Speed Date

It's loud in this room, which makes sense, because there are a lot of people here. It smells like beer and cologne and hair products and perfume.

The tables in the taproom are small and the music is just loud enough to let us talk without having to shout. I am number 8.

The bell rings and a tall man with dark hair and glasses sits in front of me. We exchange our names and a couple of details about ourselves. It's a tricky balance between saying enough about yourself to seem interesting, and not saying too much in case you never meet the person again. Or he turns out to be weird, intrusive, tries to find you after this night even if you don't match with him, etc. You know. Men. Maybe women do it too, but they aren't my target market.

This guy seems okay, but we aren't really finding much to say to each other. I can see you out of the corner of my eye. You keep glancing my way and it's throwing me off my chat game, to be honest. I can be charming as hell when I want to be, and can keep the conversation going easily when I'm on. But I'm distracted by you. You're wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans, and there's an ease about you. Our eyes meet briefly and hold for a minute. A fluttery feeling begins in my chest.

The bell rings and it's time for tall-dark-and-glasses to move to the next table. The blonde at that table is excited to greet him and they begin talking easily.

I turn my attention to the man who sits in front of me now. I can sense that you're closer but I'm working hard not to look at you, to listen to the man in front of me and look at him while he's talking.

"What beer are you drinking?" he asks, and I have to look at the chalkboard menu to recall the name. It's some kind of rice beer, chosen because I asked the bartender for the one that's closest to a lager. When he finished judging me, he poured me a pint of this.

"Do you like it?" the man in front of me asks. I've already forgotten his name so I have to glance at his tag for his number.

"It's okay," I say, and take a sip.

"I'm drinking the IPA. It's got an IBU of 60 and it's amazing," he says, and that sentence tells me both a lot about him, and nothing at all.

He goes on to tell me about his favourite breweries in the area, the kinds of beer they brew and which ones he has tried. I try to listen to him, but the problem is that I can hear your voice above the din. It's deep and a little gravelly and it tickles my ear in a way that I can feel low in my belly. I shift in my chair.

I tune back into number 15 in front of me.

"And I have found that, if you get the right type of hops..."

"One minute left!" the organizer calls out. Number 15 looks startled.

"Boy, that time went quickly," he says and before I can stop myself, I reply.

"And shockingly, you still know nothing about me."

Number 15 looks a bit taken aback. He takes a long drink of his beer and looks at the table.

I haven't meant to be rude, but there it is. He did not ask me a single question. I wish this last minute would be over and the bell would ring so he could get up and ask the blonde about her beer preferences.

He musters a smile and picks up his pencil and match sheet, readying himself to move on. I smile back and tell him I've enjoyed learning about breweries in the area and that I hope he has a good time at this event. I try to sound sincere about it. He's probably nervous, and I get that. It's not his fault I don't care about beer. Then, mercifully, the bell rings.

You sit in front of me.

"Hi," you say, and smile. You've got a bit of grey in your beard and your front teeth overlap slightly, and it's hard to look away from your mouth.

"Hi," I say. I smile back, and then notice your eyes.

They are a shade of brown with a little bit of green near the pupil. You have beautiful long eyelashes. And you're looking only at me.

Neither of us say anything else for a minute, and then you smile again. You tell me your name. I tell you mine. We smile.

I reach for my pencil and brush your hand as it rests on the table. It's not electricity that travels through me so much as a wave of heat. I feel it in my chest and neck and my cheeks.

"One minute!" the organizer calls.

"Should we...talk?" I ask. You shake your head.

"There will be time for talking," you say, and touch my hand, brushing my fingers with a long stroke of your fingertips. I almost swoon. This 5 minutes has made this entire night worth it: worth the price of the ticket, and the careful attention to makeup, the thought that went into my outfit, the nerves I had to settle before walking in, the dread that this would be like every other time.

The bell rings and you get up and move to the blonde on my left. You immediately begin to chat with her, laughing and smiling, and I wonder if I've just blacked out for a minute and imagined the energy between us.

The man who sits in front of me is shorter and balding and seems perfectly nice. He's friendly and actually pretty funny. I have a tough time paying attention to him, however, because I am still very aware of you.

The blonde is loving whatever you're saying to her. She is laughing and tossing her hair and already writing your number down on her match sheet.

I tune back in to the guy in front of me. I look at his name tag - 18 - and realize I've lost track of what he's talking about, so I laugh when he laughs. He's chatted at me past the 1 minute call, and I just need to hang on until this 5 minute date is over.

The bell rings, and the organizer announces a 15 minute break. She suggests we talk to anyone we find interesting, grab another beer, or just take some quiet time to fill out our match sheets. All around me, people quietly pick up their pencils to make notes, avoiding eye contact with anyone around them. I see you looking down at your match sheet. I head for the bathroom.

