After six weeks of emailing and texting, we were finally going to meet. To say I was nervous was an understatement. I kept fidgeting with my cocktail, flinching every time someone walked through the doors of my date’s favorite bar. I was here two hours early; I just couldn’t sit in my hotel room any longer.
I kept wondering if we’re going to like each other in person. We certainly had fallen in love with each other’s brains since finding one another online. She had grabbed my attention with a photograph of herself on a vintage motorcycle, and her profile was exquisitely written. It took only two emails before we were deep into conversation with each other. The attraction was clearly mutual.
Of course, we had stalked one another on social media. I had poured over her timeline and feeds. And she had supplemented my visual desire for her by sending me photographs that weren’t available for public consumption. Jesus! She was hot. And she knew it.
The clock behind the bar marched on relentlessly. I was on my second Emerald Weapon (Gin, St. Germain, Lime, Lemon, Lemongrass, Ginger, Mint.) when she walked through the door. Since there was only the bartender and me in the whole place, it was easy to figure out who I was.
She was perfectly framed by the doorway, backlit by the afternoon sun so that she had a sun-flare halo and appeared to be heavenly (although later, I would find out she was definitely not an angel). Wearing a short blue and white polka-dot dress, her hair done up in a 1950’s style, with red four-inch sling-back pumps. She was eye-level with me, matching my height of 6’ 1”, and when she walked ever so seductively towards me, with a brilliantly warm smile, there wasn’t much I could do but just kiss her.
And what a kiss it was! We didn’t come up for air for a good minute or so. I’m not sure what the bartender thought, nor did I care. It was by far the most perfect kiss of my life. And right there and then, I fell in love.
Her full red lips met mine with the same passionate curiosity. A hug or a handshake wasn’t the way we wanted to start things out. Already we had sexted a fair bit, both of us orgasming with just the written word and images of our respective lover in our brains. I think we had built up this moment so much in our unconscious there was nothing left to do but make-out.
When we finally separated, although we didn’t move very far away from each other, she said,
“Hi, I’m Elizabeth.”
Her voice was everything I expected it to be and more. Richly full of intelligence, with the smallest hint of intensely sexual roughness. That classic late-night radio disc jockey voice. Strangely erotic because of the lower-than-average tone and raspy as if she smoked twenty Marlboros a day.
And then there was her laugh. She would throw her head back and loudly laugh when I said something mildly funny. It wasn’t forced or contrived but completely authentic.
It will come as no surprise that we spent the next four hours talking non-stop, and then she came up to my hotel room. (I had booked a hotel in the same block as the bar—perhaps I unconsciously knew that we were going to connect.) There wasn’t an option for us; the date had started so physically that it certainly would end that way.
We stood in front of each other. There was a little apprehension for both of us. What if the sex was awful? But then again, the kissing was so on point, how could the sex be bad?
I pulled her dress over her head and kissed her long neck, down to her clavicle, and slowly down to her breasts. I could feel her relax with each tender kiss and edge back to the bed. Somehow we managed to get horizontal, and I proceeded to work down her torso until I reached her sex.
Rather than interrupt the flow of things and try to remove her underwear, which was surely going to get caught on her heels, I just pulled it to one side and started to lick her.
I have over the years spent a lot of time refining my cunnilingus technique. It’s often been said that I should write a book for men on how to do it. Or, more specifically, how to do it really well. But some things just can’t be taught, and it really comes down to be hyper-aware. Every pussy is different, and what works on some won’t work on others.
It was highly satisfying making her come. She lay there for a minute or two, motionless, with my head between her legs, resting my cheek on her thigh while I slowly stroked her labia post-orgasm.
“No one has ever gotten me off that quickly before,” she quietly said to the ceiling.
I smiled and stood up.
“Take off all your clothes,” she said.
I stripped, and my cock was more than a little stiff from hearing her come. I stood there, and she motioned for me to come to the edge of the bed.
Taking me in her mouth, she skillfully sucked me (perhaps I had met my equal in oral skills?), pushing myself deeper into her mouth. I had never had anyone take me entirely in their mouth before, and that last inch was utterly amazing. Watching that happen over and over again, I almost came.
While working her magic on me, I reached over and undid her bra and savored her beautiful breasts. I was so close to finishing, but we need to fuck now. I pulled her up, kissed her as passionately as our first kiss, and slipped my thumbs into the panties to pull them down.
Kicked them off, she stood before me, a picture of perfection in heels. I’ve always been drawn to tall women; I’m not sure why, and my immediate thought was to turn her around and fuck her standing up. But that would be for later. We needed to face each other for the first time.
I hate the term missionary because it makes it sound so obliquely religious and ever so dull. But there isn’t a better position to stare into your lover’s eyes. Because she was so tall, we could do that easily. Neither of us broke eye contact, which is quite rare. Being that open and vulnerable for the first time is unique, but everything about this date was different.
My cock fit inside her perfectly, and we found a natural cadence between us. First times don’t need to be good, but this one was. I would draw myself out and then plunge back inside her, feeling her pussy take me as completely as her mouth did earlier. The pace was frantic, and we fucked like that for a while. I could feel her legs pull me inside of her deeper and deeper, the slow rise of her orgasm radiating through her hands as she dug her fingernails into my back, willing me to fuck her with all my strength. I’m not sure I’ve fucked that hard before, wondering if our respective pubis bones would be badly bruised the next day. (Where did these thoughts come from right in the middle of love-making, I do not know.)
With the sound of her orgasming, I let myself go and flooded her with my come. I don’t think I could have climaxed any harder, and still hard inside of her, felt my cock pulse frantically every last drop out of my cock.
We made out for a while, slowly savoring each other’s kisses. Now that all that sexual tension was gone, we looked at each other with fresh eyes.
“Hi, I’m Elizabeth,” she smiled at me and quietly said.
“Pleased to meet you, Elizabeth. I’m Derek,” I replied.
And that would be the best (and last) first date of my life.