Casual Kissing

The bar looked nice enough from the outside. Music seeped out, but velvet curtains obscured the windows and I couldn’t peek in. I looked at the sign and confirmed yet again that I was at the right place. There was nothing to do but go in—or turn around and go home. It wasn’t too late to forget the whole idea. If it had been an ordinary Internet date I wouldn’t have been so nervous, but it wasn’t so ordinary, at least not to me.

On the Craig’s List website with a few exceptions, if you can name it, you can buy, sell, or trade it. I wasn’t looking for a traditional date or a relationship, nor was I looking for sex. I just wanted to be kissed. So one night on a whim born of frustration, I placed an ad under Casual Encounters.

“Single female, slender, cappuccino skin, sultry librarian type, seeks single man for semi-innocent kissing. We will meet, have a drink, and talk, and if we are both into it, we’ll make out like teenagers. There will be absolutely no sex, no hand jobs, no blowjobs, nothing but kissing and possible above the clothes petting. I am absolutely serious about this. Kissing only. E-mail with photo if interested.”

I figured the ad was worth a shot. It had been several months since Kurt and I had said goodbye in India and gone our separate ways. No amount of masturbation can satisfy that deep-down hunger for someone else’s touch. At another time in my life I might have found myself a “Mr. Right Now” to help me relieve my frustrations, but Kurt’s philosophies about the seriousness of sex had wound themselves into my brain. With him in my mind, I didn’t want to increase my “number.” But I thought there couldn’t be anything wrong with just good old-fashioned making out. Someone’s arms around me, someone’s touch and smell and taste, with no obligations for more.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The room was all dark wood and stained glass, with a slightly raised area in the corner for the band. Scanning the sparse after-work crowd, I smoothed my sweater over the waistband of my skirt, suddenly feeling like it was too tight, and then contradictorily wondering if it wasn’t low cut enough.

“Nikki?” Someone was waving at me from a corner table. A skinny guy with dark hair and dark-rimmed glasses, very appealing in a striped button-down shirt and khakis. He looked cuter than he had in his picture and I hoped for the best. Most of the responses had been from guys who either didn’t believe I really meant just kissing or who hoped to change my mind. Those I deleted immediately. I wrote back to David partly because of his non-threatening looks and partly because he sounded smart. I’m a sucker for a guy with a good vocabulary.

“Hi, David,” I said. We shook hands awkwardly. “Have you been here long?”

“No, just a few minutes,” he said, sliding a folded copy of the New York Times off the table and onto a vacant chair. He was already nearly halfway through a glass of something amber. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure. Bombay and tonic?”

I sat down and tried to collect myself while David went to go get my drink. So far, it felt very much like an ordinary blind date.

When David got back with my drink, I thanked him and immediately took a couple of gulps of it. Now that it was happening, I had no idea how it would play out. I’d fantasized only about the kissing part, and worried only about the safety factor. I had never considered what we’d talk about between the handshake and the groping. I desperately picked up and rejected topics in my mind. The weather? Clichéd. Politics? He reads theTimes; I’d never be able to keep up. Sports? Ugh. The fact that I’d never done this before? Asinine. He certainly wasn’t helping, sitting there studying his drink.

I cleared my throat. “So, what do you—no, you said you were a—you’re a reporter, right? What’s that like?” Hewas a reporter, wasn’t he?

“I am,” he said. Whew. “It’s pretty interesting. You get to meet a lot of people and find out things before everyone else does.” He went on to tell me about the magazine he worked for and the type of stories he covered while I nodded and surreptitiously checked him out. He was very much my type physically and apparently going places in life. I wondered fleetingly if it would be a mistake to limit this to casual kissing.

As the conversation began to flow, it turned out that we had several things in common, including a love for travel, and we became more at ease with each other. It was during our second drink that the live band began to set up. They were behind me, and I took their arrival as my cue to move to the other side of the table to sit next to David. He put his arm around me when I did so, and it made my heart beat faster. It seemed like forever since a man had touched me. His cologne was sparingly applied, but it was spicy and masculine and it made me slightly dizzy.

