© 2018 KT McColl
The mood was good tonight at The Market. The crowd was obviously in sync, the music algorithms managing a nice call and response with our collective biometrics. On the dance floor, flashing bodies rose and fell as one, like technicolor waves under strobe lights. I was feeling a bit giddy, the lights and the beat and my soul all wound up in a dreamy feedback loop. I'd resisted jacking in to the club's system for the longest time, not wanting to be manipulated, but it really was better this way. Better than being a passenger on someone else's trip.
The guy returned to the table with our drinks. I tried to remember his name. John? Jude? It had been hard to hear over the music. I glanced at my phone again. Josh. Thank goodness we'd done a basic sync before he went to the bar.
I had his basic information and he had mine. Name, age, links to various public profiles. I knew that he had taken his time away to do a quick scan of me, just as I'd done with him.
He smiled as he slid a martini across to me. I removed the security foil. With the lights in the place, I couldn't be sure of the color of the drink, but it didn't matter.
Josh grinned, flashing me his dimples. Sweaty strands of hair hung in front of his gray eyes. We'd bumped into each other on the dance floor, literally, and something just clicked, like in the movies. A connection. An understanding. There was something of the rogue about him, but tonight, it seemed that he was to be my rogue.
Given the volume of the music, conversation was minimal, but it was enough to bolster the initial attraction.
It was getting late. Over the last half hour or so, the music had become somehow more sensuous. I hadn't noticed the shift. The beat slowed and lovely undulating strains of synth wove in and out of the percussion. I could detect a woman's gasps and moans just beneath the synth. Subtle, but unmistakable. Maybe it was just me. Maybe I was horny, feeding the music, or maybe the music was feeding me. Either way, it didn't matter. I was glad to be jacked in finally, reassured that others were feeling the same way I did. I wondered how many of us would be doing the same thing in an hour or two.
Josh seemed amused and possibly a little smitten as he watched me swaying to the beat, moving my shoulders, knowing in doing so that he was getting an eyeful of my chest. I wondered whether his mood was represented in the atmosphere too. I hoped so. I looked for his phone to see whether it was transmitting, but it was face-down on the table.
He smiled again. He really did have lovely dimples. For him at least, the denouement of the night was a foregone conclusion. Or maybe it was just hope. I wasn't as sure, but I was getting surer by the minute. A lot was up to Chaperon.
He held out his hand, and I took it. We were soon on the dance floor again, pasted against each other. I felt his hardness when I not so accidentally brushed against him, so I did it again, just to be sure. As we moved, I knew that my arousal was commensurate. I draped my arms lazily over his shoulders and leaned my head against his chest. He smelled nice. A hint of cologne beneath the scent of man. Better than the other way around.
His hands rested on the small of my back. I wished they would venture lower, but wishing didn't make it so. We didn't know each other's limits yet, so I appreciated his restraint. I took a chance and moved my hips to see whether his hands would succumb to gravity, but they didn't. If anything, Josh had good manners. There was an order to things these days.
The night was winding down when we returned to our seats. He ordered us another drink from a passing waitress. It was then that I noticed his phone on the table, face up this time. A beating red heart flashed on the screen. Like everyone these days, he had Chaperon. I'd resisted for the longest time until a hookup went bad. Since then, Chaperon had proved its worth, filtering out those whose fetishes outpaced mine, providing a level of security when I wanted to go for it.
Josh looked so puppy dog hopeful when he glanced between his phone and me that I had to laugh. If it was a look that he practiced in the mirror, he needn't have bothered. I was already convinced. I set my phone next to his and tapped the display. A heart appeared on my screen as well and we both swiped our respective displays, almost in unison. We both peered at the results.
"Phew," he said.
"87 percent compatibility," I read.
"Pretty good."
"Yeah."
We looked at each other. 87 percent was better than average for a hookup. I'd never done anything with anyone below 75 percent. It was remarkable how often even a small incompatibility could grow large when the clothes were off.
"I think we're safe. Shall we?" I asked.
He looked relieved. "I live a few blocks away. Is that okay for you?"
"Great," I said, remembering what a mess I'd left my bedroom in. "Your place it is."
We held hands on the way to his place. It was cute. Reassuring and familiar. Almost more intimate than what we would surely be doing soon. We chatted, and I learned that he was in tech, like just about everyone these days. He lived alone, was recently single for reasons he didn't divulge, had a goldfish. I also learned that he did parkour, which explained his fitness.
I liked him. To my friends, he would qualify as a trout, which was their way of saying a nice catch. I thought so too, which was why I was throwing caution to the wind and heading to his place instead of the more prudent kiss and hope for a call.
At any other time, the late night gloom and the empty streets would have made me nervous. Josh made me feel safe if I didn't think about how easily we could be outnumbered.
Once he closed the door behind us, I turned to him. "I don't normally do this kind of thing," I said. "Go to a strange guy's house, I mean."
"Neither do I. And I don't think I'm all that strange."
Dimples again. I could get used to looking at those. "Really?"
"Really." With that, he kissed me on the forehead, which struck me as odd and sweet at the same time. "Can I get you something?"
"Water, please."
He brought me a bottle and uncapped in front of me. He was considerate, if anything. Not that I was worried about getting roofied at this point; we both knew where this was going. Besides, Chaperon wouldn't have given him the seal of approval if he had a history of that kind of thing.
