I’ve never bedded a woman on the day of meeting her, nor have I had a one-night stand. I’ve been all moral and conservative. Fuck that shit! It was time for a change. What would it be like to go home with someone I’ve just met and indulge in passionate, intense sex, only to never see her again? How would it all feel? I want to know. I’m learning my lessons and know that I’m packing rubber.
“Do you like Thai food?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s one of my favourites,” Delicate Flower says with a smile.
“Good. Let’s go get some,” I say, intent on drawing out our time together, not giving her an excuse to flit off somewhere else, like a pub where she could be picked up. I wanted to have a one-night stand with her and knew it would take more time for this to happen.
I walk as slowly as I can, knowing that Delicate Flower’s little legs and those stilts would struggle to match my strides. When we get to cobbled bits of pavement I offer her my arm which she graciously clings onto until she feels steadier.
Through Covent Garden and the theatre district I lead her and not once does she ask where we were going. She is happy to just be with me it seems, what we are doing doesn’t really seem to matter to her. Past bustling Chinatown we make our way into Soho, to the Thai restaurant where I had taken The Model. The food was good, the service non-intrusive and it was quiet, the perfect place for sophisticated dining, romantic even, especially as I was hoping to see her pretty face sucking away at my cock in a few hours time.
Delicate Flower is suitably impressed by my choice of venue and barely notices my ordering another bottle of Chenin Blanc. One for the talking, two for the fucking; such is my thinking. The laid-back atmosphere and unhurried service allows us to savour our food and wine, making for just the right mellow, sensual mood.
Naturally we get around to talking about our past relationships and she is taken aback at my only having had two. She, however, has had many more than me. The elixir of wine continues to work its magic for me when she innocently tells me of her having committed my sexual foible – the one thing that I can’t accept a woman doing.
Somewhere deep in the cauldron of my psyche, my trust demon stirs in a dark corner of his cold, rusted cage. He steps forward into the gloom, his slitted eyes straining, searching for his prey, the being that he can store no faith in. His sooty hands latch onto the flimsy bars of his prison, causing flakes of rust to fall into the silent abyss below. Gnarled, hairy fingers slowly pull at the metal. His intent is to break free and rage at her seated before him…then defile her.
I swallow hard and fight off the desire to make a judgemental comment. Why say anything? Her latest revelation confirms that she isn’t ‘The One’. She might dress, smell and talk like a lady, but she isn’t one. She truly is becoming just a piece of fuckmeat to me. I wonder what sound she’ll make when my cock slides into her pussy?
Dinner over and I hatch a plan to string the date out more. The vibe between us just isn’t right for her to take me home with her. I need more time to get her in the mood for sex. I need to work her up a bit more, tease her more. Hell, I haven’t even kissed her yet.
I pay for the over-priced meal and note that Delicate Flower makes no offer to contribute, although as we are leaving she does thank me and say how much she enjoyed that. So, she’s used to being wined and dined…and then fucked. Does she prefer being on top or does she prefer being dominated?
I used the excuse of there being no dessert on the menu to my liking to suggest that we go to a nearby Italian coffee and confectionery outlet that the Fitness Freak introduced me to. Once there I watch Delicate Flower struggle onto her high chair. I couldn’t help but smile to myself. I had to resist the urge to pick her up and seat her.
I get her a glass of pinot grigio and myself a coffee – I might be needing the caffeine for later. After a mouthful of tiramisu (my favourite dessert) I realize that my mouth is now sweeter than when it had Thai curry flavouring it. Perfect time for our first kiss.
She was in mid-sentence when I lean over to her face, but stop short of her lips. She doesn’t move, blinks once, looks at my mouth and then leans forward to kiss me. Our lips meeting is like fireworks going off, but in miniature.
Her lips are soft and small, even smaller than I was expecting. She keeps her eyes closed as we kiss, while I always keep my eyes open because I want to take everything in, for storage in my personal video bank of images – all part of my ‘Fucket List’.
I pull away, deliberately, wanting her to be breathless and keen for more. I sit upright while she remains frozen in space and time with her eyes now closed and still leaning slightly forward. She opens her eyes again, bats her eyelids a few times, focusses and looks at me and says, “Wow! I’ve never been kissed like that before.”
She regains her composure and sips her wine. My plan is working. She’s becoming more inebriated, her defences must be weakening, her lust must be aching and my kiss has just floored her. First base secured.
We make some more light-hearted small-talk and, again while she’s saying something, I kiss her. Surprise is her initial reaction, but she didn’t pull away. Instead she started using her little tongue and breathing heavily. She was getting turned on. Once again I pull away before she decides to.
I calmly return to my tiramisu and coffee as if nothing has happened. I notice that her body is turned squarely towards me – I have her total attention. My inexperience in this makes me a little nervous, but fuck it, I’ve got nothing to lose, so I go for it.
“Would you like me to go home with you tonight?” I ask with as naughty a smile as I can muster.
Delicate Flower’s eyes bore into mine; she’s thinking hard. She looks away, takes a sip of her wine, I say nothing. She looks back at me and I make a concerted effort not to flinch. I’m aware that this is a critical moment and my saying another word is likely to be counter-productive. The silence seems to last an eternity before Delicate Flower finally speaks.
“Maybe not tonight,” she says with a facial expression that gives nothing away.
“No problem,” I counter, trying to sound as suave as possible. In the art of English understatement, her words meant “not tonight, but another time”, which is fine by me.
We chat for about an hour more and kiss a few times again. It’s now after 10pm on a Monday night. The fact that she hasn’t made an excuse to leave immediately after my proposition I take as a positive sign. We agree that it’s getting late and decide to call it a night. I escort her to a nearby bus stop and wait with her until her bus arrives. We constantly engage in polite, mindless small-talk. I really can’t tell what she’s thinking and feeling.
As her bus approaches, she turns to me and presents her face, obviously wanting a goodnight kiss. It might also be a goodbye kiss. In a Clarke Gable moment from Gone With The Wind, I stoop down and kiss her the softest, gentlest kiss that I have learned to give from all the other dates I’ve been practising on. I let this one linger until she starts using her tongue. I let her play until I decide the moment is right to pull away, leaving her gasping for more.
Delicate Flower has a stunned look on her face and we don’t say another word as she boards her bus. She gives me a meaningless look from her seat as I give her a smile and a brief wave. The bus pulls off.
I don’t expect to ever see her again.
Just propositioning a woman on the day I meet her is a massive step outside of my comfort zone. The fortress that was my morals is crumbling down around me, brick by mossy brick…and it doesn’t feel so bad.
LESSON LEARNED: If a woman is the first to make a sexual remark, it means she is interested in sex with me.
John Mellencamp – Crumblin’ Down