“So, listen,” I said, feeling more encouraged. “About the… the ad… I just want, I mean, like I said, I’m only interested in—well, I mean, only if you’re interested too, but I—”

“Just kissing. I know. You only mentioned it in every single e-mail.”

I knew I must have been blushing. “Sorry. It’s just that I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

“I know. What is it about kissing, anyway?”

“I’m not sure. I think I miss my high school days, when you could just kiss and kiss and kiss without being obligated to go further. I mean, guys would always try, but if you were a virgin, for the most part they respected that. Now it’s like you almost have to have sex if you make out with someone. I mean, you don’thave to, but you know? There’s an expectation. And then you have another guy on your list that you have to count every time you get into a serious relationship and you have to go get tested and it’s just such a hassle. I just want to be touched, without everything else. What about you? Why did you answer the ad?”

“I’m not sure either. I guess I was curious. And I like kissing.”

We were very close, sitting right next to each other, his left arm around me, his left hand rubbing my upper arm. The jazz band had started to play. The music was loud and I was trying to be discreet, so I spoke into his ear and then turned my head so he could speak into mine. His breath on my ear made me shiver. It was inevitable that on one of those maneuvers, we’d miscalculate. His lips brushed along my cheek by accident, but strayed to my lips on purpose.

David had very soft, full lips and he kissed me gently, at least at first. I was glad he was taking his time, because the first touch of his lips on mine had sent a jolt through my body that made me almost afraid. Our lips moved slowly, languidly. His hand traveled down my arm and back up, making every tiny hair stand on end. Slowly his hand traveled across my shoulder, his fingertips brushing my neck. My lips parted, not from pressure from his tongue, but from shock at the overwhelming sensations in my body. His tongue eagerly accepted my invitation and slid into my mouth.

We kissed for a long time. Our tongues moved together, swirling and probing, and he pulled me closer as we explored each other’s mouths. He tasted like whiskey and cinnamon. I wasn’t really paying much attention to the band, but the complex jazz sounds harmonized well with the eager rhythms of our tongues.

As I’d wanted the whole time we’d been talking, I let my hand stray to the buttons of his crisp shirt, toying with them, but not unbuttoning them, sliding my hand over his chest and arm. His heart was pounding. I was surprised by how hard his body was. I hadn’t pegged him as the type to work out; obviously I had been wrong.

The room was beginning to fill. I knew people were watching us, but I didn’t mind. That part of what I missed about high school making out I hadn’t told David—the thrill of being watched, of having other people know exactly how turned on we are. Having them see our faces flushed, our pupils dilated, having them wish they were doing what we were doing.

Gradually we pulled apart and looked at each other. I tried to breathe normally, but it was a challenge. His smell, the warmth of his body were too much for me. I started to protest when he untangled his hand from my hair, thinking he was going to stop, but it was only that he needed a free hand to remove his glasses. Once he had set them on the table, he began to touch me and kiss me again, more aggressively this time.

His mouth was very wet, even a little too much so, but I was digging on his enthusiasm, his blatant hunger to taste me. I sucked his tongue into my mouth and savored it. His fingers dug into the flesh of my arms and back. I suddenly realized I was squeezing my thighs together in rhythm, my sopping pussy pulsing. I knew that if we’d been alone, nothing could have stopped me from changing my mind and begging him to fuck me. If I opened my eyes I could see his cock, hard and straining against the front of his khakis. The fact that there was a crowd of people around us was the only thing that stopped me from pulling it out, sliding to the floor, and taking it in my mouth. Dimly I knew how much effort it would take to get up, gather our belongings, and prepare to leave the place. It would shake me up enough to help me enforce the limit I had set for myself, so I allowed myself to get carried away. At least as much as I could in that environment.

