I took a swig from my glass and smiled at my date's joke as I swallowed. Then giggled as I noticed a bit of foam had trickled down my chin and I wiped it up. He chuckled as well at my minor act of clumsiness - a good sign that he didn't expect me to be, well, perfect and ladylike. Although he'd already failed to bat an eyelid at my ordering stout, which on that regard, placed him streets ahead of most of the competition in this town. The place was small and provincial - inhabited by old-fashioned types for whom men were men, women were women, and women definitely did not drink stout.
My date, however, a handsome man by the name of Richard, worked not in the town but at a research park several miles outside it. A steady influx of scientists and other intelligent types was gradually changing the face of surrounding towns, which was certainly good for my prospects of giving up the single life. The joke, by virtue of which I had just embarrassed myself, was about his job at the research park, working for a company called PharmaMind. Apparently he couldn't tell me too much - "you know, NDAs," he'd said - but his PhD (a PhD!) was in chemistry and he was trying to produce some kind of drug which made you relaxed, or something. It was more complicated than that, but I had been staring at his forearms and was already feeling a little tipsy, even though I was less than one pint down.
"But that's enough about me for now - what do you do to keep yourself out of mischief?" he asked.
"Ah, I work at the bank," I lied, guiltily. Really I was a waitress but I wanted to appear a bit more accomplished.
"Oh, really? I haven't seen you in there," he said, raising an eyebrow.
"Not on the desks! I'm a secretary." Not too much more accomplished - lies were risky, after all. To emphasise my secretarial nature, I looked over the tops of my glasses at him and pouted. Gosh, the beer really was getting to me - I'd nearly licked my lips.
"Oh, I see!" he said with a smirk, noticing my charade. He allowed his arm to fall from his glass, which was nearing his lips, and it casually (but purposefully - I'm not naïve) brushed mine. The effect was electric! God, I hope he didn't hear my intake of breath. This wasn't just the alcohol, this was clearly, well, chemistry - no pun intended. I looked him in the eyes and couldn't help but smile. He held my gaze for several long seconds, his fingers lightly resting on my arm, their weight sending pulses of sensation through my whole body, preventing me from thinking of anything to say.
"Another drink?" he asked, eventually.
"M-make it a half," I said, swallowing. He gave me a look that said he understood the implication - that I wanted to finish here quickly - but that he didn't know whether to like it. Perhaps I wanted rid of him.
Of course I didn't. However, I did have a rule, born out of too much experience with the shits in this town - deserving though he may not be of receiving the same treatment - and that was that I never, ever fuck on the first date. No matter how hot (and he was) intelligent (he certainly was that) and charming (that too) the guy, he had to wait. I didn't fool around, didn't grope, didn't go home with them and basically didn't do anything except kiss chastely - though tongue was acceptable in special situations. After the first date, I didn't care - that generally sorted out the ones who were worth the effort from those who just wanted a quick shag with any woman with tits. And, as I knew, I was more than that - I took care of my appearance, wore a (professionally fitted) 34E bra, had kissably smooth, long legs, and long, soft, chestnut-brown hair. In short, I was hotter than 95% of the women in this backwater - a fact that the research park had not yet altered - and I frequently had to fend off unwanted attention.
But this Richard was seriously testing my resolve. He ticked all my boxes. I was having a great time! But no, I had to stay true to myself - you could never know, and I knew
that
all too well. Like with John. And Dave. And... well, a few others, to be honest, who all only cared about one thing. Dickheads.
Richard was back with my drink - he'd got a half for himself, too. Was he looking a little too intently at me as I took the first sip? Oh, I shouldn't be so ridiculous, I'd just got myself worked up thinking about those old... not flames, what should I call them? Damp squibs? That would do. John, who I'd met before instigating my golden rule, certainly turned out to be a damp squib in the bedroom once he'd got what he wanted!
Oh, fuck! Richard had started stroking my arm! Men didn't usually have this effect on me, but, hmm, his arms were nice... Goddammit, Sarah! (That's my name, sorry I didn't introduce myself) Stay focused! Somehow I could feel every single tickle as his fingertips moved the fine hairs on my arm, and each one sent a tiny, tingle of excitement through me - focusing was not easy at all.
