She took another look in the rearview mirror and freshened her lipstick. She wanted to look nice for this first meeting. The headlights from passing cars shone just enough for a quick glimpse of herself. She decided she looked presentable. She wore a causal, summer dress. Her friends teased her that she dressed too conservatively, but she felt comfortable and a little sexy. She had discovered through this online relationship that she had a very passionate nature. He had the chance to discover her passion as well, so looking conservative was sort of a tease, hiding her sensuality that lie just beneath the surface.
He had picked the place to meet. She liked it immediately when she arrived. It wasn't too crowded, and the people there seemed to be having a good time. Sounds of laughter and glasses clinking came from the bar area. The lighting was soft and a little hazy. The atmosphere was friendly. It felt nice and cozy.
She stepped in further, scanning the booths, looking for him. When she didn't see him immediately, she fought a small jab of nerves that he might not show up. She turned to look at the bar stools, searching every face. A presence slipped up behind her. She caught the scent of fresh, clean skin with a hint of polo cologne. She knew it was him. She smiled and turned as he whispered,
"Are you looking for Yogi?"
"Are you looking for Boo Boo?"
They both quietly laughed at the pet names they had adopted for one another. They hesitated a moment, fitting the person with the personality they had shared so much with online. He led her to the table where he had been waiting. She was pleased he held her chair - she liked being treated like a lady. He commented that she was fifteen minutes late, and he was wondering if she had stood him up. She didn't hear all of his words. She was too busy looking at his eyes and remembering all the fantasizing they had shared over the months. She was daydreaming about the hot tub story when she suddenly realized he had asked her what she would like to drink. She did a quick check and said anything on tap was fine.
He was wearing a green golf shirt and jeans, casual and sexy. She wondered if these were the jeans she had made "tight" during some of their discussions. He stopped talking and was just looking at her. His silent stare made her anxious. He reminded her she had a habit of biting her bottom lip when she was nervous. He made a joke that she was already flirting. She blushed. She hadn't meant to, not yet, anyway.
He was so easy to talk to and great company. They talked about sports, argued what team was better, laughed about children's antics, and how nice a place the restaurant was. They even commiserated over all the changes they were going through. The conversation flowed easily. They laughed together as old friends. He touched her hand a few times as he talked. It was exhilarating, but she pretended not to notice. She was reluctant to let him know the effect he had on her.
She excused herself to the ladies room to freshen up after the long drive, and when she returned, a small band was playing. He said he had heard them before and they were pretty good. She listened and agreed. They cranked out familiar tunes, a great mix of old and new. The kinds that make you remember when and have you wanting to sing along.
Couples flocked to the dance floor. It was small and filling up quickly. They watched for a while, giggling at a guy dancing the Funky Chicken. Another guy had a bad toupee and was wearing Saturday Night Fever pants. They reminded each other they had similar outfits in the back of their closets. The band played a mellower tune, and he asked her to dance. She was a little hesitant but gladly accepted. She was enjoying his company so much.
He held her tentatively, wrapping one arm around her and holding her hand with the other. They shyly smiled when they touched. His hand on her back pulled her a little closer. She was glad her feet just took over, matching his steps without thought. Before the song ended, she was pressed against him. She loved the smell at his neck and the movement of his body. Steady heat was building between them. The music ended. They returned to their table and ordered fresh drinks.
They talked quietly. There were sexual innuendos and flirty glances and the mood changed from casual to sensual. She was definitely attracted to him.
The band played another slow song and they got up to dance. This time he pulled her close from the start, and she fell into his embrace. They danced and the sexual tension increased. She leaned back to look in his eyes, and they kissed softly, as if rehearsed. Their lips were damp and they skimmed smoothly together. The connection ended, but they held their faces close together, breathing against one another.
The song stopped and they pulled apart, a bit embarrassed. They returned to their seats, holding hands. He moved his chair closer to hers and sat, just quietly looking. She leaned over and stole a kiss. Her tongue darted out, briefly touching his lips. She pulled back, not wanting to embarrass him in a public place. She shivered thinking about the possibilities of the evening.
The band broke into a smaller group, just piano and guitar players. They played soft jazz. It was quiet and airy and it made her a little dizzy. She doodled on a cocktail napkin. For some reason, she always doodled paisleys, she never knew why. She glanced up at his hazel eyes then wrote, "I want to feel your mustache on my neck". She turned the napkin toward him. He blushed as he read it. She was afraid she'd said too much, until he grabbed the pen and began writing. He turned the napkin to her. She read, " I want to bite that bottom lip of yours". Her belly fluttered and she grinned. Writing notes on cocktail napkins could be fun.
Two guys came up to the table. They were friends of his. He introduced her and she shook their hands. He invited them to sit. It was clear they had been drinking awhile, but she enjoyed the stories the three of them shared. His friends tried to embarrass him with bawdy drinking tales. He just laughed. She could see him relax. Seeing this side of him made him seem a little more real.
She wrote on the note and slipped it under his hand as he was talking. It read, "Can I lick and bite your neck, right now?" He didn't miss a beat as he glanced down at the note and continued to talk. But he did smile, and it was enough for her to know he was enjoying the game.
His hand touched her thigh under the table. The warmth of it penetrated the thin, cotton material covering her leg. He squeezed the muscle and then left his hand there. She tried to remain calm, even though it drove her wild. He was teasing her and she liked it.
He slid the napkin to her as he joked with his friends. She was sure they noticed, but that made it more exciting. The note read, "If you bite that lip again, I'm going to move my hand up your leg." She hiccoughed and felt the blush rise up her neck. His lips broke into an evil grin, and she smiled, then bit her lip. His eyes twinkled as his fingers crawled up her thigh.
She squirmed in her chair and shifted toward the table, thinking his hand would stop, but he kept inching higher. Slowly, he worked his way up her leg, teasing her. She put her hand on top of his. He squeezed her thigh. She pulled his fingers back playfully. He laughed just a little too hard at his friend's joke. She knew he was proud of himself for getting to her.
He let go of her thigh and turned his hand over, palm up, to hold hers. He had thick, strong hands; she wondered how they would feel on her breasts. Her nipples itched just thinking of it. She scratched her nails up and down each of his fingers and across his palm. He squeezed her hand tightly and pulled it over to rest on his crotch. She was shocked at his boldness with his friends close by. He pressed his hand on top of hers, pushing it down against his bulge. She relaxed her hand, letting him be the guide. His eyes grew dark as his penis lurched beneath their fingers.
His friends stood to leave, and he pulled his hand away to shake their hands, but he didn't get up. She giggled and kept her hand where it was.
Both of his hands rested on the table. He pretended not to know she was still touching him. She applied a little pressure and moved her hand up and down. She rubbed the rough jean material and teased along the zipper with her nails. He couldn't ignore it anymore. His hips pushed up against her palm. He reached under the table for her hand again. He pressed it against him once more, and gently raised her hand up to his mouth. He kissed the back of her hand with warm, soft lips and rubbed his mustache along the knuckles, then returned their hands to the table.
The world may see how their eyes turned dreamily to each other, but only they new the secret cause under the table. She couldn't be eye to eye like this for very long. He might see too much, and she needed to stay in control. Luckily, the rest of the band was returning, so she looked to the stage.
He slipped another note under her glass. It read, "I need to hold you against me." She rubbed her forehead, and unknowingly, played with a curl that had escaped. He read the edginess in her gesture. It pleased him.
.... There is more of this story ...