The First Date

They warned me about him, obviously. "If he orders baked oysters, he's going to try to fuck you," I recall Atis saying, as I stare at the waiter bringing baked oysters to our table.

I asked Atis if she had gone out with Mathieu before. She said no, but she knew two other girls from the dorm who had, Alice and Gwinny. They both slept with him on the first date, Atis said, and never saw him again after that.

"If you're OK with just that one date, go ahead and fuck him. Otherwise, play hard to get," Atis advised.

I will have to ask for Atis' forgiveness if she finds out the truth.

I met Mathieu in Melbourne when I attended my friend Raymond's wedding. He's the best friend of Raymond's husband, Charlie, and stood as the best man. I checked into the hotel the day before the event and he was standing a few metres away, asking the middle-aged front desk clerk about a wedding. I guessed him to be French. His voice was deep and breathy.

The man winked at me when the clerk ignored his question and excused herself to get something.

It must have been because we were both holding the same wedding invitation that he slid closer until he was only half a foot away. The man smelled of lemongrass and patchouli, which I was able to identify because I spent the previous day choosing a perfume to give to Raymond.

"I hope you understand my accent," he whispered. "I am Mathieu." He held out his right hand. I looked up at him and noticed his tall, fit physique, messy, brown hair, and light brown eyes for the first time.

"Nice to meet you, Matthew," I said shaking his hand.

"No, Mathieu," he repeated, laughing. He withdrew his hand and showed me the wedding invitation with his name on the envelope.

"I'm going to pronounce it the same way anyway," I joked. "Nice to meet you, Mathieu. I'm—"

"Emilia Katherine Lin," he said, pointing to the envelope I was holding. "Ray's friend?"

"Yes, and it's Millie," I said.

The front desk clerk gave Mathieu his keycard. "You're in Room 1537, sir," the clerk said. "Do you need help with your bags?"

"No, merci," Mathieu replied, raising one backpack to show the lady. He turned to me. "I'll see you at dinner then?"

I nodded. I must have still been nodding as I stared at Mathieu's retreating figure, because the front desk clerk said, "He's certainly a charmer" as she handed me my keycard.

—

Room 1275 was a spacious room with a basic queen bed and a small table. I took off my jacket and bra and lay down on the bed. By that time, it was early evening and I had been travelling for 10 hours as my flight from Perth was delayed and I was too damn tired. I wanted to take a shower so I took my top off. I couldn't find where they kept the towels, though, and I was feeling too lazy to rummage through my suitcase.

I went back to bed and I must have fallen asleep. The loud knock startled me out of my reverie. "Millie!" It sounded like Mathieu. I dragged myself to the door and opened it.

"Raymond has been looking for..." His voice trailed off. He stood still, staring at me.

He was wearing a jacket and it took me two seconds to understand. "The dinner! Oh my God! I fell asleep! I completely forgot! What time is it?"

Mathieu walked inside the room and closed the door behind him.

"It's very late," he said, advancing towards me. "They have been waiting for you for hours. It's probably over now." I detected a tinge of amusement in his tone. "Do not worry about it," he said, reaching for my hand.

Before I could say anything, he cupped my face, gently pushed me towards the wall, and kissed me. I could still smell lemon and patchouli as his tongue played inside my mouth. My soft moans must have been encouraging Mathieu because I could feel his strong hand cupping my breast, his forefinger rubbing my already hard nipple. Why was it so easy for him to get to my breast? I thought as a tingle of pleasure passed through my body. It was then that I remembered that I had taken my top off before I fell asleep!

"Mathieu, wait," I tried to protest in between his kisses.

"I want you, Emilia Katherine," he said, his voice even deeper and breathier than I remembered from hours ago.

His head went down to my breasts to circle my nipple with his tongue and then, take it in his mouth. "Mathieu." My voice sounded pained as a shudder coursed through me.

"What are you doing to me, Millie?" Mathieu's voice sounded equally pained. I didn't know what to say. I was deciding, in between shudders of pleasure, if it was prudent to be a slut for once, and not worry about anything beyond what the night obviously entailed if I let go.

Mathieu went back up to kissing and nibbling my lips. "I wanted to do this since I saw you at the lobby tonight," he said. "Spend the night with me, Millie."

I was obviously kissing Mathieu back, even letting my tongue play with his, but I wasn't sure if I wanted this to go beyond making out. My mind had sprinted ahead of what was happening, though. As Mathieu and I kissed, what was going on in my head at that time would have shocked those who knew me. I was starting to get wet thinking of Mathieu's huge cock rubbing my pussy. At that time, all I wanted to do was grab him, free his cock from his pants, and open my legs for him.

I broke off the kiss, though. "Mathieu, wait. This isn't right."

I regretfully moved away from him and lumbered to the bed to reach for my jacket. I put it on slowly, my back towards him, wondering what I was going to say. The movie of my wet pussy feeling the length of his cock was still rolling on my mind that when I turned, my eyes unwittingly focused their attention to his bulging crotch, before I forced them upwards to his steady gaze.

He was casually leaning on the wall, his light brown eyes hardly blinking. I couldn't read his expression. Was he disappointed? Frustrated? Was a movie of his cock rubbing my naked pussy running in his head as well?

"I am so sorry, Millie," he said. "It was presumptuous of me. Please forgive me." He straightened his jacket and ran his fingers through his messy hair.

I shook my head, recognising and ignoring my own disappointment. "It wasn't your fault."

—

I was supposed to spend a week in Melbourne but Peter, my boss, rang while I was at the wedding reception to beg me to come back at once to Perth. His wife had gone into premature labour. He had to drive to Busselton where his family lived, which was three hours away from Perth, and there were matters to arrange with suppliers for a project.

Peter was lucky that my sexual frustration and private embarrassment from the night before were all-consuming that I said yes before he was done pleading with me. He arranged for my flight back. I offered a hurried best wishes, goodbye, and apology to the newlyweds, and six hours later, I was rolling my luggage through my front door.

TO BE CONTINUED