Friday, May 15, 2009

The True First Date

The after-work trip to the bar went fine. Everybody had a good time, friendships were made, and backs were talked behind-- in other words, a typical after-work function. I delivered Sharon to her front door as promised. We seemed comfortable in each others company. Was there a spark? At the time I didn’t think there was but I did think she was pretty cool. Honestly, my first impression of her had been that she was a stuck-up, private school, sorority chick and not really somebody I would get along with very well. But, being in the car together a while lead me to think she wasn’t too bad.

The following Wednesday she asked me out. Yes, you read that correctly. I suppose you could claim that my offer to take her to the after-work drinking excursion was a “first date” but I didn’t see it that way. No, Sharon asked me out first. She had passes to a German-American Festival that Friday night and she asked me to go with her. Not a group outing. Just us. That’s a date. I hesitated for one tenth of a second before saying, “Sure.” Didn’t want to seem too eager.

The festival was just an attempt to pull Oktoberfest forward into the hotter months. It was like any of those things— corn dogs, popcorn wagons, soft drinks, and beer. Lotsa “German” beer. And old guys walking around in lederhosen wearing those little hats with a feather drinking beer. And buxom serving wenches dressed like the St. Pauli girl bringing trays of beer. We went straight from work, dined on corn dogs, had some beer, and after a couple of hours we reached a crossroads: we could stop drinking and get bored as hell or we could keep drinking and get shit-faced. We opted for an interesting third way: stop drinking and go somewhere else. I didn’t know where we would go, but it seemed like a good enough idea as the OomPah band music was starting to annoy. What wasn’t annoying me was Sharon. She was fun. We were having fun together. Imagine that. I also didn’t find the fact that she was wearing jeans and a halter top annoying. The jeans were dark blue, the halter top had a light blue background with a yellow flowery design. She had white flip-flops to complete the ensemble. I have a picture here somewhere… hmmm… better not show it for sake of anonymity.

We rolled out of the Rec Center parking lot in my little two seater with the top down. I didn’t know where we were going but Sharon had an idea. Her sister, who was four years older than us had a girlfriend. That girlfriend had a house nearby. We could go there. She laid this out as though it had suddenly dawned on her. I wasn’t sure I needed to go visiting some friend of her sister. I didn’t even know Sharon’s sister let alone her sister’s friend.
“You want to just drop in on her? She doesn’t know we’re coming over, right?” I said.
“It’s not a problem. She shouldn’t even be home,” Sharon said.
My mind took a second to grasp that as she gave me a little grin.
“But if she’s not home... how do we get in the house?”
“I have a key.”
“Where do I turn next?” I asked.

She did have the key and we entered through the front door of the tastefully furnished 3BR/ 1.5 BA—garage attached in a nice middle-class suburban neighborhood. Sharon called out for the lady of the house to no response.
“OK, I’m missing something here,” I said and just gave her a quizzical look.
“Mona is Sandy's... my big sister’s... best friend. They’ve been friends since grade school. Mona got divorced last year-- she kept the house. Married her high school boyfriend—it didn’t work. Sandy moved to Louisville for her job and Mona misses her and I miss her too and Mona treats me like her little sister. I knew she’d be out on a date tonight, Wil. She told me any time I needed to stay here I could. So I thought we’d come here,” she said.
Then she put her hands on my chest, looked up at me, and said with a little pouty face, “But, we don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”
“I didn’t say that. We can hang out here for a while,” I said.
We stood there in the foyer and kissed. For a long time.
When we came up for air Sharon said, “Why don’t you have a seat in the living room. I’ll be right back.” She went down the hall to the bathroom.

I found a seat on the couch and looked around the room. In a few minutes Sharon came back. She had freshened up her makeup and perfume and brushed her hair—the convertible had been unkind to her hairdo. Rather than sit down next to me she just sat across my lap and put her arms around my neck. we went right back to kissing. Soon my right hand moved to her left breast. She felt good through that halter top and the material was thin enough that her nipple was hard and quite evident. The more we kissed the more I fondled her. She didn’t resist in the least bit.
Then she pulled away. I thought maybe I’d gone a bit too fast. When she reached behind her neck and untied one knot, then reached behind her back and untied the other knot letting the halter fall away from her I figured I probably hadn't been going too fast. Now we were shifting around on the couch and I was able to get both of her firm beauties in my hands. Tugging and flicking the nipples… squeezing the full breasts… kissing her and then nibbling her tits. Sharon was squirming pretty good and my cock was stiff.
“Wil, come with me,” she said.
I figured we were heading to a bedroom in Mona’s house. My pulse was pounding in my ears. Man, we were flying right along on this first date. But we didn’t go to the bedroom. Instead Sharon took me over by the sliding glass doors that went out to the patio. She got down on the carpet. She kicked off her flip-flops and got on her back. She undid the button on her jeans and unzipped. Then she stuck her feet in the air towards me and said, “Help me,” in a little girl voice.
I grabbed the legs of her jeans and pulled her pants off. She slid her panties off and tossed them to the side.
I couldn’t believe what was happening-- but I wasn’t against it.

I kicked off my shoes, pulled my shirt over my head, and got out of my jeans, socks, and underwear as fast as I could while she ran her right hand through her blond bush. In my careful estimation she looked ready to fuck, so I went straight into her. It seems that was exactly what she wanted. I know because she was very talkative. In fact, in my limited experience with several dozen or so women she was the most talkative I’ve ever known. That's not a complaint-- just an observation. Her favorite word was “baby”. Nearly as popular was some form of “fuck me” or “do me” often with a modifier such as “hard(er)”, “deep(er)”, “faster”… all I can say is, I did my best under the circumstances.

When we were done with our first fuck I noticed that the drapes weren’t closed. We had been fucking like wild rabbits in front of the sliding door, with no shades or drapes and I could clearly see a window at the back of the house one street over. A woman’s head was visible in the window and I could see her smiling. I think it was a kitchen window and the woman was doing dishes. Not many people smile while doing the dishes—unless they’re watching a couple of young people fuck.

I didn’t say anything to Sharon about it and she didn't notice the smiling neighbor woman. If she saw me blushing she probably chalked it up to the vigorous session we'd just finished. I didn’t have time to ponder this because Sharon stood up and said, “Let’s go use Mona’s bed.”


Why the hell not?

I barely knew Sharon, we were already voyeur bait for the neighborhood, I didn’t know the name of the street this house was on, and I’d never even met the girl who owned the place. Why wouldn’t I fuck my new girlfriend in that girl’s bed?