This is a follow up to the story Managing Expectations, written posted earlier by Gurgi. I am the woman in the story - and this is my side of the fantasy. In two weeks' time we will meet after months of teasing, texting, sharing photos and fantasies. These two stories was a game we played imagining our first meeting.
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Standing in that hallway, drenched with water dripping onto the floor beneath us, I suddenly feel exposed. Far more nervous than I expected. This is what I've been waiting months for. You are here in front of me, finally, but I'm a soaked mess. I wanted to be so much more for you. I avert my eyes. I feel goosebumps come on, and I know they aren't only from the rain. They are from this moment, the expectation, the nerves, the excitement. A perfect storm of jitters.
I remember the words you've sent me from across the ocean... The phone calls and chats, the pictures and confessions we've shared. But now, standing outside the door to the apartment rental, I'm anxious for our first kiss. I want to feel your lips on mine. Your hands exploring my body, curves and lines you've only seen in pictures and on chat screens up until now. I've played with myself and come thinking of you, whispering your name countless times. I've drifted to sleep at night imagining your arms around me.
It had all felt so real, until your very real self stood there in front of me. Now that all seemed like a child's game. A tease even. Television highlight reels and magazine clippings. My yearning to feel your body against mine, to feel your breath on my skin as it quickens, to feel you inside of me, it grows stronger as you fumble with the keys.
I look down, not wanting you to see my desires. Not yet. What if you've changed your mind?
I'd made such plans in my head, while months went by and my expectations grew. I knew what outfit I'd wear, exactly how my makeup would look, the way my hair would set. I had practiced all I'd say, all I'd do. I'd be the ultimate—the very best of me for you.
When you told me you were coming to New York, my heart raced. I knew your schedule would be demanding and I might not even get to see you. Oh how devastating that would have been! To be so close, and to not get even a glimpse of you. So I tried to not get my hopes up. I made no plans.
I was in the middle of three things when I received your text. Laundry, writing a piece on women in technology, and fiddling with a new programming language. Butterflies hit my stomach flying at lightspeed. My mind raced. I closed my laptop, tossed my training books to the side, and decided the laundry could sort itself. A phone call or two made, and the arrangements for the kids were set. I was free to meet you. As I showered, my brain went from imagining what it would be like to see you, what our time would entail, and how I was going to make it to the train on time.
I put together an outfit I thought you'd like. I'd always imagined I'd have so much longer to choose the perfect pieces for you. The one I'd thought of weeks earlier was suddenly nowhere to be found. I took a breath, it was all going to be okay. After pulling up my skirt, careful to obey and leave all my panties at home, I glimpsed at my phone. I wasn't going to have time for much more primping. I quickly pulled my hair up, choosing the ribbon I'd picked out earlier that week. It had been sitting on my night table. Thinking of whipping the ribbon off my hair and covering your eyes in one smooth step, feeling tingles as I fantasized further on my turn as the dominant one.
I quickly smoothed some foundation on my face, a quick passover of champagne-colored eye shadow, a sweep of mascara and lipgloss, and I was running down the stairs. I was sure I was not going to make the train.
Cursing every car in front of me on the highway, taking inventory of what I'd packed. Lube. Tape. A paint stirrer. My toys. Deodorant. Shirt. I was certain I forgot at least one thing. I wasn't sure of your schedule, or what you wanted. I didn't want to assume, so I chose my largest purse instead of my weekender bag.
I pulled into the parking lot, hearing the train in the distant. I scurried to pay for the parking and purchase my ticket. As I pulled my receipt out of the machine, the train pulled into the station. I cannot believe I made the train. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead, I took out a tissue to wipe them. I took a deep breath. I had to remind myself to relax. I wish I'd brought my water bottle. My bottle pulsed. As stressed as I felt at the moment, I was surprisingly aroused as well.
There was no going back now. I was actually going to meet up with you. Though I knew nothing of what was to come after that moment. I knew what I'd hoped and what I'd fantasized about. But I also knew not to expect anything. We'd had a number of discussions on the challenges of fantasy meeting reality.
