The Second Date

Melanie pretended to take another sip from her drink. Would this guy never get the hint that she wasn't interested?

He'd shown up about twenty minutes ago when she was sitting at the bar waiting to be served. If she'd said a dozen words to the guy, she'd be surprised. He was about her age, attractive enough, with a shock of unkempt brown hair, wearing a smart shirt and clearly muscular underneath. Exactly the kind of guy she'd chat to for a bit and head home with after, but the second he'd opened his mouth, a deluge of the most boring drivel had come out of his mouth. He'd been monologuing about himself all night, and he was so dull, she could feel her pleasant buzz being driven away.

"So there I was, surrounded by total strangers-"

She counted the different varieties of whiskey behind the bar again. Still fourteen. Telling him to fuck off wasn't something she dared do, considering she was alone here tonight.

Becky's going to pay for bailing on me, she thought to herself.

The asshole next to her had gone through several beers and was starting to slur a little as he told another inane story. He was standing a little too close, and she could smell the beer on his breath.

"Oh my god, Nora? Is that you?"

She felt a hand on her arm and turned to look. He was about 15 years younger than she was, barely old enough to be in the bar in the first place. His light blond hair was long for a guy, tied back in a short ponytail. He was clean-shaven, and had the most piercing blue eyes she'd ever seen.

They locked eyes for a second, and his flicked back and forth to Mister Drivel for an almost imperceptible moment.

"Michael? From Mr. Whitman's painting class."

"Michael, of course! How good to see you again!"

He looked at her tormentor. "You don't mind if I borrow her for a bit, right? We haven't seen each other in years, I'd love to catch up."

He sat down next to her, and leaned in close. "Are you ok?"

She gave him a thumbs up, shielded by her body, and mouthed "Please stay".

"Hey man, I was talking to the lady."

"I'm sorry man, I'd like to catch up with my friend though. Buy you a beer?"

"I don't want no stinkin' beer."

Mel froze as Michael stepped away from the bar, so she wasn't between him and the asshole.

"I don't think they serve stinking beer here, but I do know a great place down the street where they do. Let me point it out to you, come on."

"What?"

"Stinking beer? It's amazing, you gotta try it, man. It's a couple blocks down the street. Goes well with bloody cheese too, especially on Thursdays, though today is Saturday... man, you gotta stay away from there on the Full Moon though." His eyes went wide as he said "full moon", and he put extra emphasis on the words. "I heard Jimmy from down the way went there when the moon was almost full, but it was a leap year see, and he woke up as a sausage sandwich the following morning!"

"What the fuck is your problem, man. Screw this, she's boring anyway," he said, stumbling off.

Michael sat back down next to her and flagged down the bartender.

"I could see your soul leaving your body from across the room, and couldn't stand it anymore."

She wondered if she might've just traded boring for something worse.

As if he'd read her mind, he went on. "Sorry about that. I'd hoped he'd go away without making a fuss, but that was turning into a fight. The best way to stay out of one is to convince the other guy you're crazy. I assure you I'm not."

"So Jimmy isn't a sausage sandwich?"

"Oh no, he definitely is." His pause was comedic perfection. "He's the mascot for the sandwich store two blocks down from here."

She burst out laughing. "Well, thank you for your valiant rescue then, Michael."

"You're more than welcome. Some guys can't take a hint."

They sat for a bit, waiting for the bartender to get around to serving him his water. The unassuming silence was comfortable after the verbal diarrhea from earlier.

"So, what brings you here?" she asked.

"I was meeting up with some friends, but they ditched me last minute. We were going to celebrate together too. You?"

He had saved her from at the very least a boring evening, but she still didn't want to let him know she was here alone, despite it being obvious. "I'm waiting for my friend to show up, she's running a bit late."

"Want to join me while you wait? That guy might not give up so easily." He nodded to where he'd been sitting, one of the better lit booths right in the middle of a high traffic area of the bar.

"I'd love to, thank you. I'm Melanie, by the way."

"I'm still Michael." He grinned.

His water arrived, along with a fresh version of her drink. He let the bartender hand it to her.

"I ordered you another, I wouldn't trust that one with that guy waving his arms around all that time."

