Apr 202012
 

She rejected my attempts to choreograph things: “I don’t want to just be one of your ‘girls,’ with whom you ‘do your thing.'”

I didn’t want that, either. I was grateful she pushed us in a different direction, a less choreographed, more open-ended one, one in which power wasn’t exchanged. She’s gorgeous: her photos hadn’t lied. Her breasts, perfectly round, small; her ass, heart-shaped. Her eyes, bright, her smile, radiant. Her hair in a tiny ponytail, dying to escape, to fall to her shoulders.

She wore green khakis. She was self-conscious: “They make my ass look terrible,” she said, as we walked down the street after our drink, a drink during which we pawed each other, explored each other, within the bounds of propriety – it was a small, crowded bar.

This talk about her ass was nonsense, and I told her so,  grabbing a handful of her ass – almost the whole left cheek – as I did.

We walked around the block, looking for a deli. She flirted with the guy behind the register, and he took a quarter off the price of her water. And we walked back toward her place.

I pushed her against the roll-down gate, and she thrust her hips toward me, grinding against my hard cock. Our lips and tongues flirted with one another, kissing gently, then more insistently. I grabbed her head and pulled her toward me. I grabbed her ass. I skid my hand under her shirt, up to her bra, down to her waist.

I desperately wanted her. Not just because the anticipation was so frantic, not just because our chemistry translated so seamlessly from digital to analog. Because she’s smart, quick, aggressive, clever, perceptive. And really fucking hot.

And because I like her. I feel like I know her a little, like I want to know her better.

The right thing to do? Probably to kiss her goodnight. She’s complicated, life is complicated. And while it might be “meant to be” between us – if nothing else, the physical attraction and chemistry are undeniable, over-determined, even – the list of reasons why not tonight is long. Really long.

But I listen to my cock, not my brain. “Take me upstairs,” I say.

  5 Responses to “Let’s go”

  1. Ungh. More please.

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