His cock—I had to touch it at least. He jerked when I put my hand there and touched the heat and hardness of it. The fingers of my other hand ran through his hair, scratching his scalp and drawing his head down to my neck. My breath was scraping in my throat and I needed air. My vision was blurry, but I saw several people glancing at us, repeatedly and not so subtly. I didn’t stop—I didn’t want to stop—I couldn’t stop—but I shook my hair down to hide my face as I continued to rub David’s cock. The fabric frustrated me. I wanted to feel his skin. I thought for a second of disappearing into the restroom with him. But no, if I was going to do that, I might as well let him take me home and do it properly. This was it; we could go no further.

“Nikki, are you sure?” David groaned, as though he’d been reading my thoughts.

“I’m sure,” I said firmly, though I wasn’t at all sure of anything anymore.

“Please… Nikki…”

“Don’t beg,” I murmured, although, or perhaps because, his begging turned me on even more. I silenced him with my tongue, but continued to squeeze his cock, wanting it more than anything. This was not innocent kissing, like I’d planned. We were making a spectacle of ourselves. Everyone could see us; everyone knew what we were doing. I didn’t mind them watching so much as I didn’t want us to get thrown out of the place. I tried to keep quiet, but I’m not generally quiet when someone works me into such a state, and I couldn’t help but moan. His hand was on my thigh, squeezing, inching upwards. He pulled his mouth from mine, barely.

“Can I touch you?” he mumbled against my lips.

I hesitated. God, how I wanted him to touch me. Even just for a minute. I wanted him to feel how wet I was, how much I wanted him. But no, I couldn’t, then we’d never stop. Besides, I didn’t even know him. Wait, of course we’d stop, we were adults, weren’t we? And besides, there was the whole thing about gathering up our things giving us a chance to clear our heads… but didn’t that mean he could touch me then? Because we’d get a chance to come to our senses on the way out?

“Okay… okay…,” I gasped.

Eagerly, he moved his hand up between my thighs and exhaled violently as he made contact with the crotch of my silky thong. Then his fingers slid beneath the wet fabric and brushed my smooth, shaved pussy lips. Moaning, I twisted the fabric of David’s shirtfront in my hand and pulled him closer, sucking and biting at his lips. He slid a finger inside me and I collapsed onto his shoulder, shaking. It was too much, we had to stop. This was much further than I’d planned to go. Yet somehow my hand found its way back down to David’s cock, rubbing and squeezing as best as I could through the frustrating fabric of his pants. How would this end? How could it end? I’d planned on stopping long before this, but I hadn’t planned on being quite so attracted to the guy.

I squirmed, my thighs rubbing wetly against David’s hand. I sucked at his neck, not caring if I left a mark, just wanting to inhale his taste and smell. Then I’ll stop him, I thought, and I’ll straighten up my clothes and get up and go outside and hail a cab. Just… one… more… minute. I felt myself slipping. I was afraid I wouldn’t stop him. I was afraid we’d both get up and we’d both get into a cab and I’d do what I hadn’t planned to do, yet now wanted to more than anything, and yet couldn’t, shouldn’t do. And why shouldn’t we again? I couldn’t quite remember, but I knew there had to be a reason. I rubbed harder. Then suddenly David stiffened, pulled his hand from between my legs, and clutched at my wrist.

“Wait, Nikki—” But I didn’t stop. It was the perfect solution. I continued to stroke his cock until he convulsed against me, his face buried in my hair. My body still pulsed with desire, but I was able to calm down somewhat as I waited for David to collect himself. Looking around for the first time in a long time, I noticed that the crowd had thickened. A few people were looking at us, some curious, some amused. I looked away.

“I’m sorry,” said David after a moment, sounding a bit embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to. I tried to…”

“I know. It’s cool.” I smothered a smile, afraid he might think I was laughing at him. “So… I should get going, I guess.” Part of me still wanted him, but I had cooled off a bit and remembered myself. I was glad I didn’t have to leave him completely disappointed but also glad to escape with most of my intentions intact.