There are 3 small bathrooms in the back, made of particle board and hastily painted black, and I close myself into the one nearest the gleaming silver vats of beer. I look at myself in the mirror. I look good, I think. I rub some colour into my cheeks and take a breath. I have about 5 more mini-dates and then I can go home.

There's a soft knock at the door.

"Just a minute," I call out. There is another knock, even softer this time.

I open the door and you're standing there. You take a step forward and lean against the door frame. I smile; you step into the room and close the door behind you.

"Hi," I say.

"Can I kiss you?" you say. I nod, and we fall on each other like lovers who have been separated by war. Your mouth tastes slightly bitter, like beer, and is at once soft and insistent. Your tongue touches mine. Your hands find their way over my ass and under my top. The path they take over my bare skin is seared by the heat of whatever is happening between us now.

We break apart, breathless, and each a little surprised by our urgency. You run your hand through your curly brown hair, watching me, considering.

"Take off your pants," you say, and double check that you locked the door. I slide my pants down over my hips, unsure of what to do with my underwear.

"Take those off too," you say, and lick your lips.

Jesus. My body is electric.

You put your hands on my waist and lift me onto the sink.

"Lean back," you tell me, and I lean against the mirror and brace myself.

You kneel down and gently spread my legs. You lean forward and kiss my thighs - first the left, then the right - looking up at me. I bite my bottom lip and try not to squirm. This porcelain sink is cold and uncomfortable, but it does not matter. I am wet and so fucking turned on that it's all I can do not to grab your head and push it into my pussy.

Those brown eyes still locked on mine, you open your mouth and touch the tip of your tongue to my pussy lips, pushing just enough to spread them apart.

I hear a toilet flush from one of the other bathrooms, and let out a shuddering breath. I want you to consume me, your whole mouth to cover my pussy. It's hard to keep my hips still while you taste me. You reach up and take hold of my thighs to keep me where I am.

You sit back a little on your heels and smile at me. I don't know if you're checking whether this is okay, or teasing me, but I can't help myself.

"Please," I whisper.

You bring your mouth back to me and take a long, slow lick of my slit, ending at my swollen clit, and you close your lips over it and suck.

I moan, and feel the vibrations of your low laugh, your mouth still on me. You lick and lick, slowly increasing the speed, and that familiar pressure starts in my belly, that warmth, that slow tightening inside me that promises to feel so good. Your hands grip my thighs and I start to move against your mouth, lifting off the sink edge and pressing myself into you. I take a hand off the side of the sink and grab hold of your hair. The sounds of the people, the music, the brewery around us have disappeared. All there is for me now is your mouth.

You flatten your tongue and cover my soft flesh now, licking in a steady rhythm, and you take a hand off my hip to put two fingers inside me. You press up against my g-spot and move your fingers, and I feel the telltale pulse begin that means I'm going to come. And soon.

I put my head back and hear it clang against the mirror, hear my own panting and whimpers and feel my body straining towards release. It's so close now.

You break away for a moment, keep moving your fingers inside me, and look up at me calmly.

"Come for me, baby," you say, voice low and husky. Oh, fuck.

Your lips cover my clit again and you suck it, moaning yourself now, and my pussy clenches around your fingers and my legs shake and I cry out. I don't care if anyone hears me. It feels like a tide has pulled me under into pleasure, and my body and mind are being thrown around in the surf.

Finally, I feel the orgasm let go of me and open my eyes. I'm breathing hard, mouth open, body still shaking a little. Your face is wet. I reach for some paper towel next to me and wipe you with it.

"What just happened?" I say.

You laugh, taking the paper towel from me and cleaning your beard and hand.

"I don't know," you say. You toss the paper towel in the wastebasket and stand up. The outline of your hard cock is visible in your jeans.

I find my underwear and pull them on. You hand me my pants. You're standing in front of me, grinning, and your hair is standing up in the back where I was gripping your head. You're so cute. I reach up and smooth your hair down.

You put your hands on my waist and turn me towards the mirror, and I can't help but laugh at the sight. I look exactly like someone who just got eaten out in the bathroom of a brewery: messy and flustered. You lean over and give me a kiss on the cheek, watching me in the mirror, hands still on my waist.

"Let's get out of here," you say.

We clean up and go back into the front room to find that the speed dating event has just started again. A few heads turn our direction as we make our way between the tables. I spot the blonde frowning at us. The organizer looks over.

"Do you need to find your dates?" she asks.

You look at me and then shake your head, no. I shake my head too. Then you take my hand and lead me out of the glass doors into the warm rays of the setting sun, into whatever happens next.