Fun on a First Date

Special thanks to oldnakeddad for editing my first submission, and of course, thank you to my muse, Charlie.

*****

I had a date, a proper date. You know, the one when the guy picks you up and takes you out for dinner then returns you home, virtue intact, and performs the perfunctory first date good night kiss.

I was utterly thrilled. Actually I lie. Thrilled and dates weren't words I used in the same sentence together...ever.

Adam was a divorcing landscaper who I had met on a dating site a few weeks before. His messages were polite, well written and contained none of the usual nonsense like; `here's my Kik username, phone number, email address, and PO Box if you want to chat off here.'

He didn't pick me up. He offered but I thanked him and said no...the last thing I needed was a man knowing where I lived, especially if he turned into a dick. Oh, they all said how lovely they were but I think it's a well-established truth that serial killers don't come straight out and say, `Hey, after I lure you into my car, I'm going to torture then kill you.'

I hated all the underlying withholding that took place while dating. Nothing ruined my appetite more than watching a man figure out which category he'd like to put me into: either the Fuck On First Date or the Take Home to Meet Mother girl. I could usually figure out pretty quickly which one he'd decided I was, too. If he wasn't sure I was the kind of girl who'd fuck him in the car on the way home, I would be subjected to all sorts of stories from his glory days and he'd tug on my heart strings with stories of how his wife never really understood him. I guess the fact he's divorcing makes it reasonable to assume he never really knew her, either.

I took lovers while I dated...my own version of fuckable or datable. My favourites were the guys who left marriages and realised they'd not lost their sex drive but rather shelved it amongst the litany of mortgage payments, soccer training, and arguments over who was walking the dog. The pressure to perform and maintain to their family a weight that rendered them impotent to living the life they'd imagined. They were always so horny and ready to explore almost anything.

I, myself, was over the juxtapose of being dragged into the Madonna/Whore decision men made based on a set of criteria I was unaware of. I really didn't know what made them make these black and white decisions or what boxes needed ticking in order to pass the mark. I also didn't fucking care.

I had two lovers, a younger man and then Charlie. It was Charlie who I most often spoke to of my dismay over the dating game. It was over seared scallops and crisp white wine that I noticed him. He was sitting at a table, on his own, and I had no idea how he knew where I'd be. I racked my memories of our last few times together. This was no stalking event either (before you get any ideas...) so when Adam excused himself and went to the gents room, I picked my phone up and checked my messages.

There were three. The first one was, 'I hope you're not wearing any underwear beneath that tight red dress.' The second was a question, 'Do you think he'd like to team up with me and double fuck you? Feel his cock slide in and out of your pulsating cunt as we make you come again and again?' And the third one was, 'Meet me in the bathroom at 8:30.'

I glanced up at him and nodded. It was 8:15. Adam returned, retailing adventures of his life as a weekend soccer dad and I nodded, smiled and made the appropriate noises in the appropriate places.

I took my cues from Charlie. I watched him as he folded his napkin onto his plate, pushed his chair back, paid his bill, chatted with the blonde maitre d' and then vanished. I waited a few moments before I excused myself and headed towards the ladies room, excitement and trepidation mixed. I never really knew where Charlie would take things.

It was a swing door that opened into a carpeted, mirrored room and the toilets were beyond the next door. Charlie was sitting on the small settee to the side, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his trousers open and his cock on display.

"Hello! I thought you might like a good fuck before returning to your date," he said and beckoned me towards him.

I walked the distance between us. We didn't have long. My pussy had moistened in the time between reading Charlie's messages and getting here...anticipating his tongue circling my clit and his fingers burying deep within my gushing and clenching cunt. He pulled me on top of him, no time to waste on kisses and caresses, and I slid over his cock smoothly, as he grabbed my hips and pulled them towards his.

"I want you to smell of my semen when you return to your date and you're a dirty girl not wearing any underwear."

We rocked against each other for a few minutes. I could tell by how quickly his cock kicked and jerked, signaling his mounting orgasm, he had apparently been thinking about this all day. I pushed against him, scraping myself up and down his length, searching for my own release. He came before me. A torrent of his seed splashed into my depths and left him breathless and heaving. It was fast, quick, hot and frustrating in the state of desire he was about to leave me in.

I knew I'd run out of time. No time to lay back on the settee and have him lick the creamy white strings of his orgasm from my lips. No time to feel my own orgasm burst out across his chin and chest. I withdrew from his body as my cunt slurped over his softening cock.

"You're a naughty boy, Charlie."

I straightened my dress as the pearls of Charlie's erotic fantasies were running between my thighs. I realised I couldn't return to my date in such a state so I washed my hands and listened to Charlie's laugh as he zipped his trousers up and headed for the door.

"I'll be waiting in your bed. Be home by eleven," he said as he left the room.

I returned to Adam and hoped he wouldn't notice the smell of sex, the flush of my skin and recognise it for what it was. He didn't mention my prolonged absence but the moment with him was lost. I wanted Charlie to finish what he started. Dessert was the longest pudding I'd ever eaten and my coffee was bitter. I could already feel Charlie's breath against my neck as he pushed me onto my stomach and fingered me from behind and I could taste him in my mouth. I barely noticed when Adam got up to pay for our meal but his puzzled expression, when he returned, caught my attention.

"Someone paid our bill."

'Motherfucker. What have you done now, Charlie?' I thought.

"Really!" I tried acting surprised.

"Yah. They left a note, too." This caught my full attention!

"What did it say?"

'Thank you for an entertaining evening.'

"How weird."

Yes, how very odd...