It was one of those visual images that had stuck with me for twenty years: flying across Lake Michigan at night, window seat, watching the thin line of lights on the western horizon slowly unfold, brighten and expand. Chicago: a giant wheel of lights, moving and stationary, radiating from the hub; defined and edged by the inky black void of the lake.
So it was with great excitement that I looked out the window again last night, the sky a bit hazier than my memory, but the lights that I remembered from several decades ago were again looming in the distance. As the jet pulled over the shoreline and began its descent into O'Hare, I looked out at the massive pancake of a city, pulsing with light, throbbing with life, and thought about how you were down there somewhere, among the millions, waiting for my arrival. How these random human connections are made will always remain somewhat of a mystery to me.
The next 18 hours would fly by: long taxi ride to the hotel downtown, good night's sleep, and meetings the next day. I went through the paces, but the thought of our impending date was never far from my thoughts. I had looked at my watch far too many times during the day, hoping I wasn't conveying a sense of impatience to my clients. But the truth was, I was jumping out my skin with the anticipation of meeting you in person.
Our e-mails, instant messaging sessions and phone calls had escalated in temperature over the past few weeks, culminating in an IM session several nights ago that had left us both breathless and unable to type. You had pussy juice dripping off your fingers onto the keyboard; I had been careful not to spray cum all over mine. But as exciting and hot as our cyber and phone conversations had been, they paled in comparison to the potential heat awaiting us both this evening.
It had all started innocently enough. You had e-mailed me about an online erotic story I'd written – telling me how you loved the way I wrote about sucking nipples. Well, it's hard to ignore or not respond to an e-mail like that. One e-mail had led to another, the sexual innuendoes and tension slowly building, to a point that we ended up on an instant messaging site and cyber-fucked one another's brains out. It had been very intense.
You had some experience in this mode of sexual expression; I had none. But I caught on quickly and we had some mind-blowing sessions. I was in awe of your sexual energy and your ability to express yourself in terms both sensual and downright dirty. We pushed one another's limits and had begun to build a relationship that seemed to transcend the electronic connection of the internet.
We had moved onto phone sex and that had opened up a whole new world to me. You, again, had some experience in this area and I was a neophyte, but a willing student. Our phone sessions had become so intense that we both had a hard time breathing. I had never imagined that sex, without actually touching or entering someone, could be so intense or so pleasurable.
As our sessions had intensified and our interest in one another grew, an actual face to face meeting suddenly seemed quite logical. We had bandied about the idea, but were afraid that the reality might not meet our lofty expectations or that we might not feel the same physical attraction in the flesh that we felt online. But something told us both that this was the logical thing to do and we had embraced this meeting and anticipated its impending arrival.
And that evening is now here and my pulse is racing. We had spoken on the phone briefly last night and I had sensed the nervousness in your voice, perhaps amplified by the hesitation in my own. I patter about the hotel room after showering, getting dressed, neatening up the hotel room with the thought that you will be here before the evening is over. I can't believe I'm so nervous. But I take a deep breath and remind myself that over the months we have shared our deepest desires and there is little we haven't written or spoken about.
Still, there is the tension of finally presenting our physical selves to one another, devoid of the distance and anonymity that cyberspace allows. Tonight we will come face to face, and while we've shared photos, had endless phone conversations and written volumes, the senses of sight, smell and touch have been mute. Tonight we will finally look into one another's eyes and touch one another's skin, and the thought is both daunting and intoxicating.
I look at my watch for the hundredth time today and realize, finally, it's time to go. I throw on my sport coat, look around the room one final time, check for my wallet and head out the door, a lump in my throat. It seems like a long ride down from the 28th floor, but the doors soon part and I head across the lobby to the bar. It seems like a good idea to meet in the hotel's bar and then have dinner in the restaurant as well. I'm a few minutes early, but I like the idea of staking out a couple of seats at the bar and getting the lay of the land. I find two bar stools at the end of the long curved wooden bar, order myself a Grey Goose gimlet on the rocks and fortify myself with a sip. I survey the scene and feel comfortable that this will be a nice, quiet and very private venue for our first meeting.
I'm peering over the rim of my glass, feeling the rush of vodka and lime juice, when I see you enter. I put my glass down on the bar and smile. You see me immediately and smile back. I am awestruck. Your petite body moves toward me. You are dressed in a slinky short black dress that hugs your body. The black silk contrasts beautifully with your dark skin and complements your black hair. The thin spaghetti straps look alluring and your high heels give a sexy sway to your walk. We grin at one another like Cheshire cats.
You reach the bar and we lean together to kiss cheeks. I detect a subtle aroma of violet and my head spins. I help you scoot onto the bar stool and admire all the thigh showing from your short dress. I sneak a peek at your lovely breasts and think of all the fun we've had fantasizing about them; about me licking them and sucking on your sensitive nipples.
"Hello, Molly," I say, attempting to sound cool, calm and collected.
"Hi, Joe," you say with a sweet smile.
"What can I get you?"
"White wine. It's so nice to finally meet you."
"A glass of the Verdicchio, please," I say to the bartender. "Nice to meet you too, Molly. I can't tell you how nervous I've been."
I breathe a deep sigh. The bartender puts a tall thin goblet of chilled white wine on the bar, we grab our glasses and toast.
"To new friendships," I say.
"And to tonight," you add.
We settle into a comfortable patter, the alcohol soothes the transition and before long we're rattling on like we're old friends, which we are in a way. I sneak admiring glances at your body, your dark skin, slinky dress, round breasts. I can feel you checking out my slender wiry frame as well. My mind races with graphic thoughts of what's to come. You look fantastic in black and the silver cuff bracelet you've worn is a beautiful accent. You're eyes sparkle with wit and intelligence. This is no surprise to me; I knew how smart you were from the first time you had contacted me. But it's so tantalizing to see it, hear it, know it, in the flesh.
The maitre'd lets us know our table is ready. We grab our glasses and I follow you to our table, watching your sweet round ass sway as you walk; wondering what you will look like naked. We are led to a table for four in the corner; I sit to the side so we aren't conversing over a large table. I'm closer to you this way as well.
