The way we met was totally mundane, so I feel extremely lucky about how things turned out. This was back in the days when Craigslist was the only online dating service around, and even then, really only if you lived in the Bay Area, which I did. I was twenty-five, working restlessly at my dead-end job, when one of the ads on Craigslist caught my eye. I can't remember what the exact alchemy was, but she used a word like 'scrappy' or 'flippant'; it was as simple as that. Just a little flicker of difference that caught my eye. I wrote her back, and a day later, got a response. We didn't do much back-and-forth; we set a date for that Tuesday, meeting up at a local bar. She lived in Berkeley, but was willing to commute to see me.
She'd described herself only as 'short, with kind of wild hair', but I recognized her when she walked in the door to the bar. Her hair was a gorgeous mess of curls, she had a bold smile, and was wearing a simple outfit of jeans and a t-shirt-but a really nicely tight t-shirt. Something about the way she was looking around, combined with that brief self-description, made me sure she was the right person. I slipped off my bar stool and approached her. "Alice," I said, "Really nice to meet you." She gave me a grin, and looked up quickly up and down, and said, "Wow, no red flags right off the bat, that's cool." That set a nice tone for the evening.
She was fun, she was relaxed but energetic, she drank moderately, and had lots of attention for me. She looked damn, damn good in her tight jeans and shirt. She had cool hobbies-rock-climbing before that was super-cool, helping out on a friend's goat-farm. Crunchy but reasonable Bay Area activities. The conversation was easy, and we were building chemistry quickly. Little touches to the arms as we talked, her thigh drifting to press up against mine at the bar. Around us, a hubbub and buzz of conversation, but we got more tightly focused on each other. After drink two, my hand was on her denim-clad thigh, admiring the musculature beneath, and she suggested, "How about we get out of here and walk around a bit?"
After leaving the bar, I put my arm around her waist and she responded by leaning into me a bit. At a stoplight, we turned towards each other, and kissed for the first time. It started eager, and continued electric: we missed that walk signal. Her hands went to my chest, I put one on the back of her head while we kissed. A passerby hooted at us "Young love!" and we broke apart, smiling, but not really abashed at all.
"Wow," I said, and she nodded, "Okay, yeah. That was good." I put my arm around her again, my hand hovering half-way between small-of-the-back and upper-ass, and we headed down into the Mission. We'd gotten a late start to the date, the fog was rolling in but the air was warm, and the streets were pretty uncrowded. We went down a muralled side alley, and stopped to kiss again; it didn't go any slower or more reasonable than before, our mouths were locked hungrily instantly, she raised one leg and hooked it around back of mine to draw me in closer, making me laugh into the kiss.
I pressed her back against the wall and she made a beautiful soft noise low in her throat. My hand went under her t-shirt-anyone could come down this side street at any time, but I had no hesitation. Her stomach was soft but there was a firmness under it that was exciting; my hand moved across warm skin to the swell of her breasts. She bit my lip as my hand curled around her breast, and her bra felt gossamer-thin under my fingers. Her breasts were full, a wonderful weight on my palm. My other hand went back to the nape of her neck; there'd been a good reaction there before, and I traced my fingers lightly on the little hairs there, contrasting that with my insistent hand exploring her breasts, shirt half-pushed up now.
A burst of music came from the end of the alley, where it led out onto Mission Street, but that wasn't enough to break us apart. Only when a car pulled into the small street, putting us in actual danger, did her leg come down, "Oh shit," she said, and we half-ran out ahead of the car, laughing. "A bit more careful, maybe," she said, and I agreed, "But only a bit".
We were near Dolores Park, and I took her hand, and pulled her along, "Come on," I said, and we went into the twilight-lit park, with its huge, darkened palm trees looking ahead of us. No one else was in the park, the fog-bound night made it seem like we were the only wanderers abroad in the city. I pushed her against one of the palm trees, kissed her neck, her hand tangling in my hair, "Jack," she said, and I started to say, "yes?" but she continued, "I just remembered your name," and laughed, her rich, sweet, girlish laugh.
