Chapter 3

So there I was, lying naked with my semi erect cock still inside a girl whom I had only just met on the bus. Not only that, but I had just had the best sexual experience of my life - in large part because I thought I had just given said girl the best sexual experience of her life. That was the thing with me: I got off on getting my partner off. I think it had something to do with the massive stroke to the ego that comes with validation of the fact that you are good at sex: perhaps the primary life endeavour - at least for most males around my age.

I had grappled with the fear and I had won: the outcome clearly a good one (perhaps worthy of understatement of the year award); but even if it hadn't been: what then? Seen from the point of view of post coital confidence, the other potential outcomes didn't seem so bad - even the most mighty crash and burn in full public view. But that was now - we'd see if I could hold on to any of that confidence in the morning.

Sally interrupted my reverie with a word tapping into the other great young male desire:

"Hungry?"

"Starving", I replied.

"Let's get take out", she suggested. "What d'you fancy?"

And so commenced the great debate of hungry souls across the British Isles: chinese, indian, pizza or kebab? The kebab is only ever really an option when the group is all blokes, plus very few kebab shops deliver. Scratch one option. Neither of us really fancied pizza. In the end we opted for chinese: there was a good take-away in our area that I'd tried but Sally hadn't. She had had the same flier through the door that had prompted me to try it. We used it to pore over the menu and make our selections.

As Sally dialled in our order I contemplated next steps. It was pretty evident by now that Sally really got off on being commanded, and on being called things that would normally be considered insults. Specifically naughty, sexual things. I presumed it would work best if she were commanded to do things she had fantasised about, but would never dare do on her own. On the other hand, I also presumed she had limits. I hoped so - I had limits. There was a good possibility my limits were more stringent than hers: I might not be able to bring myself to do things she would want done to her. I decided to leave the detail of that until later. For now it would suffice to have a safe word to serve as a marker that some area was off limits.

"Sally...", I intoned.

"Yes", she replied.

"I've kind of figured out that you like a bit of domination", I started.

"That obvious huh?" she said with a slightly embarrassed, worried look. "Is it too much? You're not gonna dump me are you?"

"Are you kidding?" I asked. "There is no way, after that", I waved my arm in the general direction of her bedroom, "that I am going to dump you." Inside, I was thinking that we hadn't really known each other for long enough to consider ourselves as 'going out', so 'dumping' was an interesting choice of words. It didn't seem like mentioning that line of thought was a very smart idea though.

"No", I continued. "It doesn't turn me off or anything, but it is a bit scary - to have that responsibility I mean. I have no clue what your boundaries are, and I don't want to cross them. I was thinking more that we ought to pick a safe word, for now. We'll worry about getting to know each other better later."

She seemed pleased at the last part. I guess she'd already decided that she wanted to get to know me better. At the back of my mind I couldn't help worrying that she might be a bunny boiler or something. The fear again, I suppose: just get on with it man!

"Anchovies", she said.

"What?" I'd lost my place while I thought.

"My safe word: anchovies", she replied.

So that was it then, we had a safe word. Now I could press ahead with a little plan that had been germinating at the back of my mind.

We waited for our food, idly chatting and gloriously naked back on her bed. Now that I wasn't quite so distracted I noticed evidence of her life as a budding artist: there were a few works adorning the walls, a small sculpture here and there on the free surfaces (one or two contributing to the clutter I had noted there), a small desk in the corner whose surface held layers of sketches (how on earth had I missed that?). Not all the work would be hers I guessed - too many different styles - but these were the items one collects when one enjoys art.

It, wasn't long before a loud 'bzzzzt!' permeated the flat: our take-away had arrived. Sally made to get her robe. I stopped her; my hand on hers as she reached out for it.

"No", I said. "Just the tie" - she was still wearing it like a leash.

Sally looked at me quizzically, not quite catching my drift. I think perhaps my interjection was a little unexpected.

"Pay the delivery man naked", I explained. "In fact, let him cop a feel as a tip", I said, upping the ante.

Sally's look changed to hesitation. She bit her lip as she thought about it for a moment. During that moment I was convinced she was going to anchovy out, but she set her jaw as she came to an internal decision and moved off of the bed toward the door - without her robe. I followed: I just had to see this.

Sally buzzed the door open and we waited for the delivery man to climb the stairs - she naked by the front door and I hanging back in one of the doorways to her hall, watching. She danced from foot to foot nervously as we waited, obviously contemplating the situation in which she would soon find herself. I was nervous too: I hoped she was finding it arousing rather than stressful, but I couldn't really tell from where I was standing. At the back of my mind I couldn't help worrying if the delivery man would turn out to be prudish and officially complain - then we'd be in the shit. I wondered if Sally was thinking the same thing.

At last we heard footsteps outside her door and then the ringing of the bell. Sally looked out through the little peephole set into her door, perhaps to get a preview of the man she would shortly allow to feel her up. She turned back to me, her face fearful, her body language suddenly shy as she started to creep away from the door.

"Shit! It's a woman", she whispered harshly as she virtually ran back round the corner. In her haste, she'd forgotten all about the word 'anchovies', but it was clear she wasn't going to go through with it now.

Oops. I hadn't thought of that.

"It's OK", I said "I'll get it".

I stepped forward, passing (and ogling) the naked Sally, to the door. After a brief pause to make sure Sally was out of sight I opened it to find that, yes - it was a delivery woman. A middle aged, friendly but otherwise run of the mill female resident of our fair city. I paid her, gave her a (non sexual) tip and took our food. Job done, though with perhaps some drama that our harbinger of sustenance would never know about.