It’s funny, but the first time I saw Dave, he really didn’t strike me as the kind of man I’d take for a friend, let alone as a lover. For a start, he didn’t dance; for seconds, he dressed like a slob; and thirdly, he smoked like a chimney. But the first time we kissed, half-drunk at a party where we only knew one another, I felt one of those jolts that a girl only gets when she’s thrown into contact with a man who might be… ah, I really don’t want to get into any of that psycho-analytical bullshit about some kind of pre-conditioned mating prerogative, that we spend our entire lives in search of fulfilling.
But, for three days after that, I couldn’t get him out of head, as I played and re-played the sequence of events back in my mind, wondering whether it was the drink that made us bump into one another, or something else entirely; whether it was I whose raised my face for his kiss, or he who lifted it for me; and whether the obvious confusion and embarrassment with which we both broke apart and walked away was caused by the shock of what we’d done… or the fact that we liked it so much.
Shock. I wasn’t simply dating someone else at the time, I was engaged to the guy…. The guy. It sounds so callous, but I can barely even remember his name now (Gary), and it’s less than a year since we were planning our nuptials. Some things just weren’t meant to happen – I knew that at the time, but it’s so easy to become swept away in somebody else’s most fervent dream, and Gary certainly was fervent. Me, I just went along with it, and trusted on life and luck to turn something up, before we both made a major mistake. And it did. Dave.
He phoned me on the fourth day. “You’re a hard one to track down,” he announced, and I couldn’t help but ask why he’d wanted to. That flustered him a little; a more confident guy would have just blustered along, asked me out for a drink or a movie orsomething, and not even considered the possibility that I might say no. Dave, though, had obviously called me expecting no other answer whatsoever, and I could almost hear him sweating out an answer to my admittedly ruthless question. “Never mind,” I reassured him. “I’m glad that you did.”
“You are?”
“Of course. I was wondering if you know of any other lousy parties we could go to. You can’t spend your whole life having fun, after all.” I hoped I wasn’t laying the flippancy on too hard, but he rose to the occasion with grateful aplomb. “No parties, but I know a positively dreadful bar downtown. If you really want to suffer through a night of absolute misery, I’d be happy to spend it with you… I mean… not spend the night…” he was getting flustered again, and again I rode to the rescue. “I know what you meant. A dreadful bar? I’d hate to. When shall we go?”
“Tonight?”
“Okay.” We made arrangements to meet at Barnes & Noble’s, and I hung up the phone. Tonight. That was perfect; it gave me no time in which to get nervous, none in which to feel guilty, and I’d be out of the house before Gary finished work and gave me his usual “what do you want to do tonight?” phone call. Believe me, Gary, you don’t want to know the answer to that one. I hit speed-dial and called his answering machine, told him I was going out with some girlfriends, and I’d ring him tomorrow to tell him all about it – which guaranteed that he’d never mention it again. If there’s one thing Gary hated, it was hearing about my nights out with the girls, possibly because he thought we spent the whole time discussing the failings of our men. Which, of course, we’d NEVER do.
I was 20 minutes early arriving at the store, walked in and discovered that Dave was even earlier, standing in the magazine section with his hands flicking carelessly through a stack of … is that a Playboy in your hand, or are you just pleased to see me? His eyes, though, were focused only on the door. He looked away and down as I walked in… so cool, so casual… and then saw what he’d been fingering, just as I stepped alongside him. “And I bet you only read the articles.”
“I was trying to find the new Mojo,” he murmured, but I gave him my best, incomprehending gaze. The last thing I wanted from our first few minutes together was an intellectual discussion about our respective musical tastes. Instead, I stood on tiptoe, kissed his cheek and uttered a more conventional greeting. “Good evening Dave, good evening Jenny; did you have a nice day? Yes lovely, and you?”
He laughed apologetically. “Good evening Jenny. Did you have a nice day?” He still held a Playboy in his hand. “Buy your magazine and let’s go,” I told him. “I’d love to get a coffee.” Hurriedly, he placed it back on the shelf. “No, it’s not mine. Yes, Coffee sounds great….”
Oh dear, where am I going with this? The coffee was as refreshing as I hoped, the bar was as dreadful as he’d promised; and, when he asked if I wanted to go back to his place for a nightcap, I really had to work hard to sound indignant and shocked. “Sorry, I really need to go home and recover from the good time you’ve already shown me. Call me tomorrow, yeah?” I pecked his cheek and turned for home, wondering what on earth I was trying to prove – and who I was trying to prove it to?
I broke up with Gary the following morning; told him I’d been having doubts for a while (which was true), that it really wasn’t anything he’d done (which was sort of true), and that of course there wasn’t anybody else... which was technically true, because Dave hadn’t called yet. He took it well, I thought; there was some shock in his voice, and some half-hearted pleading, but there was also a hint of… relief? I wondered if, in years to come, he and I might meet up unexpectedly and laugh, as we discovered that we both spent our engagement trying to find a kind way out of it. I hoped not; it would be terrible if at least one of us hadn’t been wholeheartedly sincere. And I hoped the phone would ring before I thought about it all too much.