I listened to music that reminded me of you and played games on my phone on the train ride. I worked to control my breathing. I had to stay calm. I saw myself meeting you, walking up to you, wrapping my arms around you and kissing you. That seemed the thing to do. I was going to play it cool.
At least I thought so, until there I was, walking across Battery Park, scanning the crowd for you. As I walked, I was certain I somehow would not recognize you. Or you wouldn't be there. And then suddenly, I spotted you. I immediately felt a tingling between my legs. The closer I got, my brain went numb. That romantic kiss in the middle of the park suddenly seemed inappropriate. I decided a hug was best, and it seemed you came to the same conclusion.
I could feel the electricity the moment my body touched yours. I wondered if you felt it too. My nipples hardened the moment our bodies pressed together. I had to focus, rid my mind of the flashes of you that now consumed me. I was glad when you suggested some food. We fell into conversation immediately. My nerves calmed.
Perusing the bookstore, wandering around, I was curious if you were aware that my senses were in overload. In my head, I saw you pushing me up against the bookshelf, kissing me deeply, then lowering to your knees. Me, holding onto the shelf as I came. I'd shake my head and get back to picking up the random book and then again getting lost in a dirty thought. I wondered if you noticed my goosebumps. Feeling you close to me, it was almost too much. All at once, it felt so natural to reach out and touch you, kiss you, put my arm around you and yet it also seemed unacceptable, crossing a boundary I hadn't yet received permission to cross.
At MoMA, I was in a flurry of emotions. The thrill off this rendezvous, the pull of my heart that always comes with books and art, my passions flowing, and the joy of good company. When your hand reached for mine, a bolt of electricity surged through my entire body. Holding your hand, I kept wanting to pull you in closer. Aware we were in public, and my nerves still getting the best of me at times, I kept my desires to myself. I wanted to whisper naughty things into your ear as we stood and looked at a Picasso, to run my hand along your back in front of the massive Pollock, and to kiss your cheek in front of Starry Night.
I wondered as we strolled along, how wise it was for me not to wear panties. Feeling wetness along my thighs, relieved at least my skirt was black. I wondered if you knew all this. If you were torturing me with this extended date. That thought in turn only causing the throbbing between my legs to deepen.
I tried to be interested in the Macbooks and iPhones at the Apple store. But all I could think of was us leaving and my hope that our next destination would be your place. I wanted privacy, to get permission to do these things I'd spent all day yearning for. All at once, the crowds felt suffocating. I searched your face for a sign. If only reading your face was as easy as reading the dirty texts you'd been sending me for months. I didn't want to assume. We'd always said, "no expectations."
The park felt more intimate, and I was glad when we escaped into the quiet of greenery. I felt more daring. Eye contact. Crooked smiles. Flirting. My touches, until this time seeming accidental, casual. Now, with purpose. Each time I connected with you, the surge inside my would get stronger. Just as I was feeling fiery enough to make a real move, the sky opened up and rain tore down on us.
I giggled. What else could I do? And of course! Of course I was wearing an nearly see-through blouse without the help of rain. I always have a sweater on me. Not today. Not an umbrella, nothing. The laughing over this ridiculous situation eased so much of my concern and nerves from earlier.
The rain, its wetness covering me, only further fueled my want. Then I heard the words I'd longed for. Your invite to head to the apartment led to more butterflies. More wetness, and not just from the rain.
Sheltered from the storm, and just in time before the rumble of thunder could be heard outside the apartment, we stood there. Exhale, again. I fiddled with my hair in the mirror, sighing over the best laid plans.
You startle me as you order, "Strip!"
So this is it. This is what I've been waiting for. I'm delighted. And scared. This is real. I pull off my wet shirt and bra as I hear the water running from the bathroom. A bath? How perfect, I think. Unsure, but curious, I enter the bathroom. I catch a glimpse, and realize you have undressed. I peel off my soaking skirt, my eyes wandering up your legs as I do.
Mmm. Your cock. I've seen it time and again in photos, I can summon it in my mind. I lick my lips, instinctively. I want to touch and caress and lick your cock. I want to know it as well in its physical form as I've come to know it virtually. I consider getting on my knees to serve you. Just as I work up the nerve, you order me into the bath.
