It had been a while since I saw Charlotte. We met at the same place that we first met. A dark, overpriced, swanky whiskey bar. Charlotte, as always, looked fucking hot. She wore black jeans, tight, ripped at
the top, and a silk blouse. We caught ourselves up with one another. We had too many drinks. I ordered a charcuterie board and then some hummus. We drank, we talked, we ate. We walked a few blocks to a swanky restaurant, where we ate oysters and a delicious meal. We walked to another swanky bar. We drank some more.
As we sat at the bar, we joked around. We slapped each other’s faces. I slapped her harder than she slapped me. I slid my fingers up between her thighs and pressed them against her crotch through her jeans. I collected the scent of her cunt through her jeans on my fingers and had her smell them.
“Do I really smell like that?!?” she asked, as if the answer was not on my fingers.
We made plans less than a week from now.
Earlier in the evening, we could have ended up in a hotel, but she wasn’t ready. By the time she was ready, it was too late and we would have to wait for a number of hours. A number of days. As I write this post, she’s in a cab headed home to get herself off with the wand I bought her, to record herself coming, and to send me her orgasm, which, if she’s okay with it, I’ll include in this post. (Postscript: that didn’t happen.)
And less than a week two weeks from now, she and I will be in a hotel room.
“I think I’m a lesbian,” she told me, as my fingers pressed up against her crotch.
“I’m not so sure,” I said, as she writhed under my touch. “But maybe.”
We talked about Serena. She wants to have a threesome with me and Serena.
We talked about her and me together with Serena.
We talked about her and me without Serena.
We talked about the terms on which our next date will unfold. She wants my tongue on her clit much more than she wants my cock in her mouth.
But she’ll have to earn that.
