Stacy-Face of an Angel

I don't believe in love at first sight. But that's only because I have a narrower definition of love than most people. You see, I think love is far more than a feeling. It is an act of will. You choose to love someone and—if you really do love them—choose to keep loving them even when they are not loveable. As far as the feeling goes, the one that songs and poems are written about and that most people consider to be love—well, I had that in spades the instant I saw Stacy's face. And all of this—the complete and entire event—was driven solely from my first glance at her face. I'm not saying that she didn't have a nice body, because, fortunately, she did, but at the time I didn't know that. I saw only her face and, to be fair, her hair. Everything else was covered with an apron or because she was standing behind the counter. I swear, one look at her face and I was nearly incoherent. She later claimed that she has never gotten that reaction from anyone but me, but I find that difficult to believe. And, anyhow, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I stopped in at a local diner to pick up some dinner. Most of the time, I got fast food, burgers or Mexican, but on this particular occasion, I had a fancy for Italian food, which was the specialty of this diner. It wasn't a fancy place and they didn't even wait tables. You simply placed your order and either took it home in a sack, or ate it there served on a plastic tray, much like the food court at most malls. I was waiting in line, checking my email on my phone when I happened to look up and saw her. I felt my mouth get dry. My pulse quickened. I think I even blinked, but she was still there.

"Hi, what would you like?" she asked cheerfully when it was my turn. Her smile was dazzling, turning an already beautiful face into one like that of an angel from heaven.

"To see your face every day for the rest of my life," I blurted out without thinking. I suspected the moment I heard myself utter the words out loud that I could very well regret my impulsiveness.

"Well I can't help you with that right now," she said, blushing, "but I can take your order . . . for food."

"I would like the large spaghetti dinner with extra sauce."

"Meat sauce or marinara?"

"Meat."

"And your name?" she paused and added "so I know who to call when it's ready."

"Oh. Of course," I said, crestfallen that she added the disclaimer. For a fleeting instant, I thought it might be because she was interested. "It's Todd. Todd Jacobs." She scribbled "Todd" on the order pad.

"I'll call you when it's ready, Todd," she said, with a little extra emphasis on the "Todd," but maybe that was my imagination.

I found a table and waited. What was I thinking? I was thinking that I should have asked her out. But there was still time. I had to come up with a plan, something more clever than the idiotic line I'd already delivered. I was thus lost in thought and never noticed the not so discreet stares of curiosity that I received from the kitchen staff. My thoughts were only interrupted when my name was called for my dinner. But, Alas! It was not my dream girl calling my name, but another girl who worked there.

I looked for her when I went to pick up my tray, but she was nowhere in sight. Dejected, I thanked the girl, took my tray, and returned to my seat. Imagine my surprise when I spied, under my plate, a note that read, "If rubbing my feet and watching TV doesn't sound like a horrible first date to you, meet me at the front door of the restaurant at 9:30." She added a postscript at the bottom, "text me if you won't show so I don't wait for you." Her number followed.

I could scarcely believe my good fortune! Not only did she not shoot me down in flames, but we were having a date tonight! I was glad that I hadn't made any previous plans that I would have had to cancel but cancel them I would. I didn't want anything to interfere with this most blessed occasion—my date with an angel.

I went home and showered and shaved. I didn't normally get too grungy at my job at the auto parts store, but I wanted to be at my best. I also stopped at the local package store and picked up two bottles of wine and a six-pack of beer. I didn't know if she was a beer drinker, or wine drinker, but I thought it best to be prepared.

There I stood at about twenty minutes past 9, package in hand, near the front door of the restaurant which closed at 9, but still had a few stragglers inside, staring at my feet.

"Todd?" Stacy asked. She was early, it was only twenty-five past. "Barry made me leave early," she explained. "He was afraid you might get arrested for loitering." She grinned. God, she was beautiful. "Are you ready for our glamorous date?"

"It'll be glamorous if you're there," I replied.

"If you weren't so utterly sincere, you might be creepy," she observed. She led me down the alley to some stairs that led up to the second story of the building.

"Is that good, or bad?" I asked, not sure how to take the remark.

"I don't know, Todd. But since I invited you home without really knowing anything about you, you probably shouldn't be too worried."

"Mostly I'm just worried I'll do something to ruin what could be the best date of my life."