She eyed her old drink. She hadn't even though of that, she'd had it in her hand the whole time, but she'd also been zoned out...

"So, what are you celebrating?" Mel asked as they slid into the booth.

"Huh? Oh, my asshole friend's promotion, but screw him. Let's celebrate the days getting longer."

They clinked. "To longer days!"

He looked at her with those eyes, and her head swam for a second. The rest of him was wholly unremarkable, but those eyes. Blue like arctic ice, and in the better lighting here she could see flecks of gray streaking out from his pupils. The moment stretched.

"Where did you take your last vacation?"

"Spain." She took a sip from her drink while he let the silence stretch. "I went on a solo vacation for the first time in years. I lived in Barcelona for a while, so I visited a good friend, and we went hiking for a weekend. So I guess it wasn't all that solo..."

He took a sip from his water as she trailed off, so she went on.

"Then I spent two weeks in a resort on the south coast, reading on the beach and enjoying the warmth. I went in February, so it wasn't too hot yet-"

As she spoke about herself, he made all the appropriate noises, asked interesting follow-up questions, and seemed genuinely interested in her as a person. About forty-five minutes in, she realized he never asked her anything about her work life. It took her another thirty minutes before she realized she hadn't asked him a single thing. Guys usually used her stories as a springboard to talk about themselves, but he hadn't even shared a single anecdote.

"How about you? What's the last hobby you dropped?"

"Me? I tried to play the guitar for a while, until I realized I'd end up as 'that guy that brings a guitar to every party'. I stopped mid-song and gave my guitar to the kid next door."

It wasn't that funny, but she let out a warm laugh nonetheless.

"I spent the last hour talking about myself, and I know next to nothing about you."

"I like to listen."

"Where did you go on your last vacation then?"

"Germany actually. My friend Brian took me skiing. I still miss Flammkuchen..."

She tried to stay quiet like he had, and after a second he smiled at her. She was another couple of drinks in by now, and a little tipsier than she was really comfortable with while alone, but he just made her feel so at ease... His smile went right to her core.

"He's been looking for a skiing buddy for years, and this time he dragged me along. I tried, but falling down a hill with sticks strapped to my feet is just not for me. I'd much rather walk, or read in the lodge. Luckily he understood, and by the third day we just hung out in the evenings while I cheered him on from the bottom of the hill."

She did her best to emulate his conversation style, and even managed to come up with a couple of questions of her own. By around 11pm, a natural, comfortable silence fell.

"I think your friend may have bailed on you."

"Huh?"

"You said you were meeting a friend, but we've been chatting the entire night."

"Oh! Yeah, she texted me when Boorish Beerbreath III was still trying to chat me up."

"Oh, that was what he was trying to do?"

She laughed again, and made the horrible mistake of looking into his eyes again. Her verbal filter turned off without warning, and she blurted out, "Want to come back to my place?"

Before it was well and good out of her mouth, she turned bright red. She'd come here to find some meaningless sex and a morning of mild regret, but the genuine connection she felt made her feel embarrassed suggesting it, as if it cheapened their evening. He looked a little uncomfortable.

"I feel a real connection with you, and we're both tipsy, so I don't think that's a good idea. I'll be here again next week if you're still interested."

Getting turned down hurt a little, but she was glad he did.

"Sorry, I-"

"Don't worry about it, it didn't happen." He said as he squeezed her hand and smiled warmly.

"What didn't?"

He smiled at her, "I would like to see you again next week."

###

The entire next week was abject torture. He'd refused to exchange phone numbers, saying he would definitely be there. She kept wanting to text him or call him just so she could chat with him some more, but had no way of getting in touch. When her thoughts wandered, she thought of how his eyes had made her feel, and how he'd listened and been engaged at the same time. He was the first thing she thought about every morning, and the last thing she thought about as she was drifting off to sleep.

Her work suffered, she couldn't keep her mind off him. More than once, she imagined what he'd be like in bed. He seemed so attentive, so in tune with what she needed in a conversation, that she could only imagine what it would be like. Her drifting thoughts had even sent her to the bathroom at work to rub one out, something she hadn't done in years. Instead of the normal fantasies of muscles and large cocks, she saw those eyes looking up from between her legs, staring straight into her soul as he played her like a fiddle and made her suffer through orgasm after delicious orgasm with his tongue and long, slender fingers.

