Natural Selection

John and Natalia met online.

Well ... perhaps 'met' is the wrong word. Natalia sent John a WINK on a dating site. When John responded, Natalia immediately replied with a request that they meet in person, which led to a dinner date at a popular hotel restaurant in the city where Natalia lived.

John came up by train and arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early. He was shown to a table-for-two by the window and he took a small beer while he waited, enjoying the moment of anticipation. This was the seventh date he was on since joining the dating site some months ago, but he felt optimistic about Natalia for several reasons:

(i) Her three photographs showed a slim, dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties who was feminine without the 'And I Love Me So' vibe of many attractive women's profiles.

(ii) There was no bullet-list of requirements.

(iii) She had made first contact.

For John, this last was the most important. He had been the initiator of his six previous dates, and it had never worked out. John was a red-haired man in his mid-forties, divorced with two adolescent boys he saw every other weekend, and he learned early on that sending WINKs and messages to younger, good-looking women was a waste of time. Instead, he focused his efforts on women roughly his own age and level of attractiveness, assuming they would approach the dating process with his own pragmatism.

They never did.

When John met the women, he could see in their eyes that they wanted to be treated as though they were gorgeous. And when he played along -- acting as though they were retired movie stars rather than okay-looking females -- they smiled and laughed and wanted to see him again. He'd go home thinking, 'How can intelligent women be this dumb?' The following day, he would send the woman a short email telling her he'd had 'a nice time', while omitting the suggestion of a second date. This gave the woman the chance to politely reject him without having been 'officially' rejected herself. After all, they were all intelligent women. They got the message.

Natalia was fifteen minutes late. John had finished his beer and was wondering whether to order another, when he saw her arrive at the desk of the maître d'. His instant reaction was disappointment.

Natalia was small with big hair -- long black hair pumped up by back-combing and hairspray. When the maître d' took off her long coat, John saw a black outfit—dress, stockings, high heels—which was supposed to look sexy, but instead made her look fragile. A man has to be careful with fragile women and John felt a wave of tiredness at the prospect of the evening ahead. Still, he shook it off as his date was being led towards him. John got to his feet and gave the approaching lady his warmest smile.

Natalia was flustered as she shook John's hand. She apologised for being late, then apologised for her Slavic-accented English, and finally apologised for apologising so much. John smiled as he assured her and reassured her that everything was fine. The waitress brought them menus and took their order for two glasses of white wine. Natalia noticed the empty beer glass as the waitress plucked it off the table and told John she would be okay if he wanted to change his mind. John said he was fine with wine, and Natalia apologised for bringing it up. Then she groaned and shook her head.

'I'm sorry,' she said as she looked at the menu. 'I'm not usually this nervous.'

'Well...' said John, and he was about to say: I'll take that as a compliment. But, in his head, it sounded smarmy and he paused to think of something else.

'Well, what?' said Natalia.

'I don't know,' said John.

'Or perhaps you do know, and you don't want to say?'

John looked at her. Within the mass of black hair and blacker mascara were two bright, dark eyes which gazed directly at him. No nervousness this time.

John smiled. He raised his wine glass to her.

'Correct,' he said. 'Two points to you.'

Natalia laughed. She pushed her hair away from her face so she could take a drink of her own wine. She looked back at John.

'So, what was it you didn't want to say?' she said.

John paused. He leaned on the table and looked the woman in the eye.

'When you said you weren't usually nervous,' he said, 'I was going to say, "I'll take that as a compliment". You know, as though my devastating handsomeness was the cause of your being nervous. But then it occurred to me that you might be nervous for a hundred other reasons, so I changed my mind.'

'But you meant it as a joke, yes?' said Natalia.

'Yes, I suppose,' said John. 'But jokes are meant to be funny.'

'True.'

'And making jokes while you were nervous also struck me as a bad idea.'

'Possibly true.'

'Although, I have to say...' said John, swirling his glass. 'You seem okay now.'

'It helps that I'm sitting across from an intelligent man,' said Natalia.

'Thanks for the compliment.'