The segue from expectation to passion is often the most awkward part. I needn't have worried. He sat next to me and traced the line of my jaw with his fingertip, gazing at me intently. My face followed the direction of his touch and we were soon kissing, tentatively at first, and then as though our lives depended on it. Where had this hunger come from? Weird how it could go from tentative to blazing in seconds.
"Come," he said. He held out his hand. I took it and followed him to the bedroom.
It was real. It was going to happen. There was no discussion, no negotiation. I guess it wasn't necessary. I didn't feel nervous about it. Not really.
Before things got going, we both took a moment to position our phones. He set his on the bedside table, leaning it against a lamp. I wanted a wider field, so perched mine on a dresser opposite the bed. I checked the screen to make sure that most of the room was in view. I didn't want my phone barking at me if we got out of range. Then, I pressed the connect icon and ensured that the Chaperon uplink was working. I couldn't imagine what it would have been like not having these interactions recorded. If things went badly off the rails, Chaperon would hit its panic button. Even if it never came to that, it was prudent these days to have a record. From what I understood, when it came to he-said/she-said, the deeper voice tended to get the benefit of the doubt. Or better lawyers. It was safer this way, having the proof up in the cloud, ready to rain down like God's own wrath if ever it was needed.
"Are we good?" he asked.
I checked my phone one last time. "Yeah."
Another kiss, more contemplative and tender this time. I felt on firmer footing now. More relaxed. More secure.
At length, I leaned away from him. "Let me," I said.
He stood still as I unbuttoned his shirt. I liked the act of the slow unveiling, especially the unveiling of someone who obviously took care of himself. I traced the tattoo that covered his right shoulder and part of his chest. I hadn't taken him for a tattoo kind of guy. I liked it though.
My hands alit on his jeans. I hesitated a moment. I didn't expect a squawk and there wasn't one. Good. A prohibition against this would have been well and truly weird. Impatiently, I pushed his pants down his legs, together with his underwear. As he stepped out of them, I cradled his balls in my hands.
I liked this... being dressed while the object of my attentions was naked. It gave me a little thrill of power, not to mention the ability to get out of dodge if things went south. I didn't expect them to, but a girl couldn't be too careful, Chaperon notwithstanding.
I stroked him while we kissed. His cock felt thick and heavy in my hand. Average in length, but above average in girth. Eventually, I sank to my knees before him. The symbolic submissiveness of kneeling didn't bother me. I was dressed; he wasn't. He was vulnerable, and I held his manhood in my hands. Pleasure, for now, was mine to give. There was a certain power in it.
I noticed how expectant his breathing had become and how he sighed a deep exhalation when I wrapped my lips around the bulbous head of his cock. I liked the taut smoothness of it, the engorgement that rendered it hard against my tongue. He was kempt down there. Not baby smooth, which always unsettled me for reasons I chose not to explore, but trimmed and neat. I flicked my tongue over the slit and liked the taste of him. It wasn't always the case, but this was good.
Tightening my fingers around his base, I took him slowly into my mouth, feeling the ripples of veins against my lips. From my position, I looked up at him, taking him as far as I could. On the withdrawal, I allowed my teeth to gently rake against his hardness, a reminder that my submissiveness was conditional and mostly illusory.
His low moan was music to my ears. This would be good, I thought. I was momentarily alarmed when his hands alit on my head, but they simply followed my actions without interfering or encouraging.
"Uncle," he gasped a few minutes later. I grinned up at him, lips firmly encircling his manhood. Let him have this picture. I was pleased with myself that I'd caused his knees to weaken. He took my hand and pulled me to my feet. A kiss followed, hot and deep, and then he surprised me by pushing me onto the bed. "Your turn."
Josh quickly divested me of my clothing. He didn't make a show of it, and I didn't mind. His lips navigated me from head to pussy, lingering at my breasts. His head was soon framed between my legs as he knelt at the foot of the bed. Wow, I thought. All of this without asking for it. His agile tongue flitted over my clit, sending immediate jolts of pleasure through me.
He was a natural, alternating slow, desultory licks with the flat of his tongue with intense pressure with the tip. All the while, his fingers navigated my folds, exploring, dipping within and then spreading my arousal liberally around my flesh.
At some point, a finger brushed my anus. Whether intentionally or by accident, I didn't know. Chaperon remained mute, its view evidently blocked. Then, the sensation repeated. Okay, it hadn't been an accident. Ordinarily, I might have said something, uttered some kind of safeword known to my electronic protector, but I remained quiet. Truth was, it felt good, especially combined with the magic his tongue was working. It was a gentle touch, nothing too insistent, certainly nothing with strong intent. Just a touch, but a touch enough to prod me along.
Josh redoubled his efforts, pushing all of my buttons -- those I was familiar with and some that I hadn't fully appreciated until now. Cresting a rising wave, I didn't care what he was pushing, so long as he kept doing it. And he did. Pushing, cajoling, and spooling me up until I inevitably unwound with a gasp.
While I groaned and mewled, his fingers and tongue were everywhere. In the moment, I didn't know precisely what he was doing, only that it was overwhelming in its effect. Everything down there had become a single, electric erogenous zone.
When I finally returned from the land of gasping gibberish, I said, "You're an artist."
He smiled.
"Lie down," I said. "You worked so hard..."
I leaned over him, straddling his waist, my nipples just barely touching his skin.
