He’s early; I’m still at home. I quickly iron a dress, slick some lipstick on and more eyeliner. Strap on some heels and call an Uber.
In the bar he keeps touching me – nothing odd, just a gentle hand on my back when he goes to the bar to get my drink; a touch on the shoulder when he gets back. His hands on my knees when we move to sit on a couch next to each other.
He has a sadness about him; self deprecating. I am ashamed to say I automatically roll my eyes when he tells me his job. Bad girl. But he is a good conversationalist despite the volume in there and he makes me laugh.
Before we get in the cab back to mine he goes to hold my hand; an intimacy I can’t yet accept, despite a fuck being on the cards. Silly me.
We have champagne – because why not, it’s only a Sunday. He inspects my bookshelves, reading out authors and titles. He talks about the theatre, almost asking if I want to accompany him. We attempt to swap glasses – his eyesight is aons better than mine. We both make excuses and go to the loo, by now we have drunk quite a bit. As I return he reaches for me and we start to kiss. Thank god, you know I hate to make the first move.
I suggest we continue upstairs – although grappling on the sofa is hot, it’s not quite comfortable enough and I doubt he has condoms in his pocket. I enjoy the feel of his tongue in my mouth, his hands reaching for my knickers and the feel of an urgent erection in his jeans. A thousand times yes. It has been 21 days since my last coitus and I am maddeningly hungry. Reading the entire “50 Shades” series on holiday alone was not a good idea: despite the corny narrative and infantile descriptions I did wank furiously to one scene in the air conditioning-less Ionian heat of the night. It awoke a libido that had been sleeping, and for that I give thanks.
As we turn to go upstairs, he struggles with his crotch and I raise an eyebrow in query. “Kissing you has given me an erection” he admits, and I grin triumphantly.
Upstairs we quickly undress, mouths hot on each other. Almost immediately he goes down on me and I struggle to keep quiet. His technique is exemplary and my craving is sated. My legs flail and I rub against his chin, his lips and his fingers. So close.
I unroll a condom and slide onto his welcoming cock. I present my breasts to him and he takes them in his hands and mouth and oh fuck I’m coming already?
I shudder and look down on him, still grinding. That was splendid.
“Ah you only come if you’re on top? Me too” he laughs. We flip and he drives into me with a staccato movement. It’s good and I enjoy the feeling of his weight on top of me – although ironically he probably weighs less than I do.
And then he decides to spit in my mouth.