'It's not a compliment. It's a fact.' She paused. 'And you strike me as a man who already knows that, but you don't want to appear arrogant.'

Natalia took a slow sip of wine, her gaze never leaving the man before her. John looked back at her, frowned, and looked down. Below the table, a full-sized erection had appeared out of nowhere, and John tried to focus his attention on the opened menu.

'So...' he said, his voice even. 'What looks good to you?'

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

On the last train going home, John stared out of the window watching the night flash past. He knew he wasn't in love with Natalia, yet he liked her a lot. More than that, she had genuinely impressed him. During dinner, when she spoke of her childhood in Romania after the dictatorship or her work as a paralegal doing contracts in five languages—five fucking languages!—she left his jaw hanging. Plus, her attitude to men was refreshing. At one point in the evening, John and Natalia swapped nightmare dating stories and some of hers were hilarious, but there was no sign of the usual outrage. The other women always took male buffoonery so personally, as though these men were on a mission to insult womanhood. It was nice to hear a woman regard bad behaviour as brainless ineptitude rather than deliberate sexism.

That wasn't all. Natalia had sent two text messages which made his phone feel like a heat generator in his inside pocket. He couldn't stop tugging his jacket away from his chest, as though it was going to burn him. He'd received the first just as his train was pulling out of the station:

'John! I had a wonderful evening! You are a great deep beautiful man and I hope you want to see me again, because I definitely want to see you! Talia xxx'

Five minutes later, the second message arrived:

'John! Don't feel you need to reply. I will switch off my phone after sending this. Sleep well and thank you again for a wonderful dinner! Talia xxx'

This unexpected thoughtfulness moved John. Usually, he was expected to be the selfless, considerate one, and it was lovely to be on the receiving end for a change. John was fast coming to the conclusion that Natalia was an exceptional woman, and that his negative opinions about her perhaps overdone make-up or what she did with her hair were unkind and trivial.

But the following day, when he sat down to compose an email, John felt conflicted. Natalia hadn't said anything specific, but it was clear that she longed to be loved and cherished in the context of 'a serious relationship'. He also knew that he had zero desire to be the man who did this for her. John wanted sex. Fragility be damned, he wanted to fuck her. That being the case, the morally correct thing would be to send the usual email and let her reject him. Or to type 'I just want to fuck you' and see what happened.

John did neither. He suggested a second date. That same day, Natalia sent back an email accepting.

Two weeks later, on a Friday, John was back on the train heading for her city. He told himself that Natalia was a grown woman, that he shouldn't do her thinking for her, that he was totally prepared to be honest about what he wanted if she asked. But when his phone rang and he saw it was her, his first reaction was relief. Natalia had figured it out for herself and was going to cancel. John picked up the call, already prepared to be gracious and understanding, with just the right amount of disappointment.

But she wasn't cancelling.

Something unexpected had happened and Natalia wanted a change of plan: instead of meeting at the restaurant, that they have dinner at her place. She told him to take the metro from the train station and said she would meet him at her metro stop. John agreed, then stared at his phone after she ended the call.

'Don't take anything for granted,' he told himself.

John stepped out of the metro station and into a neighbourhood of limestone and concrete houses. Natalia was waiting for him, once again dressed in black, but this time black jeans, cowboy boots and a leather jacket. Her hair was tied back in a rough ponytail, her make-up was minimal, and John found her ten times more attractive. They walked side-by-side, her boots making a pleasing sound on the pavement, and John asked her what happened.

The 'something unexpected' turned out to be two shady-looking guys smoking a joint while sitting on the concrete steps leading to the row of maisonettes where she lived. Natalia was afraid that walking past them dressed for a night out was like inviting them to break into her home. John saw her point when he saw the steps for himself -- it certainly looked like the kind of place two guys could sit and smoke a joint, although they were gone by this time. But when he was inside Natalia's maisonette, John couldn't imagine them stealing much. The place struck him as plain, even sterile, like a modern art gallery with furniture. There was a small hallway with stairs leading up, a long living-cum-dining room and a kitchen at the back. John sat on a flat modular sofa constructed in a rough L-shape facing a large flat-screen, while Natalia put a frozen pizza into the oven and made a salad for herself.

