First Date

The restaurant was awash with nebulous noise and motion as my brain pounded behind my eyes in time with my heart in my throat. Of course you were waiting to open the door for me. I was two minutes late-on time in my book-and you'd reserved a table nearly twenty minutes before. You firmly grasped my elbow, pulling me in for a fleeting embrace that forced a blush into my cheeks and promised to elicit similar burnt flesh throughout the evening. I barely perceived the sweetheart rose you slipped gently behind my ear, so enveloped was I in the faint aura of your sharp, clean scent. Just as the electric jolt from your cologne dissipated through my thighs, you fluidly swung your hand behind me, guiding me to our table by pressing firmly into the small of my back and sending incendiary ripples cascading outward from my root. I nearly tripped into my chair to escape the tension.

Courses came and went in a blur. I nibbled at the bread and gulped my water, feeling flushed and dehydrated with each tenuous breath. You ate, and I watched your teeth intently as you gnashed them against your steak. Did I imagine the twinkle in your eye and the aggressive clink of your fork narrowly escaping your bite? Or was this, as you promised it always would be, an opportunity for you to assert your desires for my flesh?

Manchurian soldiers marched along the corners of conversation as we pivoted from one tabled topic to the next, but the fervor I'd hoped for in discourse was supplanted with a more urgent, primal haze of knowing need. We finished almost desperately; do you remember who tipped the waitress? Thank you for walking me to my car. You were a perfect gentleman. Asking for a kiss was, I assumed at the time and still wholeheartedly commit to my mental paradigm, a full measure of your dedication to my comfort. (Still today I quash any hints in my imagination suggesting you would have kissed me no matter what.) I consented, of course, and received the most graceful brushing of lips weighted with gratitude. Before I could swallow the nectar, heavy lips came down once more, this time enveloping mine in something entirely lacking in grace and poise. The lusty beast roared between us, and we wrestled to exorcise it from each other.

Hastily, I thrust a velvet-flocked box into your hand. Your trembling fingers deftly detangled the bow to reveal gleaming steel inside. Handcuffs. I begged you, and you did cuff my wrist to the wheel. Your eyes were aglow when I explained that the other key- the one you did not have in the bottom of the box- was on a string in my garage, ready to release me only when I returned safely home in an effort to prevent premature release at the end of our dinner. Your playful words burned through my ears and into my cheeks, "your hands may be tied, but mine aren't." You dropped to your knees, drawing your fingers up my stocking- covered legs. I caught the glinting sunset reflecting off the handcuff key you slipped into your jean pocket as your now-familiar lips found the inside of my ankle. My entire leg tingled with anticipatory electricity and my mind broiled with thick waves of desire.

I'm left to imagine what you were thinking as you so very tenderly caressed my calf with sweet, gentle kisses punctuated by occasional flicks of your tongue against the smooth stretched fabric over my skin. Your playful smile suggested a teasing flirtation that would burrow deeply into our collective memories as an act of both restraint and torture. Your kneading, groping hand on the other side of my leg, deeply tracing muscle and flesh like a mad cartographer shaped another story entirely. The physical manifestation of your internal conflict delighted me in all manners of eroticism, completely consuming my body and enveloping my mind in the thrill of the dance.

When you rounded my knee, were you as disappointed as I that your kisses stopped? Handcuffed to my steering wheel as I was, my intentions to stay in my car made clear, my body betrayed every plan my logical brain constructed that day. You saw the pleading in my eyes and could palpitate the magnetic aching under my skin. When your right hand slid effortlessly off my knee and around to the back of my thigh, a deep sigh bubbled out of my chest and escaped my throat as I threw my head backward, transported to a place with no steering wheel or parking lot.

Sensing my surrender, your greedy fingers dug deeply into my outer thigh. I pushed back, and my legs opened invitingly. Your cheeks flushed. With rogue movements, you fingered the top of my stockings, tracing the seam from the back of my thigh to the top and prodding deeper where the loose fabric and my softer flesh were both more forgiving. Your tight grasp of my stockings grew progressively tighter. You moved in between my legs as beckoned, leaning upward while your hand twisted and pulled downward. Your will bent my body toward you, and with one hand behind my back and one of your hands planted inside my dress, we half embraced and fell into a deep, sensual kiss.

What was two tempest-tossed castaways flinging themselves, exhausted onto dry land quickly turned again to desperation as your tongue darted into my mouth and your teeth first nibbled then sunk deeper into my lips. My hand behind your neck and your hand around my waist pulled each other tightly. Your right hand twisted again, and the constriction of my stockings around my thigh carried your embrace throughout my entire body. You tugged, and my eager flesh sprung forth from the ruptured, disintegrating cloth, collapsing into your hand and releasing the tension while enhancing our desires. Shaking off the strings, you pulled harder to expose my thigh down to the knee. I kissed you so deeply and whined as deep when you pulled away to kiss my knee.

You'll have to remember the details, because the shock of your lips and tongue against my bare flesh after only feeling them through my stockings electrocuted my mind and short-circuited all reason. When I looked down, I saw you tenderly caressing my thigh while kissing and nibbling just above the knee. Your gaze met mine and saw my longing. "Yes, please..." I whispered. Turning your attention back to the task before you, you licked and kissed a soft spot between my knee and my hip. Did you feel my legs trembling as you sucked the skin into your mouth and slid your tongue along its borders? Did you hear me moan when you released my flesh, only to lap it up again quickly into your mouth, or was the buzzing in your own ears too loud?

Patiently and faithfully, you licked and sucked and nibbled and kissed the same spot. Your left hand on my belly steadied me. I grew eager and prone to gyrations. You took your time. Once, you took too much skin, forcing you to sink your teeth a little deeper. You were careful to nibble less at a time. But gradually, with just the thinnest strip of skin between your teeth, you bit harder. It hurt, and I gasped loudly. Alarmed, you raised your eyes to mine, which were now wide with surprise and pain and brimming with something else. You searched for a moment to find the meaning before I simply guided your head back down with my free hand. You knew then it was excitement you saw. Fervently now, you caressed and bit my thigh, licking over the borders of growing redness. Sucking in a mouthful, you bit down as hard as you dared before releasing my skin through your jaws, scraping every centimeter as it exited. Again and again you returned, until my leg was swollen, red, bitten, and bruised. You admired your love bite before smoothing and straightening the hem of my dress.

You stood, pulling my legs around you, and embraced me tightly. I loved the feel of the sweet kiss on my forehead. You bent over and whispered, "stay right here." I jingled my wrist and laughed as you tucked my legs into the car and shut the door. I realized my folly when I couldn't turn on the radio, staring helplessly at the handcuffs, with one key hours away and the other deep in your pants. 'So much for romantic gestures,' I thought! Finally, you appeared, opening my door. You held a new styrofoam cup full of soda, chiding me that I should have thought ahead if I had planned to stay stuck in the car until I got home. Fire rose again to my cheeks, but you reached out and tenderly tucked my hair behind my ear, adjusting the flower there. Then, you pulled the key out of your pocket. I was relieved, yet disappointed when the lock clicked open, feeling somehow rejected. But your eyes were kind as you explained "I want to hold all of you," and pulled me into a standing embrace. You whispered, "I want you to trust me, even when you think you can't trust yourself..."