By Thursday, she thought she was going to explode. Two more days, and she didn't even know what time he'd be at the bar. She almost went back, hoping he'd be there, but he'd said he wasn't a regular there.

Friday and Saturday passed in a trance until it was time to go. The bar opened at 6pm, and as much as she told herself she didn't want to seem desperate, there she was at 6:01pm walking through the door.

When she saw him sitting in the same booth they'd shared last week, in the same spot as if no time had passed at all, she felt a huge weight lift off her. Without knowing how she'd crossed the intervening space, she was standing at the booth.

"Hi!" she managed awkwardly.

"Hi yourself."

"I didn't know when you'd be here-"

"-so I just showed up at opening."

They both let out a nervous laugh. For a second she worried the chemistry they'd felt last week was gone, ruined by the anticipation and the lack of alcohol in her system, but then she met his eyes again and lost herself.

"Have you eaten?" he said an indeterminate amount of time later.

"I haven't"

"I was too excited as well," he said sheepishly. "I don't think they've got anything good here though, want to get out of here?"

"I'd love to."

###

They walked through the early May evening, a chill still in the air.

"I've been thinking about you non-stop," he said after a while. "I had an amazing time last weekend."

"Me too." She stopped and looked up at him. He was quite a bit taller than she was. She hadn't noticed that last weekend. His hair was hanging loose today, coming down to his shoulders and framing his face. She saw in his eyes what she felt in her heart.

"I'm not very hungry," she said breathlessly, maintaining eye contact.

"We can go see-" he started, but she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. His eyes widened, but he returned her kiss without hesitation. Her tongue darted out and met his as his arms wrapped around her.

She felt ridiculous, throwing herself at a stranger in the middle of a crowded down town street, but she felt every bit of passion reflected. She pressed herself close to him, and felt his erection grow in his pants as she nibbled his lower lip.

"I live two blocks away," she said as she broke away from him, "we can order in later."

They somehow made it to her apartment. He was kissing the back of her neck as she fumbled her keys in the lock, his hands running up her sides. When she finally got the door open, and they were inside, she leaned back against the closed door and tried to undo his pants. His gentle hands stopped her, and he leaned in, whispering, "I want to go down on you first."

She stood against the door as he kissed down her neck, along her sternum. His hands roamed along her side and back, and she longed for him to touch her breasts. She applied gentle downward pressure on his shoulders, and he sank down, kneeling on the floor in front of her. She tilted her hips away from the door, and he carefully, purposefully reached up under her dress to take her underwear off. The look of surprise and delight when his hands roamed over her bare hips put a wicked smile on her face. His head vanished under her dress, and she felt him kiss up her thigh, his breath hot on her skin.

His lips brushed through her pubic hair before she felt him kiss her other thigh, lingering on the soft skin. She could tell that he would be excellent at teasing her to ever greater heights of pleasure, but right now she needed his mouth on her, needed his tongue between her lips, his fingers inside of her. She was about to reach down and guide his mouth to her, when he planted his lips against her.

A soft moan escaped her lips as he kissed her right above her clit, and then licked along her outer labia. A second, more forceful lick parted her lips. She was soaking wet, the week's anticipation, the public kiss, and the dash to her apartment had gotten her going like nothing before.

He moaned as he tasted her and pressed tighter against her, his tongue darting out and probing deeper. She could feel the heat in him, the same heat she'd felt in the kiss. Her dress came off over her head, leaving her standing naked in front of him except for her shoes. She could see his ice blue eyes burning with desire, with a need to satisfy her, and got lost in them as his tongue worked absolute magic on her, making her knees weak.

"Couch," she managed as he tried to steady her with his strong hands.

A large part of her was expecting him to rip his pants off and climb on top of her on the couch, all her previous lovers would have, but he guided her back onto the couch and knelt back in front of her. He buried her face in her again, probing deep with his tongue, then circling her clit. He never lost eye contact, and before long she felt her first orgasm building.

