Content advisory: This story contains some fairly mild BDSM themes, and consensual MF sex.
His eyes scanned the crowd in Grand Central, but he could hardly focus. Uncertainty furrowed his brow. The masses of people went by in a blur, for endless minutes as he searched for the object of his desire. Finally, at long last, their eyes met and they stood still, taking each other in. It was a shock, seeing for the first time a face so familiar from photographs, but at once rendered new and strange in the flesh. Her bright, green eyes were constant, reassuring, real.
Recovering his composure, he lifted his small bag, and strode quickly across the floor, a smile brightening his face. He extended his right arm, and she slipped her slender left through it. Her face upturned, she waited for him to speak. "I think I'd like a shower," he said. And off they went, to catch the train to Brooklyn.
They did not sit together; she faced the opposite wall on a bench near the door, and he sat in the first perpendicular seat, studying her profile. In the artificial light of the subway, her reddish blond hair had a dirty look as it fell limply past her shoulders. She had dressed in a very low-cut, lacy top, that revealed her shoulders and the curve of her ample chest. He watched her breasts rise and fall with her breath, which was slightly faster than one might expect. Her hands, nails kept short and painted a girlish purple, clutched a medium-size black handbag in her lap. Her tight, skinny jeans revealed her round, slightly plump ass, her long, slender legs, and her up-to-date fashion sense. She turned her head towards him and turned up the corners of her broad mouth. Her lips were full and her normally pale face slightly flushed.
After some time, and a change of trains, they exited the subway and walked together a few blocks to the house in which she occupied the third floor. She unlocked the door and climbed the stairs ahead of him. Her keys opened another lock, and they were home.
He took the small, one-room apartment in with a glance, and then took a few long strides to the functional center of the room, where a futon and a worn but comfortable old chair flanked a makeshift coffee table. He set his bag on the table, and stretched his arms above his head. She moved to sit on the far end of the futon, daintily, not leaning back, but sitting up with a straight back, her legs uncrossed but together, and her hands folded on her knees. She turned her head up and watched as he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head. He kicked off his shoes, and undid the button on his jeans. Soon he stood naked and let her take in his tall, slender body, his chest covered in thick, dark hair, his fit-but-not-too-muscular frame. His cock was quickly growing erect. Her eyes went to it for a moment, and he smiled and lead her gaze back to it with his own. It was not exceptionally long, though not short, but it was quite thick when fully erect--as big around as his wrist, as he had previously informed her. As it reached it's fullest growth, heavily pointing straight at her, he asked, "Do you have a robe and towel I could use?"
She stood and walked to a closet, out of which she produced both items, clean, white, and fluffy. She walked around behind him and held out the robe, which he slipped on, then handed him the folded towel and returned to the same seated position on the futon. He entered the small bathroom and shut the door. The sound of falling water filled the apartment.
