I didn't hear anything from him the next day, but the day after I get a little email note saying that he had a lot of fun, and would like to meet again. The same time, next week. I'm trying to be normal, verging on distant, so he doesn't think I'm too keen. Actually what I mean is so he doesn't actually figure out how keen I really am. Keep it together woman!
I'm also totally fucking skint, and am supposed to head up to London the following week anyway. Save costs, be uber cool - let's not meet again for another two weeks. He seems genuinely disappointed! I don't know why I still find this so surprising.
So we text a few times over the next two weeks, until the day of the meet, where we decide what to do in the evening. A pub in Sarf Lahndahn was the decision. I was excited, he didn't seem to be so much. I got there about half an hour early, and he was suddenly fifteen minutes late. I was pleased to be early because it meant I had time to prepare to not be a weirdo, and get some breath mints and some cash. Nothing like being prepared for every possible eventuality to calm the nerves.
I went to a decidedly trendy bar around the corner from the agreed meeting place, and had myself a little gin and tonic, and sat there contemplating life whilst I waited. I think this was an infinitely wonderful idea, and I will try and replicate on every date where I may be a bit doolally from now on. Calm down. Smile at the bartenders. Listen to other people speaking normally. Breathe.
He turned up, we embraced. We walked to the pub. He gave me his arm to lean on and got to a lovely little place with high ceiling and a great warm atmosphere. We got a table in the corner, nice and private.
The boy barely got a word in before I pounced and thrust my lips onto his delicious, slightly beardy face. That's a tiny bit of an exaggeration, we did talk a lot beforehand. He touched my arm. We ate food, he sweetly spilled drinks all over himself. I got the impression he was a bit nervous, and then after fucking up once, he just got a bit goofy and kept doing silly things. It was so sweet. We kissed a little more, ate our delicious food, and talked. Talked talked talked. I talked about my parents, my sister, my liberal upbringing. I told him about the love affair I had with my best friend at 16, and how foolish I'd felt about it, and for how long I'd pretended it didn't happen.
He told me how he loved his lady E. It was lovely to hear. He told me about his slightly difficult relationship with his mother, and how he wasn't sure he wanted her at his wedding. He told me how he wanted to take me home and make out, but he didn't want E to feel she wasn't welcome. He said they'd spoken about it during the week, and whilst E is intellectually ok with it, she wasn't too keen on the idea of coming home to see me on my knees with R's cock in my mouth. Fair play. They didn't make a decision though, R said, because they wanted to ask me what I wanted. How fucking cool is that? Someone who actually gave a shit about my feelings! I'm a bit hooked. I haven't met E yet, although I think I would like her. But I also really like R, and I want enough time to get to know him independently first, before jumping into bed with the pair of them.
Then we headed over to another pub. Got a little cuddly in a darkened corner and chatted even more. His hand caressing up and down my thigh. The other hand reached up and touched my neck, the hair around my ears, so gently. It was so lovely that I had to pretend it wasn't happening, otherwise I would melt.
For a moment I was slightly overwhelmed and just had to bury my face in his chest. He put his arm around me, but I pulled back again before too long, for fear of weirding him out. I am so afraid of doing that - why? Can't let myself get too attached to this one, lessons must be learnt!
We finished our drinks, and decided to head out to some dark seedy corner and do terrible things to each other. More delicious kissing. More touching. I slowly undid his belt, slipped my hand in. He groaned. He fumbled for my skirt, drew it up and touched me. Went into my tights, under my knickers and slipped his finger inside me. God even thinking about it now is SO hot. Kissing him, wanting his tongue, and letting him know. I'd search his tongue out with my own, and it was heaven.
"I want you in my mouth", I whisper, and he nods. "Can I do it?" He nods again.
I get down on my knees in a dark alleyway in London and unveil his cock. It's impressive. Long and thick, tapering to a manageable size at the end. It feels so good in my mouth. He lightly grips my head and guides me back and forth, taking it as deep as I can go. I use my hand to pump him into me, alternating between softly and harder. He tastes great. He says "is it alright to come?" and I nod yes. I want him to come in my warm mouth. He groans a little, and so I keep going. He tells me he is about to come and he fills my mouth with salty come. It tastes amazing. I swallow, but keep him inside me. I lick the head once more and it is so good. I feel so rude, but it's hot.
He kisses me, not hesitating. He tells me I'm good at giving head. I tell him how nervous I get doing it. We kiss more. We chat a little more this time compared with last, we're relaxed and having fun.
He walks me back to the train.
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