She tangled her fingers in his long hair and moaned his name as she pulled his face closer. Her legs wrapped around his head. He focused on doing one thing, sensing she was close, and kept a perfect pace as her pleasure peaked and flooded through her. Her hips bucked, and her thighs locked down on his head, squeezing hard, but his tongue never faltered, nor did his eyes gazing into her own. Those eyes she could get lost in for an eternity, seeing every bit of her exposed as she as the pleasure he was bringing overwhelmed her.

As she released her leg's vice grip on him and her moans stilled, she again expected him to ask for a blowjob or try to fuck her, both of which she would have enjoyed, but instead he broke from her and asked if he could go wash his hands and use his fingers on her.

She lay there naked as this strange man washed his hands in her kitchen sink, kicking off her heels and catching her breath from the mind-blowing orgasm he'd given her. She admired him from behind, tall, slender, with long, soft blond hair. He wasn't muscular, but still had broad shoulders. She wished she'd have gotten more of his clothes off before they'd gotten started.

As he walked back, she said, "Take your shirt off, slowly."

She watched in delight as he undid button after button of his dress shirt. He finished with the front and pulled it out of his pants, then undid the cuffs and let it slide down onto the floor. His stomach was flat, his shoulders defined, and his arms lean, without being skinny or gangly. Not her type, but seeing more of him was erotic to her because it was him. The wait and buildup had transformed what she wanted into him.

"And the pants."

He kicked off his shoes, then unbuttoned his pants and aching deliberateness pulled the zipper down. He bent over at the waist, and she regretted not making him turn around.

"Underpants too."

"Not yet," he said, and kneeled back in front of her. "I'm not done with you yet, and I don't want you to get distracted."

She mmm'd as he kissed her legs, starting at her ankles and working his way up to her knees, then up her thighs, along the inside where her skin was most sensitive. His fingers pressed where his mouth didn't, massaging her. Some of the heat had left her with her first mind shattering orgasm, and the idea of him showing her what he could do appealed to her. He spent long, agonizing minutes touching her legs, her inner thighs, her stomach, kissing and licking her skin, massaging her with deft fingers. When his lips finally brushed along her labia, she was utterly relaxed and at ease.

He'd wet his fingers, and ran them along her lips. His skin was soft, and some distant part of her realized she didn't even know what he did during the week. Was he still in college? Did he have a job? All she knew was that he was over eighteen, because he'd been at the bar and he'd been drinking last week. When he slid his fingers inside of her, they were already slick with her juices. She moaned as he simultaneously used his tongue on her, slow and gentle at first. His fingers moved in and out of her, following the rhythm of her breathing. He sped up as her breath grew shorter, his tongue growing more insistent as her pleasure built again.

When she was again approaching orgasm, he started curling his fingers, firmly hitting her g-spot. It felt like fireworks were going off inside of her with every strong, rhythmic push, until her world exploded in pleasure. She managed to maintain eye contact with him only because breaking it was incomprehensible to her as he mercilessly drove her over the edge again. She pulsed around his fingers, squeezing them tight as her own fingers gripped his hair.

When her orgasm finally subsided, and he slowed and stopped his stimulation, he kept his fingers inside of her. She stroked his hair, wondering who taught him all these amazing things. I'll have to send her a note... Or some flowers...

She helped him pull his fingers out, and sighed at the loss. Then she dragged him up on his feet as she sat up on the couch and pulled his underwear down. His cock sprang free, and she put her hand at the base.

His pubic hair was neatly trimmed, his cock was about average in length and a little thicker than most. He was uncircumcised, which she liked. His foreskin pulled back a little, revealing the deep purple head, a drop of pre-cum hanging from the very tip. She felt his rock hard erection like steel sliding under velvet as she stroked him and brought him to her lips. The smell of his clean cock filled her nose, musty and masculine, mixed with clean sweat and his body wash.

His pre-cum tasted delicious on her tongue, sending a wave of warmth through her. She licked along his shaft, still maintaining eye contact. The soft moan escaping from his lips was music to her ears. Part of her wanted to suck him off, feel him explode in her mouth, taste him, but she also wanted him to fuck her, fill her, make her his.