Uhhhhh… She just, this moment, left. And I can still smell her on me.
I wrote about my Day 2 w/ this same girl, a former client of mine. Now… she’s in the “lover” category. Unconsummated, but lover all the same. The term “lover” is great like that.
I didn’t write about Day 3… it kind of sucked. It was a week ago tonight, and I didn’t think I would see her again. And I didn’t anticipate the great night I would have tonight at that time.
Last week, Day 3, she showed up, late, as usual, carrying a yoga mat, dressed from knee to cleavage in Lululemon. At the time I was like, “what kind of girl shows up to a 2nd date straight from fucking yoga?!”
My plan that night was this: drink (to settle down), dinner (cause I gots to eat), and then another drink (makeout time). But it didn’t go like that.
First drink was stiff. I talked too much. Then, dinner was delicious, and I charmed the pants off our server, but she was lack-luster and conversation was boring… and I was bringing my “A game” conversation skills, she was giving me almost nothing. At some point I asked, “How are you doing?” I was trying connect. She said, self-consciously, “I’m a little tired.” That was factual. No connection. Yuck.
After dinner I offered her that last drink, not bold enough, but not bad, and she opted to go home. Fine. But as she said that, her eyes popped open, and she stepped forward… she wanted to be kissed. It was such a lame date, why she wanted a sidewalk-kiss was beyond me. I get it, but I wasn’t feeling it.
Her car showed up way too fast, I walked her across the street to where it stopped. She still wanted a kiss. Arms behind her back, eyes big, standing close to me. It wasn’t a consolation prize, she genuinely wanted it… but it was so AFC, “Joe Normal,” I wasn’t having it. No thanks. I kissed her cheek, put her in the car, and was a bit bitter, disappointed in myself (for not running that date better) and in her (for not being that cool).
However… I did notice something in her, and thought about it a lot since then: She responds really well to being touched. Remarkably well. On our first date, every time I touched her, it felt super natural. I have decent skills there, but this was about her personality. And even on our drink on the stiff 2nd date, when I’d rest my hand on hers, it felt “musical.” It felt right.
After that date, I was thinking I wouldn’t follow up, and I assumed she wouldn’t either, and I figured we were done. Fine. She’s not even Asian… which is clearly my thing. Done and done.
But then… the next day, I was like, “Is this the man you want to be? Bitter? Final? Cold?” No. I can do better. Even if I never see her again, I don’t need any ice between me and this pretty girl. I can leave things better than that.
So I sent her a text, an “inside joke,” some call-back humor. No response. Fine. I felt better. I figured it was over, but I was glad I didn’t sulk and stay quiet. I’m fine being rejected, I’m just glad I made my effort to be gracious. She deserves that. I deserve that.
So then, 2 days later, she picks up on the joke via text. Sends me two messages. She’s investing. I knew I’d ask her out again.
Isn’t it amazing how you can change your mind as the wind changes? So much of this journey is about watching myself go through the ups/downs.
So I asked her out, and she was very positive. And did a great job joking w/ me as I set up the circumstances. I was planning on getting back to touching this girl ASAP.
When she met me tonight, she looked great… inside and out. Short black dress, huge glowing smile, pretty red coat. I was rocked by her as she bounced down the sidewalk toward me. Her tight curls, in full “blonde,” draping her shoulders. My original plan was a bust, so I put her in a cab, and took her to one of the divest bars I know… a place I love.
I was thinking about how she seems to respond so well to touch. It was the 3rd date… that’s a make/break moment for most adults… something serious happens by “Day 4,” or it’ll never happen. So my plan was to escalate in a real way.
We had barely ordered drinks, and my hands were all over her. I would just randomly grab her hand… and she was lovely about it, as I expected. And at the bar (maybe it was the 2nd round), I was really holding her, feeling the waistband of her panties thru her dress, and I told her I had this theory about how she likes to be touched. It was really on at this point. She was interested in that comment. I was pouring on the kino.
We made out in a vinyl booth of a dive bar — and goddamn it, that is my version of romance. I’m serious. Divey bars, old vinyl booths, preferably curved, like tonight… chemistry is born in such situations. When I’m dead and gone, I want to be known for being the Bandit of the Vinyl Booth.
I kissed her a bunch. I have now (post-date) kissed her about “100 times.” We still haven’t really had a solid “kiss” yet, but I would say we’ve had some very hot makeouts — if that’s possible. It’s like our mouths don’t really fit together, but I’m just nibbling at her, sucking her lips, a bit of tongue here/there, sucking her ears, hands on her neck, hands in her soft hair. It’s great actually, the makeout I mean, but not the kissing itself. I’ve never had that experience before. Like a great dinner where the food is just okay, but you can’t wait to come back all the same.
So it was really on, right. And I asked if she liked chocolate, and she does. So I basically told her I’m taking her to my house for desert, and she was into it. We sipped our drinks for a few more minutes. I touched her some more. No rush. We jumped into a car and we at my place 10 minutes later.
Inside. Chocolate cake (which I bought this morning, in prep for just such a moment). Water. Her coat was still on, but her shoes were off. I kissed her some more. I put on some music. I told her I need “better access” to her, we both laughed, and I lead her down the hall to my bedroom.
I showed her some of my art — taking my time, backing off of the sexuality for a minute. I had the light on, but then I shut it off. And I led her over to my bed, and I leaned back onto the sheets. And she took off her coat, the light from the street bouncing off the bare skin of her shoulders, and I pulled her on top of me. And then I rolled her over, and I was on top of her. And she was purring.
Ahhh, such delicious little noises this girl was making. More of that great-but-ill-fitting kissing. I had her arms above her head, I would pin her down, forcefully, and then back off. Running my hands from her hips to her hair. She would purr. Great contrast of dominance, and then space for her to breathe.
And then she starts talking about having to go. And I would agree, and then grab her wrist. We sort of wrestled, symbolically, kissing and making gestures like it was time to go.
I know she likes oral — I asked about all that on our first date. We talked about it some more tonight. And how she gets herself off a lot. Mostly in the mornings, before she gets out of bed. Usually with her hand, sometimes w/ a toy. As she would purr for me, that’s all I could think about. Pulling up that black dress. And eating that pussy.
I love to eat pussy.
And we “danced” on my bed w/ the lights off, that dance of so-close-to-sex and so-close-to-leaving. At one point, she turned to go, and was on her knees, and I got behind her, and held her in place, her back against my chest, both of us on our knees, facing the door, and the puddle of her coat on the floor. And I reached around her, and pulled her skirt up to her waist. And she tensed up as she was bare-thighed, panties facing God. And I laughed and said I knew she was exposed… but from where I was, I couldn’t see anything, even as I had my hands on her soft thighs. Very hot moment. Vulgar-intimate, and private, at the same time.
So she stood, and put her coat on. And I imagined, instead, that she was taking that black dress off. And I told her that. And it was tense. She called a car, smiling.
I walked her down the stairs, her accusing me of teasing her, me saying we were teasing each other.
On the bottom stair, her one higher than me, I kissed her again. And I reach behind her, and pulled up her dress so I could get my hands on her ass. She purred and gasped. I felt the lace at the edge of her panties. And I told her she was safe… for now. And I growled a bit. And she smiled. But next time… that little black dress is coming off. We both know it.
And I clapped, slowly, as she walked down my steps and disappeared into the car, and down the street, into the night.
Hmmm. A week ago, I figured I’d never see her again. I was bitter. And now I’m turned on. I know next time I see her, I’ll have my head between her thighs, and her come all over my lips.