A date but no sex with Serena

Serena and I arranged to meet moments after her long work day ended. I picked a nice, quiet seafood restaurant just around the corner from her work. Uncharacteristically, Serena arrived right on time. Uncharacteristically, so did I. Serena was pretty, cute, and hot. She wore a sweater and a dress that hung over her sweater, just down to her thighs. No bra, as I had instructed, and a red thong (she told me).

We greeted each other. We didn’t kiss initially. We just smiled warmly and sat at our little secluded corner table. Conversation ensued, as did oysters, lobster salad, mussels, and spinach. We each had a drink. Her, a Voodoo Child, a tequila cocktail that I selected from the menu. And me, a Johnnie Walker Black. Our conversation was characteristically warm, intimate, fun, and funny. I shared with her a list of some of the things that I hoped to do with her. Some of those things were sexual. Others were not. Some of those things were sexual. Others were not.

She confessed that she was worried, that she was tired, that her body was tired. That while she had high hopes for the evening ahead of us, she wasn’t sure she had it in her to fulfill those high hopes.

We ate. We drank. We talked. We talked some more.

I reserved a hotel room as Serena went to the bathroom, ten feet from the table, and made two tiny snippets of porn for me. In the first, she showed me her pretty, small, breasts. She lifted her skirt. She played with her pussy just for a moment. And brought me her thong.

We walked a few short blocks to the hotel. I checked in and asked her, as I did so, to send me a few more pictures of her as she waited for me in the lobby. She complied. Serena’s compliance when we’re together is perfect. We talked a bit on the short walk about what would bring us apart. How, one day, our relationship would end. Would it be because she gets a boyfriend? Because she tires of me? Because she returns to her home country? Or because she wants to be alone? Would I be close to her home country? Or would I tire of her? I explained to her that that last possibility seemed pretty unlikely. That the most likely end to our relationship would come at her hands. We got to the hotel room. And sure enough, Serena’s body was just about ready to give out. We lay on the bed. We kissed. We touched each other. First clothed, and then nude. We crawled under the sheets when the hotel room was a little too cold for us to lie on the sheets.

There was a moment, as I was above her, kissing her, grinding my hard cock into her through my boxers, that we both thought there might actually be sex on the table. But there wasn’t. Regretfully, she confessed the female version of impotence. She just wasn’t feeling it. Not that she wasn’t feeling me. She wasn’t feeling it. Of course I was sad. Disappointed. Hard. But that’s how these things go. Our date was a little shorter than past dates have been. But only a little. We spent a solid two and a half hours just lying and touching each other. Feeling each other’s bodies. Collecting each other’s warmth. Planning our upcoming dates. Finally, I turned to her and said, I’m going to leave you now.

She said, “I know.”

I opened the hotel room door, exited the building, and texted her from the street – several texts. About how much I enjoy her. About upcoming dates. She was already asleep.

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