“By yourself?”

“Yeah… by myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well can we see each other some other time?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then said, “Look, e-mail me, okay? I would love to see you again. For this or maybe for… dinner or something.”

“Maybe.”

“Can I get you a cab?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

Getting out of the bar was a blur of embarrassment, and then there was a moment in the brighter darkness and fresh air of the outdoors and an awkward kiss goodbye, and then suddenly I was sitting alone in the back of a cab heading uptown.

What had I just done? Reliving it, I began to feel aroused again as I remembered David’s kisses and the feeling of his hands gripping me. I could even still smell him faintly. I could hardly wait to get home to relieve the throbbing between my legs. The more I thought of what had just happened, and how I had carried on in public, the hotter I felt. I could barely sit still. I tried to cross my legs, but the divider between the front and back seats of the cab made the space cramped, and I couldn’t quite do it, so I left them spread open.

I draped my jacket over my lap and stared out the window, letting my head loll against the seatback. Gradually my eyes drifted over the driver’s ID card, posted on the partition, and the back of his head. I could see from his name that he was Indian. It made me think of Kurt, and our time in India, and his philosophies on casual sex. What would he think of what I had just done? Somehow I didn’t think he’d approve, but it didn’t matter anymore, did it? I thought of David again and felt a new rush of wetness. My hand itched to slip between my legs. I could do it and the driver probably wouldn’t even notice.

I am not a girl who touches herself in taxicabs, I thought, no matter how much I might want to. But then who knew I was a girl who posted personal ads for kissing partners? Who would stroke a stranger’s cock in a public place? I smiled to myself and worked my hand under the jacket draped over me. I had to peel my soaked panties away from my pussy lips to reach my slippery clit. I closed my eyes and sighed. When I opened them again, the cab driver’s gaze was locked on me in the rearview mirror. I didn’t know if he knew what I was doing, but it excited me to have him watching so I held his gaze and didn’t stop massaging my clit. I was very close—it wouldn’t take long.

There was a little over a mile to go and at that hour of the evening, the blocks of glittering glass storefronts slipped by quickly. I bit back a moan, but my sudden intake of breath brought the driver’s eyes back to me. He was barely paying attention to the road; in fact he went so far as to adjust his rearview mirror to get a better view of me. I wondered if he could hear the slippery wet sounds my hand made against my pussy. I thought of David again, of his warm lips and eager hands. My vision blurred but I was aware of the cab driver watching me. It must have been obvious by then that I was touching myself. The scent of my arousal filled the cab and my breathing was clearly audible.

My teeth sank deep into my bottom lip. My back arched, thrusting my chest forward, my hard nipples clearly visible through my thin sweater. Of its own accord, my free hand rose to my neck, poised to cover my mouth if I became too noisy. My fingers moved rapidly, squeezing my pussy lips, pressing my clit, dipping deep inside, the sensations amazing. I pictured David’s face again, how he had looked just before he buried his face in my neck. Oh my God. I was rubbing, rubbing, my clit a swollen, white-hot nucleus of sweet, expanding pleasure. Then I was coming, every muscle in my body tightening and then dissolving in release. Smooth and fast and then rushing and falling away, like being swept over the edge of a waterfall.

My orgasm lasted the whole last block of the trip and I was still trembling and catching my breath as we pulled up in front of my building. I gave the driver enough money to cover the fare and a generous tip and didn’t wait around for change.

“Hey—hello—wait—,” he called as I climbed out. I just slammed the car door and waved as I walked to the front door of my building on shaky legs. I was smiling when I closed my apartment door behind me. The venture had been highly successful… definitely worth repeating.

I slipped off my shoes and went straight to my computer to check my e-mail.

Thanks for reading! Voting and feedback are always appreciated. --Nikki