"I hope this won't be the best date of your life," Stacy said. "I expect you to take me on a better date than this one, eventually. But it's Thursday night, I've been on my feet for hours, and a foot rub and some intriguing conversation seemed to be about all I could handle for tonight." She unlocked her door of apartment 2B at the top of the stairs. "And maybe sex if you do a good job with my feet."

I didn't respond to that last statement, but only because I was certain I'd imagined it. Certainly, it must have only been wishful thinking. What kind of girl would be so blunt, so forthright? (Perhaps the kind of a girl who would invite a total stranger home because he blathered some nonsense about wanting to see her face for the rest of his life?)

Stacy's apartment was a tiny studio apartment. It had a kitchenette, a tiny dining table that could seat two, a bed adjacent to the tiny bathroom, and a sofa. The only thing that provided breathing room in the claustrophobic space were the two sliding glass doors on the back wall of the apartment that opened out to a decent sized porch. As long as the weather was nice, it provided an escape. In inclement weather, well, there were windows.

Stacy bade me sit on the sofa and pulled a couple beers out of the bag and putting the rest in the fridge. I noticed that there was plenty of room in the fridge, which was mostly empty.

"I know it's not much, but it came with the job. Two meals a day, free rent, minimum wage plus tips. I could do worse," she said.

"It's not bad at all," I said. "My apartment isn't much bigger and I don't have a porch."

Stacy sat sideways on the couch, kicked her shoes and socks off, then deposited them in my lap. "Don't tickle my feet," she warned. "If you make me pee on the couch you'll have to buy a new one." Briefly, the image of her losing bladder control on the couch flashed into my consciousness and triggered an arousal alert. Nothing serious, just a momentary erotic pulse like you'd get from the unexpected glance down a blouse, or noticing the perky bounce of a pair of free-ranging titties as they passed by.

"Oh my gosh!" Stacy erupted suddenly. "That turns you on, doesn't it?" She sat up a little straighter. "You have a pee fetish, don't you? I saw your face. Don't even try to deny it."

"I wouldn't say I have a fetish," I replied. "But I think it might be fun to play around with."

"Honey, that's the definition of fetish," she said with raised eyebrows—and she was still beautiful. "And a great ice breaker. Now we don't have to beat around the bush anymore. I know you heard me mention having sex earlier, but you were too polite to say anything about it. But it's gonna happen. You're so sincere and transparent and it makes me hot. And I think you're cute. And I'm tired of having sex by myself. So, we might not have a second date, but tonight we're having sex. I'll even pee on you if you want—I'm just that accommodating.

"And lest you get the idea that I'm a complete slut, I'm not. I have standards. But I do enjoy sex and I loved the way you looked at me when you said you 'wanted to see my face every day for the rest of your life.' I decided right then that I'd give you that opportunity. So, you can go ahead and change your Facebook status to 'in a relationship' because you're stuck with me now."

"But we don't even know each other," I objected. I just kind of blurted it out without thinking, then kicked myself mentally for potentially screwing up the certainty of sex.

"That's true," she agreed, "but that didn't stop you from wanting to see my face for the rest of your life, did it?" She had me there—using my own words against me.

"That's because I think love is a commitment and you can make it work as long as you've made the commitment first," I said, attempting to justify myself.

"See? I completely agree. I feel exactly the same way," she said. "Sounds like we're both on the same page. I want you. You want me. We're together. You can kiss me now," she added with a sexy grin. She leaned up, swung around, and grabbed my face and kissed me. It was a very sexual kiss. Deep, sloppy, lots of tongue . . . and quite arousing.

Stacy, sensing my passion, reached down into my crotch and squeezed my now-hard penis. Unexpectedly, she knelt down in front of me, undid my pants, and proceeded to fellate me. I wasn't a virgin, but I'd only ever read about blowjobs in men's magazines. The sensation was fabulous, of course—it was obvious Stacy knew what she was doing—but the thing that I found most erotic was watching the most beautiful face I'd ever seen swallow my dick . . . and look me in the eye while doing it.

Now that I was rock hard, Stacy got up and shed her clothing, and bade me to do the same. Then she pushed me back down on the couch and lowered herself onto my stiff rod. This all had something of a surreal air to it as it was happening so fast. It was like a waking wet dream.

