I must have been crazy for even considering canceling our date. We had already chatted online for weeks, and I knew she understood me; she knew where I was at. She had a degree in law studies and could hold her own in any conversation. I hoped that we'd talk on the telephone soon, meet for a cup of coffee, or fuck in the back of my SUV. By the time I first heard her voice on the telephone, I knew we'd have to meet. It was the kind of voice you'd pay $1.99 a minute for at 1:00 a.m. when you're too tired for real sex, but too horny to sleep. The kind of voice you'd want waking you up in the morning. This was the voice of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
She was wearing a black, silk chiffon dress; the spaghetti straps exposed the silky softness of her shoulders. It was a simple silk sheath, cut a few inches above the knee, and sprinkled with sequins that caught the light and made her shine. I watched her as she walked through the door. The maitre d' escorted her to my table; her confidence exuded the room and I watched the men at each table passed as they stared at the beautiful creature that graced them with her presence. I couldn't help but wonder what they thought about doing to her as she strode by them on three and-a-half inch black sling-back pumps.
She sat at the table, confident and comfortable. I ordered a Bordeaux from Château Pavie's collection. A mature wine vinified in a slightly lighter, more elegant style. I wanted a wine to compliment not only our dinner, but her elegance and beauty as well. St. Emilion wines are restrained and austere when young. The occasionally severe tannins mature with age into a fine sinewy structure. The better vintages are deep, intense, and concentrated. Nothing suited her more fittingly.
I studied her carefully from across the table; she really had piercing blue eyes; they drilled right through me. It wasn't uncomfortable, invasive. It was inquisitive, probing. I wanted her to see as deep as possible regardless of my insecurities. And, she seemed to. She seemed to know me. I watched her eyes, the slight movement of her eyebrows, and the corners of her lips. She spoke IN to me, not "to" me, and it felt as though she could somehow look across the table and know every detail of my thoughts. How would she feel if she knew all of the dirty thoughts I had about her? The thoughts of sucking and biting her nipples, licking and biting her beautiful ass, or massaging those gorgeous legs. What about the dirtier thoughts of her hot, wet pussy? I could sense her wetness; taste it. Could she tell I had a hard on just from watching her slide her fork from between her lips? Had she known I had dreamed about those lips around my cock, would she have still been there?
I clamored for something to say... just a few words; something to break the silence and tear me away from my thoughts of ripping her dress off of her.
"You changed your hair; it's red."
For the first time, she looked away; she stared into her salad, playing with the lettuce.
"I just recently colored it. Do you like it?"
I sensed her shyness; a submissiveness. I thought about how soft her hair looked, and how radiant she was under the light. Her eyebrows arched slightly and she seemed to be staring into her salad as if tea leaves at the bottom of a cup. I wondered what she was thinking. Could she possibly want me as much as I wanted her? Impossible.
"It's gorgeous. You're stunning."
Her gaze returned to me, and a smile revealed itself. I caught my breath, and breathed more of her in. Her hair brushed over her right eye and cascaded over her shoulders. Red hair spilling over soft, white shoulders, contrasted with the black of her dress. "I'm so glad I've pleased you," she whispered.
"There's so much more..." I started, but she interrupted,