Later, the two of them sat side by side, drinking white wine and eating their dinner off a low round coffee table. John remarked on a painting of a girl in a torn blue dress and Natalia told him she had painted it herself during her marriage. Her husband's name was Alistair, they were married for nine years and they had formed their own company offering legal services and contract advice. Both marriage and company ended when Alistair's Audi had been clipped by a lorry on the motorway and sent spinning through a barrier, down an embankment and into a tree. He had just turned forty. He hadn't left a will and his mother got Natalia to sign some papers while she was still in shock, so she lost both business assets and the house they were buying. For the past six years, Natalia had worked as a legal consultant for an investment company which specialised in trading with former Soviet bloc countries.

John stared at Natalia as she spoke, his pizza half eaten on the plate. 'My God,' he thought. 'What this poor woman has been through!' It made his own divorce story seem like small potatoes, and Natalia was considerably less bitter, even when talking about her former mother-in-law. He was impressed and appalled in equal measure.

'I'm sorry,' said John.

'You don't have to be sorry,' said Natalia. 'I'm fine. Life is life.'

John looked at her. She looked back. He continued to look at her, waiting for her to look down. She didn't. He moved closer to her, yet still she remained still, a smile playing on her lips. John kissed her. Natalia allowed herself to be kissed. He grew more adventurous and she responded. Eventually, John picked up the small woman, one arm around her ribcage, the other beneath her knees, and placed her gently on her back along the lengthiest part of the sofa.

The kissing became full-on, their hands exploring each other's bodies. Piece by piece, the clothes came off, until eventually they were both naked. Natalia was on her back, John was on top, taking most of his weight on his arms. As he kissed her, his cock was pressed gently against one of her thighs. He reached down between Natalia's legs. Her vulva was so wet that three of his fingers slid straight into her vagina. He looked down at the woman.

'I have a condom in my wallet,' he said.

Natalia gave a tiny shrug. Whatever.

John shifted position, his hips moving into position. He gently rocked them, so that the end of his cock pressed lightly against the entrance to her vagina, teasing the vulva opening. He felt Natalia press her feet into the sofa, tilting her own hips to meet his. He watched her face the whole time, waiting for her to say 'No' or 'Stop' -- to show even a flicker of doubt. But those dark, bright eyes looked back at him, unwavering. Only when her pussy opened right up and his cock-head slipped in, did she gasp and stare. He stopped, just inside her, waiting. She looked at him, her breathing heavy, and licked her lips in preparation. John took a breath and pushed into her.

Natalia let out a groaning sigh -- a wonderful sound to John's ears. He loved that sound, was aroused by that sound. It expunged all doubt that he was hurting or using her. Then all thought was gone as he ploughed her cunt, cock sliding in and out. John hadn't had bareback sex since he was married, and he'd forgotten how much he loved it.

John's way of making love was to switch off his thinking brain and hand his consciousness over to his body. In general, this approach worked well, and women often told him how much they enjoyed sex with a man who didn't follow a script. Even so, as John fucked Natalia, his thinking brain cut in with a memo about his impending orgasm and the fact that he wasn't wearing a condom. John nodded his head and slowed down, coming to a stop.

Natalia had her hands on his back and her feet were in the air. Without letting go, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. John looked back. It was clear she understood exactly what was going on. He was still all the way inside her, and he wanted her to say something.

'Do it.'

'Don't do it.'

Anything.

It suddenly occurred to John that Natalia hadn't said a word since they began kissing -- not even a mumbled 'Yes' or 'Oh God!' And he didn't want to be the one to speak.

John pushed himself off her. His cock slid out and he knelt back on his haunches, his hands on thighs which looked incredibly sturdy compared to the delicate pale limbs of the woman. He looked at Natalia, thinking: 'Go on. Say "What's wrong?" or "What's going on?" '

Natalia said nothing. She shifted her gaze from his eyes to his erect cock. She looked at it for what felt like a long time. She smiled. She looked back at him, then shifted slightly, making herself more comfortable, her knees still wide apart, her hands behind her head. She looked back at his cock, then back to him, smiling.

