In this regular series, I’ll share with all you dirty-minded readers some of my sexiest experiences, in and out of the bedroom.
It was our first date. A few emails back and forth online had me hot and bothered and anxious to meet. His profile didn’t tell me any personal details, just that he was tall, fit, early forties, self-employed, and a non-smoker. His picture – there was just one – was in profile, and I liked the look of his long nose and striking green eyes. It was the words he wrote to me that really captured my imagination – he seemed firm and confident, and made it clear that he wasn’t looking for any “heavy emotional bonding.” I was two months celibacy and desperate for someone to break my weakening will. I was horny and curious enough to meet, but still a bit reluctant to give it all up again.
As terrible as no sex is, bad sex is always worse.
We met at my local dingy bar, and on the way over, walking briskly in skinny jeans and heels, I got a text from an old fling I hadn’t spoken to in months: “Just drove by you. You are smokin’ hot!” Entering the bar, my cheeks were flushed, and I felt great. He was sitting with his back to me, fingers wrapped around a rocks glass. As I approached and sidled up, I recognized the shaggy hair, the nose in profile. I placed a hand on his shoulder and he turned to face me. I almost gasped: a perfectly handsome face interrupted only by a long, smooth pink scar cutting south from his left temple and trailing down to the edge of his lip, which was upturned, slightly coyly, in response to my sudden stupor. I quickly cleared my head and introduced myself, realizing that my hand still lingered on his broad shoulder. I lifted it lightly and perched on the stool beside him, feeling his eyes graze my body as I did.
We talked comfortably about ourselves, and not once did he unlock his disarming gaze. I tried to avoid staring at his scar, but I was so intrigued by its smoothness, its raised curved edge, the way it pulled my eye from his mouth to his lashes and back down again. I wanted so badly to reach out and place the pad of my fingertip on it, to trace its route. I could feel my panties dampening from the effort it was taking to control myself. All the while, my date sat there cooly, making no effort to even brush my knee with his, without flirting or flattering me in any way, just holding eye contact unflinchingly. I was beginning to sense that all the interest might be mine when he abruptly suggested we get last call somewhere else.
This was my chance! Heart racing, I proposed we take the short walk to my apartment where I had some scotch stashed. He gave me a searching look, then shrugged and said “Sure.” Nervously, I walked beside him, feeling the heat emanate from my own body. We were silent, and I steeled myself for a disappointing platonic drink and polite goodbye hug. I poured the scotch and we clinked glasses. I saw over the rim of my glass those green eyes glistening mischievously, the smile playing at his lips, and that extensive, mysterious flaw. I put my glass down and pushed my body lightly against him, and my mouth met his. I kissed him softly at first, and he replied sweetly, taking his time and feeling the edges of my lip with a timid tongue. I grabbed his waist with my fists and found his groin with my thigh as I kissed him with increasing pressure. The bulge against my leg was rock hard, but he still made no move to put his hands on me. How shy was this guy? I pulled back and smiled at him, then reached out to gingerly touch his scar.
Suddenly, I saw a fire rise up in his eyes. He stopped my hand in the air and pushed me roughly against the closed front door, then gathered both my wrists above my head and pinned them back with one hand while yanking up my shirt with the other. I gasped and then moaned his name with pleasure. He pulled up my bra and pinched my erect nipple between his thumb and finger so hard I shouted with surprise at the surge of pain, and as he stared into my eyes I felt my whole body wanting him.
“I want to make you come”, I whined thinly, squirming in my drenched underwear and jeans, my breasts exposed and my arms and hands restrained sorely. He shook his head and put his forehead against mine, pinning my head to the door too. We stayed like that for a moment, and I closed my eyes, listening to his excited breaths and my own desperate panting. Then I felt his free hand trace against my belly and a whimper escaped my lips; the hand moved slowly south to my waistband, where it unbuttoned my jeans and then twisted, palm to my stomach, and slid expertly down inside my panties. I was delirious with desire, writhing against his grasp on my wrists, but he was so strong, and held me firmly. His fingers pressed against my slippery pussy for a moment until I felt one, then two, slip deliciously between my swollen lips and up inside me. Now we both moaned, and again I gasped his name, but I suddenly felt my orgasm, hiding dormant for so many weeks, burst from me in a gush of relief and pleasure, and my body convulsed violently, my eyes wide, my limbs stiff. When it was over, he pulled out of me and released my wrists and I sank to the floor, perspiring and exhausted. When I looked up he had his hand on the door knob, and he smiled one more time, his scar catching the dim light. He left me there and stepped onto the street, because we’d both got what we wanted.
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