Meeting at Night

It wasn't poetry, not that way, no matter how long I cooked it in this overheated mess of neurons.

It was just this - two people with a connection and no patience for the whims of chance.

And oh christ how I loved the anticipation and your preparation. All that taunting before the hour, and my nerves were on edge. I was 16 on my first date, I was 17 losing my virginity, I was 37 and finally seeing a man the way he is meant to be. I was all that wrapped up in a satin shirt and peep-toe pumps and I was yours for the taking.

That moment of indecision, of seeing it also on your face. The wine flowed and the conversation eased and you had me follow your directions just enough to humiliate myself. That egg, and that wireless remote, and not believing you'd given it to some random stranger until that random stranger returned it to our table.

Your laughter at my shocked face.

I remember all of this and more. The shirt, ripped. The tangle of our legs, how quick it was over, awkward laughter and more laughter, and more that was not so quick.

You snored. I didn't mind. It was comfortable. I allowed myself to live that moment. And it was a fine, fine moment.

Fool Me Once

My conversations with a quite forceful man (see the post Dichotocatocutomies) have continued, and I've made plans to see him again.

There is some understanding...I don't willingly submit, though I need it so badly. He is intrigued by this war in my head.

I'm not so certain. But I'm eager to see what comes next.

At the very least, maybe I'll be knocked down a rung or two. I'm self-aware enough to know that it's often needed.

What happens in Vegas...

I have a business trip scheduled next week. Manhattan. I've been once before, a day trip...in and out. This time, I'll stay several nights.

Something about hotel rooms. They need besmirching.

I scanned my list of regular watchers before posting this. As much as besmirching appeals, the thought of meeting a fellow blogger is very intimidating.

Granted, I've met quite a few people from online, in various capacities. Most are friends. Some are very good friends.

But bloggers and besmirching and hotel rooms...that's a combination that makes me gulp.

I'll leave the spare key at the front desk. Come and get me.

At the theater

We giggled like schoolchildren, fogging up the windows. I was overcome by lust. He was too young, too soft. I knew better, but couldn't resist.

His mustache tickled.

We stopped. Too much, too soon. Another time, another place. Thought and planning.

I warned him. I'm so sensitive there. My breasts. Don't tease them.

Later, he couldn't stop. Stroke stroke stroke. So lightly. I wanted to kick and bite and urinate on him. I said, 'Pain. Just pain. None of this."

He could not stop. He wanted to coax them into eager peaks. I begged him to alternate with pinches or twists. Anything, just not so much softness.

Is that impertinent?

I grew to hate him. In moments. I made him leave, long before the planned departure. He called again, once. Said nothing, just...why didn't you say what you wanted?

I rolled my eyes and waited, silent, for him to hang up.

Dubliner

Last night, after drinks, I walked back to my parked car with my date. At my car, he leaned against it and pulled me into him. He whispered in my ear that he was about to find out just how responsive my body could be. As he kissed me, ran his tongue along my neck, I could feel my body weakening. The warmth between my legs turned liquid. He whispered again, I want to hear you cum. He put his hand beneath my skirt and raised it until his fingers were brushing against my clit. The slight pressure was enough. My breath caught in my throat and I felt his eyes on me. I came against his fingers. One last kiss, and then the whisper again in my ear - take off your panties, I want them. I complied immediately, dropping them, pulling first one ankle out, and then the other. I felt like a lady, I felt like a whore. He took them and pressed them to his face, breathing in my scent.