The conversation turned to more mundane things like television and music and holidays, but before long our drinks were finished and it was time to depart. "Whereabouts do you live?" he asked, "walk you home?" It turned out I lived quite near to him and we agreed to head to his first, after I assured him I'd be perfectly fine walking the couple of hundred metres to my door. On the way back we chatted politely about our plans for the following day - a Wednesday, so we'd both be at work bright and early (well, I would be if I really worked in a bank. My shift didn't start until 11). In spite of my earlier tipsiness, I wasn't unsteady on my feet in the slightest. Which was good, because I didn't want to have to grab his arm for support.
The pub wasn't far from Richard's place, and we were soon there - a smart-looking upper-floor flat in an older section of town. The kind of place advertised for "young professionals," with a neat garden flat and architectural features beyond the merely functional. "Would you like to come up?" he asked.
There it was, then - they were all after it, weren't they? "No, thank you," I said, smiling politely. "I have a rule." Normally I didn't explain, but I didn't want to scupper things.
"A rule?" he asked, trying to maintain a good-natured smile, appear quizzical and not look too bothered all at the same time.
I'd have to explain further. "Yes. I never fuck on the first date."
"Oh, I didn't mean—"
"I don't 'come up,' either. It's nothing personal, it just keeps things easier for me. I've got your number, I'll call," I said, and smiled, genuinely, reaching for and finding his hand.
"Do you have any rules about kisses?" he asked, a funny look passing his face.
I drew him closer and whispered, "no..." and we fell together, colliding perfectly with our lips, taking a few seconds to enjoy their warm crumpling before letting loose, tongues swirling and exploring. The strange feeling I had when Richard had touched my arm earlier returned in full force, and thinking seemed to get very hard as the sensation spread through my body, emanating from my tongue, my lips, my back where he held me and, now, my arse which he'd started squeezing - wasn't I supposed to stop him from groping me? It was only my bum, I suppose. Bums weren't as significant as tits.
We broke the kiss and he looked at me again. I expected him to be grinning, maybe a bit sappily - I think I was - but he had that funny look again, like he knew something I didn't. "So, I think you should come up, Sarah," he said. I know I should have refused again - I had my rule - but something about it all - the kiss, those exciting tingles, his gorgeous, brown eyes (I hadn't mentioned those before, but they were ever so lovely) just seemed to make my rules matter a bit less. What was the harm in going up? I'd just pop in, we'd snog on the sofa a bit more, maybe let him touch my boobs - no! No, we'd just kiss. The rule about not going up was only to prevent other goings on anyway. It was only 11, as well. I'd just go up for a little bit.
"Oh, go on then," I replied.
Up the stairs we went, him in front, me trailing a few steps behind, wondering what was going on. I never broke my rule! But before I could continue the thought we were in his flat. It was a nice flat - neat, but not too neat: some dishes waiting to be washed, a sweatshirt thrown over a chair, some crumbs on the coffee table. Fresh flowers on the windowsill. My eyes took all this in as he was taking his coat off. He reached for my jacket and I gave it to him without thinking, even though I wasn't staying. "Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, wine?"
"No thanks, I'm not staying. Maybe some water.." He nodded once and ducked into the kitchen. Turning around I looked at the pictures Richard had hanging from the walls - tasteful photographs and paintings. A cultured man, clearly.
I jumped as he put a hand on my shoulder. "Here you are!" He laughed at my surprise as I took the proffered glass. Each time he touched me it seemed to have a strange effect on me, but I wasn't really thinking about that as I downed the glass, placed it on the coffee table (away from the crumbs) and turned back to find his face close to mine.
Time, as it tends to in these situations, seemed to slow. He circled my waist with one arm and took my head in the other, whilst I held his upper arms. I was finding it hard to think. We simultaneously moved in to kiss each other and fell gently to the sofa, landing in a flurry of passion on yielding cushions. I seemed to be in a dream, floating on clouds, only really able to concentrate on his tongue in my mouth, hand on the small of my back: the points where we touched and from where the waves of pleasure emanated.
As we kissed, slowly at first but then speeding up, the intensity rising and falling like waves on a beach, he caressed my body with his hands: my back, my sides (I shuddered with pleasure then; they'd always been a sensitive spot) my hips and arse, my boobs, my legs... Hey, wasn't he supposed to stay away from my boobs? I mean, I know I hadn't told him not to, but wasn't there something about that? And it did feel absolutely
delicious