Dave called at lunchtime, and we met up for dinner. He’d obviously gone to a lot of effort; as he walked in, it struck me that he looked a lot like Dean from The Gilmore Girls, which is no bad thing, I can tell you. Me, people say I remind them of Charlotte from Sex & The City, although I’m never sure if that’s a compliment or not. But Dave simply told me I looked “lovely” and, though I brushed the compliment aside, of course it thrilled me to the bone. So, as we walked slowly back to his car, did the thought of what the night might bring. Dean and Charlotte, sitting in a tree….
We kissed, we petted, but most of all, we explored. There’s something so exciting about seeing someone’s body for the first time, and I don’t mean that sexually… well, not purely sexually. New moles to make jokes about, new hairy patches to puzzle about, new muscles to watch in motion. And, of course, new tastes and sensations. Sitting there with his cum dripping off my chin, I wondered what he would do if I put my tongue out and licked it, but it was only a fleeting thought. I wasn’t sure that I actually wanted to, and if it was nasty… which sometimes, it can be, through no fault of the owner’s… it might put me off altogether. How many men, I wondered, know that something as simple as what you have for breakfast can change the taste of the evening’s load? Not many, probably… why is it always the girl who has to find these things out?
We lay on his bed, not talking, just hugging, occasionally shifting to offer a kiss. Between my legs, I could feel his saliva and my pussy juice pooling in my groin, and I rolled over a little to relieve the stickiness. Dave rolled too, and kissed me between the shoulder blades, once, twice, three times… then slowly, he started moving down my back, raining light, insistent kisses on my skin. I lay without moving, just enjoying the moment; sighing gently as his tongue joined the game, tracing tiny circles in my flesh, then flicking down to a fresh spot.
He reached the small of my back, then tentatively kissed the top of one buttock. It tickled a little, and I gasped as his tongue traced a line down one cheek, then the other; paused and then reappeared in the valley between them. A light flashed on in my mind… “really?” I thought, as I felt the firm, damp warmth trace further down, and his hands gently gripped me and pulled my ass cheeks open. Down, down… I could feel his breath on my ass-hole, cooling flesh that my juices had liberally soaked, and I held my breath. Now, this was something I’d never felt before, and I couldn’t wait to see what might happen next.
Nothing. For what seemed like hours, but was probably just a few seconds, I hung there in unbelievable suspense. And then… a light tickling, a curious warmth, a feeling like something was somewhere it had never been before… inching, pushing, probing, testing. I didn’t dislike it in the slightest… but I wasn’t sure if I liked it either, it felt so strange. “Come up here again,” I whispered, and I felt him move back up the bed. I kissed him carefully; would he smell, or even taste like an ass-hole? No – and that was a relief. So, nudging against my thigh, was the weight of his cock, as it slowly came back to life. I reached down and stroked it. “I don’t know what you were doing down there,” I whispered. “But you may have to do it again sometime.”
Again that puppy-dog smile. “I’m glad you liked it,” he replied and, for a moment, I wondered if he might have had something else to add (“some girls don’t” would have been my guess), but he remained silent, closing his eyes as my fingers squeezed the tip of his cock, coaxing it towards even greater grandeur. “But now I want you inside me,” I whispered. “Deep inside me.”
He swung himself over my body, paused as I pointed his cock to my pussy, then groaned as he slid slowly in. Very slowly, so that every nerve end I possessed was treated to his firm, gentle passage. He felt huge, much bigger than he’d looked, and I could feel my cunt straining to take him all in; that most delicious of strains, the one that you wish you could last forever, as he sinks further and further inside you. I placed a hand on his ass, pressing to make sure he was all the way in. “Now, don’t move,” I told him. “I want to try something.”
I flexed my pussy, and his cock pulsed in reply; I flexed again, rippling each of the little muscles in my pussy, so that every last inch of him was given its own little massage. “Now, slowly….” I said. “Do it very slowly.”
His hips raised, and I could feel my cunt clinging to him, furious that its plaything was being taken away, and then relaxing as he slipped back in; again… again… I felt my own hips give an answering buck; he pushed back even harder. My legs were wrapped around his lower back… I didn’t even remember coiling them around him, but they opened me up even wider to his thrusts, and he was fucking me hard and fast now, the headboard banging against the wall to his rhythm, and my clit was getting the kind of work-out that even my fingers would be hard-pushed to equal. I was coming hard, and so was he; I could feel it building from his balls as they pushed against me; feel the twitching as it raced up his cock – and then we were slamming into one another, each lost in the ecstasy of an orgasm that lasted forever.
“You like?” he asked, as we caught our breath. “I like,” I replied, and I tried to remember when I’d last cum like that. The memory proved elusive, though, and it’s probably better that way. The worst thing to do with a new lover is to start comparing your feelings to old ones – and, besides, this was only our first time. I wondered how great it would be once we really knew each other’s body, and how to ask for the things we most desired. And, as I felt our juices trickling out of me, soaking my ass, my thighs and the sheets, I had a feeling I’d not have long to wait.