That spurred me on, sparked me; I put my hand back on her flat stomach, but instead of moving up, I moved down, fingers pushing into the tight waistband of her jeans. Some part of me knew there'd be no resistance to this, but I wasn't prepared for her hand down on her jeans, unbuttoning them; suddenly my fingers were sliding down with nothing to stop them, and I curled them between her legs, pulled up, felt again that barely-there sheerness of her lingerie. Her panties were so small that I felt her pussylips on either side of them, naked to my touch. "Fuck," I said, finding her mouth with mine again, pushing my tongue into her mouth as I slid the little bit of fabric out of the way. She put one hand on my forearm-not in any way restraining me, just wanting to feel the little motions of muscles in my arm that resulted in my fingers sliding up and down her pussy, up against a tree in a public park, the first night we'd ever met. When my fingers brushed over her clit she shivered, and when they slid down to the entrance of her pussy, she rose on tiptoe, offering me better access.
I leaned back, making eye contact with her as that moment happened, two fingers penetrating her, such a sensation of wetness and head immediately, inviting me in, so my cautious exploration turned into knuckle-deep entry, making her gasp and grab my hair again with her other hand, "Fuck yes," she said, "Put your thumb back on my clit." Her eyes held mine; of course, my thumb sought out the hard nub of her clit as I started to beckon and roll my fingers inside her. She leaned back against the palm tree, pushing her hips forwards, the pulse in her throat jumping. With one hand, she caressed her own breasts, impatiently pulling her shirt up to reveal the transparent bra that she had on under it. Her nipples stood out taut and obvious; she took one between her fingers and squeezed, her mouth dropping open as she moaned, "More."
I pushed another finger into her pussy, making her do a little shrugging dance as she took the extra girth. Her pussy tightened around my fingers, her eyes blazed. I had found the rhythms that she liked on her clit, the slow slide over it, pressure from above making the hood push down on it, light taps directly on it. It felt so hard, thrusting against my thumb, such a contrast with the incredibly soft depths of her pussy that my fingers were filling. My other hand went to the breast she wasn't fondling, pushed it back against her body, and then sought out the nipple and pulled and tugged on it. The harmonics of that set up a wave inside her, her legs shook, and more weight came down on the hand between her legs. She stayed upright, hanging onto my hair almost painfully, and groaned deep, panted, made sweet little noises that sounded just like "ugh... ugh... ugh" and finally made one softer but more fundamental cry of 'oh' and came, shaking, shuddering, needing the support of my hand against her body not to fall. The tightness of her pussy around my fingers as her little body was rocked by waves of pleasure crashing back and forth inside her was amazing, and the orgasm seemed to last a long time, with more little 'oh' noises accompanying each pulsing squeeze of her pussy. Just the two of us alone in the darkneed park, needing this, each other, not caring if any passerby could see us there.
Finally she stilled, I slid my fingers out-her hand had been slack on my forearm, but it became active again now, and she pulled my hand to her mouth, She hollowed her cheeks as she sucked her juices from all three fingers at once, pushing her tongue against my fingertips. Smiling around them. I pulled them out slowly, feeling the fullness of her lips. Tugging her shirt back down, she said, "Please tell me you live really close."
"Not that far," I promised. She buttoned her jeans back up. The surreality of how fast this was happening washed over me but didn't phase me; there hadn't been a wrong note all evening. We made record time over the hill and down the other side, in the Castro, where I lived. I had two gay guys as roommates who were always out later than late and tonight was no exception. The apartment was still. As soon as the door closed, our hands were on each other, tugging at clothing, grasping, eager to do everything at once. Her shirt came off, her bra following it; she unbuttoned her jeans again, and slithered out of them, I ripped my shirt off as she unbuckled my belt, and half-yanked my pants down to my knees, taking my boxers with them. My cock was at full mast, feeling as hard as it had ever been, and she wrapped her little hand around it and laughed, "Fuck I can't get my fingers quite all the way around it. Look."
