been aroused by him long before we sat down together in that café, but to be so close to him while I was this hot was deliciously dangerous.
My lovely manicured fingers found my clit and I began rubbing my sweet wet pussy as I had been instructed to. My fingers quickened at the thought of him only a few feet way. I hungrily thrust my hips in search of pressure as I remembered how close his hand on my though had been to my hot little lips. I pressed my fingers against my cunt as I remembered the swell I had left in his pants.
My phone interrupted me as it vibrated with an incoming text.
I stopped and pulled my panties and tights up without wiping, knowing I would more than likely finish playing with it later.
As I sat back down he gingerly took both of my hands in his again and held them up for inspection. He looked at me before opening his mouth and sucking on the same two fingers I had just used to pleasure myself. I whimpered and then let out a small “Fuck.”
He responded by sucking on my fingers once again and letting me know I tasted heavenly.
I looked at him, regretting the end of the night as I noticed the barista turning off lights and locking doors. “I think they are about to kick us out of here,” I said.
“Then let’s go.” He took my hand and helped me into my coat before leading my out into the cold. He faced me as we stood on the side walk, his hands on my waist pulling me toward his ever-hardening cock; before kissing my ears, my neck, and as much as he could of my shoulders. I had never been touched like that in my entire life and it was divine. The adrenaline made everything much more wonderful as I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and let him devour what he could of me. I wanted this. This was too good to be missing out on. My god, I thought, why they fuck have I waited this long to let myself be kissed? He pulled away and took my face in his hands. He leaned in for the kiss, but despite the wonder his mouth had just graced me with, I held my hand to his chest to stop him.
“No?” he asked.
“No.” I confirmed.
“Ok.” And without so much as a second missed beat he kissed my neck again, letting his wet lips linger along my earlobe before we parted ways.
“And now I’m calling you to tell you about it.”
“That’s it? No plans to meet again?”
“We’ll see I guess. Next weekend is his wife’s turn to go out, and a lot can change between now and –“
“Wait. Wait wait wait. His what?”
“Wife. His wife. He married. Which two kids.”
I could hear my friend erupt into laughter. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. I love that you’re innocent enough to think that him touching your thigh is like this huge motherfucking deal but you don’t seem to think twice about the fact that he’s married. That’s the scandal here. Not that you almost went to first base, but the fact that you almost bypassed it for second with a married man!”
“He’s my only source, but he says they are in an open relationship that may soon be ending. That’s why I didn’t kiss him. I had a great time with him and all, but I’m not exactly trying to bring him home to my mother. I’d kind of hate for that to be my first.”
“So, you’ll let this man suck the pussy juice from your fingers, but kissing is a no go. Got it. Makes perfect sense. Sounds ligit. I am so glad we’re friends.
I hang up the phone shortly after making plans to meet up with her for brunch and pull into my driveway. As I check my phone I see a new text message. It’s him.
so, are you finally going to tell me what color panties you’re wearing?
As I get ready for bed I pull down my panties and show him the rather large and lovely wet spot that had accumulated during our date.
I answer the phone when he calls only seconds after having received my photo
“I knew it.” He gloats, “I just knew they were black.”
“What are you up to?” I ask.
“Well, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our evening, so…” I feel my phone vibrate as it receives a message from him. I open it up to find he’s sent me shot of his cock; large and leaking. I smile as I finish removing my undies and crawl into bed. I let my hand find its way back to the swollen tender lips of my pussy.
“Ditto.” I say, before licking my fingers and letting him know he’s right. I do taste rather heavenly.