It is our first day together. We have spent the afternoon in our cabin, with a cozy fire, soft candles and pretty music. We have held hands and laughed and cried and giggled and looked deeply into each other's eyes, learning and knowing each other.
Our fingers have been intertwined all afternoon. This is all I had hoped for, that being together would be as wonderful as all our time on the phone and online had been. Now it is getting dark and we are hungry. We separate to dress for dinner. I wear a butter yellow silky dress, tiny white pearl buttons down the front, fitted to the waist and then a full, soft skirt. I feel so tiny and sheltered with you. As we drive into the small town, I am sitting near you, holding your hand and just watching you. We pass the town's main restaurant and, without asking, you keep going. We don't want crowds because this is our first date....our first date!
Down the street is a Chinese restaurant, House of Chee. It does not look crowded and we pull in there. We walk into a dim, quiet restaurant. There are couples talking to each other, the air perfumed with soy sauce, and the music playing is softly oriental. The waiter shows us to a nearby table, but you see the large circular booths in the back and lead me there. I slide in and you slip in beside me, our hips touching, our legs together. My feet dangle above the floor so I bring them up and sit Indian-style beside you. My left knee is resting on your right thigh. The waiter brings our menus and you order wine for us. We look over the menus, discussing what we like and enjoy.
When the waiter brings the wine, you pour for us and then order, while I just marvel at finally being with you, touching you, inhaling you. You have ordered wine and pour some when it arrives. We are sitting close together, our bodies touching, our breathing in unison. I sip the wine and I feel the tingle all over, but perhaps it is you, your nearness, rather than the alcohol. You place your hand on my knee and I feel the heat through my clothes, a perfect handprint of heat on my leg. I reach down to your hand, rubbing your fingers, just touching you as I have longed to do.
Then I move your hand under the fabric of my dress. as you gently and slowly start to rub my thigh. I start telling you the history of this dress, the shopping trip that led to the purchase. You, bless you, listen so attentively, I feel you deserve a reward. So I tell you about the whole trip, the visit to the lingerie store and the lovely garments I bought there. Then, oh my, I remember something! I lean close to you and tell you how embarrassed I am. How silly I am! You murmur all sorts of lovely reassuring things. I repeat that I am so silly.
You finally ask why. And I blushingly tell you, that although I bought the loveliest of underthings for you, I forgot to wear the panties tonight. I love the way your eyes twinkle as you realize what I am saying. And how, to your credit, you kept your hand right there, on my inner thigh, still rubbing gently. Our appetizers come, I am trying hard to be good, to sit still and look as if I still have an interest in dinner. You chat with our waiter while your fingers start to move slowly up my thigh, still making slow sensuous circles. I admire your ability to stay so cool and calm. I am on fire, your fingers burning a path on my skin. I am willing you to reach your goal.
It is slow in the restaurant, the waiter has extra time, and he likes us, so he stays. You discuss the town and the oddity of a good Chinese restaurant being here, complete with Chinese wait staff. All the while your fingers massage that soft, smooth skin, so sensitive to your warm touch. The back of your hand is barely touching my curlies. I am having trouble concentrating. You keep offering me bites of food, feeding me. I have no idea what I am eating. I am so completely centered on your fingers moving up my thigh. Your hand touching me, learning me and warming me.