If I thought the blowjob felt wonderful, it was nothing compared to being inside Stacy's ready womanhood, which I noticed had a luxurious growth of hair crowning it. Thus far I've only commented on Stacy's face. That was what initially attracted me to her. My initial exclamation was made without regard to the rest of her body at all, admittedly a gamble. Upon reflection, I think I reasoned—no, no, there was no reasoning involved—I couldn't imagine a face that beautiful attached to a body unworthy of its beauty. Now I'm not going to tell you that Stacy had a perfect "ten" body. She didn't have gigantic tits, or a Kardashian ass—though neither of those happen to be my ideal. But her figure was quite respectable, well-proportioned with pert b or c cup breasts sitting high on her chest. Her ass was very nice as well, though perhaps not health-club-membership-toned. It was the sort of ass I could put my face in. All-in-all, hers was a body that didn't surpass her face in beauty, but neither did it detract from it. As I plunged my cock into her pussy, I contemplated my good fortune at having sex with a girl more beautiful than I ever thought I could win.

"I love your cock, Todd," she said, slightly out of breath. "I'm going to cum and I want you to cum in me, too."

At this, I began to focus less on my good fortune and more on the good feelings I was experiencing. And, so doing, I quickly came to orgasm, shooting jet after jet of hot sperm deep inside Stacy's cunt. (It had been awhile since I'd had sex, so I'd had plenty saved up.) Stacy followed about two thrusts later, experience a violent orgasm that shook her uncontrollably. It also made her pee, and, since she was on top of me, she peed on me.

"Well, Todd, you got your pee. Sorry I didn't warn you," Stacy said. She didn't seem that sorry, actually.

"I don't mind," Todd said. "I just hope you're not expecting me to buy you a new couch."

"Not yet," she said. "But we should move the party into the bathroom 'cause I have to pee some more."

I didn't know quite what to expect. We went into the tub. I knelt and Stacy stood in front of me with labia spread. She asked me what I wanted. Did I want her to pee on me? In my face? In my mouth? On my cock? I didn't realize it was going to be so complicated. I hadn't ever given it a thought. I told her just to go ahead and let it rip and I would move into the stream as I saw fit. So she did.

The first spurts landed on my chest, warm and wet. I had to admit that the nastiness of it made it pretty erotic. I decided to open my mouth and take a taste. Bitter! But, again, the nastiness of tasting my girlfriend's piss made my penis stir to life. I took her piss all over my hair and face, then opened my mouth again. This time, I swallowed.

"Oh, you nasty boy, Todd!" she said. "Drink my hot piss, Todd!" and she pulled my face to her pussy and pissed right down my throat. I swallowed it all.

I guess I had some undiscovered sub tendencies because Stacy's taking charge like that, forcing me to drink her piss right out of the tap, made my penis rock hard.

"It's your turn to be the sub, now," I told her, standing up. "I think your ass needs my cock."

I'm not sure what made me say that. I've never really had a desire for anal sex before. I guess I just had to blame it on Stacy's ass. It was kind of on the bubble-butt side. And, with all the randiness I just experienced drinking her piss, fucking her in the ass seemed like a fitting follow-up.

"I think you're right," she said, eying my rock-hard dick. "I've never had anything that big up my ass before, though, so be gentle."

I noticed that she didn't say that she'd never had anything up her ass before, just nothing as big as my cock. My cock isn't particularly long, but it is pretty thick. I could understand her having some apprehension. But she didn't say 'no'. Instead, she got out her lube and slathered up my cock—which felt pretty good all on its own. It's the first hand job I'd had which was not self-administered. Stacy then squeezed some into my hand to apply to her ass. I really did enjoy that part of it, fingering her anus, first with one finger, then a second. After three fingers, I figured it was time to substitute my cock. I pressed the head against her anus and told her to press however she felt comfortable. She felt comfortable pretty fast and soon she had all of me inside her.

The sensation was fabulous. I rammed my cock into her pretty fast and hard—it's what she wanted—and my orgasm didn't take long to build, although I lasted longer than I expected given how wonderful it felt. Stacy had been fingering her clit while I was fucking her ass and she came just after I shot my wad inside her.

Afterwards, we showered and explored one another's bodies. We kissed a lot. We dried each other off and then went to bed. We talked for hours and then fucked one more time before we fell asleep. It was the best first date ever.

We've been together for over six months now. I've seen her face every day since then and have no plans to stop. Today, I'm going to ask her to marry me.