She was not going to say a damn word.

Kneeling over her, John felt a sudden wave of intense lust. Every cell in his body knew exactly what it wanted to do, but his thinking brain was shouting, screaming even, throwing insults and curse words and all manner of bad names at him. Yet the louder the shouts, the more the skin of his cock seemed to stretch as it hardened, until he could feel the air pressing against it. John felt like he was being torn apart. Suddenly, a voice in his head cut in:

'John! Be a saint or a sinner, but for fuck's sake make up your mind!'

Heart thumping, John lowered himself onto Natalia. He kissed her lightly on the lips. She kissed him back. He kissed her more firmly, pushing his tongue into her mouth. She met his tongue with hers, pushing it into his mouth when he retreated. Then he went crazy, covering the outside of her mouth and chin with his tongue, wanting to see if she'd recoil in disgust. She laughed, rolled her face into his saliva-wet caresses and ran her own tongue up his cheek.

That did it.

John shifted from kisses and re-entered her vagina. Again, she gave him that wonderful groaning sigh. But this time, he snaked his hands around her, one arm around her back, the other hand around her hip and grabbing her buttock. Natalia strained her neck upwards to kiss him, but she was too small to reach on her own. John strained his own neck down to give her one long kiss, then resumed his position. Because of the size and strength difference, she would not be able to escape him when the time came, and he gave the woman one more direct look to see that she understood this. Natalia was breathing hard, she was swallowing, but she met his gaze without looking away. John let out a deep breath.

He commenced fucking her. Natalia groaned and closed her eyes, her arms tightening around the man who was inside her. John surrendered himself to his body, fucking the woman with only one purpose in mind. This time, the thinking brain's memo was ignored. When the moment arrived, John held the woman tight, pushed himself into her as the orgasm hit, and felt the semen course through his penis and enter her lovely, warm body.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Two hours of fucking later, John was on his back in Natalia's double bed, somewhere between sitting up and lying down, two thick pillows behind his shoulders and neck. Natalia was curled up next to him, her head on his chest, one arm around his ribcage, one leg hooked over his thigh. John's hand rested on her hair and he stared into the darkened room, his thoughts turning over and over. His eyes had adjusted, and he could see details on the furniture and in the paintings.

Natalia sighed and shifted. Her hand wandered downwards and encountered John's still-erect penis. There was a tiny chuckle.

'My goodness,' she said.

'Yeah, well ... it's been a while,' said John. 'My dick thinks it's Christmas.'

Natalia laughed and whispered: 'So does my pussy.'

'You're very kind,' said John.

'I'm not being kind.' John felt Natalia's cool fingers wrap around his cock. 'I'm being very, very selfish.'

John swallowed. He let out a quiet breath and continued his staring. The woman's head moved under his hand.

'Are you feeling guilty?' she said.

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'You know why.'

There was silence. Then Natalia let go and climbed onto him, her knees either side of his torso. She pulled the covers onto her shoulders, making a kind of tent over them, and John glanced at her small breasts. He felt grateful to them, because otherwise Natalia's small, naked body looked scarily like that of an adolescent girl. Then he looked into her eyes and any doubt about her being anything other than a grown woman disappeared. He put his hands on her thighs, almost covering them, and gave them a squeeze. All right, I'm listening.

'You were watching me the whole time,' said Natalia. 'And you would have stopped if you'd seen any sign that I wanted you to stop. I know that for a fact.'

'It's not a fact,' said John. 'It's a feeling. And the Feminists would say that a woman not saying no is not the same as her saying yes.'

'Well, fuck the Feminists! It's none of their business.'

'We live in a world where people make it their business.'

'Then we won't tell them.'

Natalia pressed forwards, her arms around his shoulders, her body against his. John hooked his arms under her buttocks and the woman rested her weight, using his forearms as a seat. He thought she was going to kiss him, but instead she looked him in the eyes.

'When you were kneeling over me,' she said in a murmur. 'Do you know what I was afraid of? And it wasn't that beautiful cock of yours.'

John kissed her on the lips and said: 'Tell me.'