The Facilities Manager 

We are in a cab which he has arranged, speeding through parts of the city I know well. So well I am even pointing out landmarks. I can’t look at him: I am still incredulous that this beautiful man wants to spend time with me. 

In the bar he has presented me with a gift: Turkish delight from his recent trip home. Rose and Lemon – my favourite. We have a couple of drinks in the bar but he will not let me pay for anything – he is the perfect gent. His hands play with my legs, he snuggles against me on the sofa and we compare hand sizes. His are giant. I have butterflies. We hold hands. 

I want him to kiss me. I want him to kiss me in the bar and I look at his lips and he looks at mine but it does not happen. But there is something there. He is too shy. 

Instead he kisses me in the bedroom, on the back of the neck and I melt. I groan with pleasure. I could fall in love so easily with someone like this, someone who is kind. He is gentle and calm and I am intrigued. He has not sent me one dickpic. 

He pulls my dress over my head and I try and unbutton his shirt. He is wearing a white vest and chain which stops me in my tracks: a true Meditteranean man. 

We grapple for a while, with hands, knickers, pants and hair. He kisses me hungrily but tenderly. He smells incredible, I ask him what he is wearing. “One Million” is his reply. His beard brushes my shoulders. 

 I am on my back, he starts to work his way down my body with wet lips. 

“I only just finished my period” I stutter; dreading what I smell and taste like. 

“You will be fine” he says and dives his tongue into my cunt.