I have never met you. Not in person, yet I know you. We exchange conversation over the internet via its many forms of communication: e-mail, icq, chatrooms. I finally get up the nerve to send you my picture, you reciprocate. When I receive the file, hesitantly, I open it, expecting... honestly, not knowing what to expect. As I gaze at your image on my screen, I have to take action: I e-mail you back almost immediately. 'I'm hurt', I type, 'I thought we were being honest with one another, and here you send me the picture of somebody else. The woman in the photograph is stunning'. You lol me back and say it really is you.
Our talk had started out very flirtatiously, but not necessarily overtly sexual. We learned more and more of each other: our lives, our loves, our pasts, our future hopes. And then the day comes. Looking back, I am unsure as to which one of us initially suggested it. Was it me in a playful manner, hoping you'd say yes, but able to joke it off if the answer's no? Or was it you, in a suggestive way, so that if I had said no (like there was ever a chance of that happening), you could also play it off as mere sexual innuendo? Whichever, we agree to meet.
The next month, May, I will be back in New York for some meetings in with Miramax and we talk about meeting in the City (everywhere else in the world there are places where hundreds of thousands, sometimes millions, of people live, but there is only one City). But where? Under the clock at Grand Central Station, of course. It would either be there or the observation deck of the Empire State Building. You will wear a cream silk gown, with a white gardenia. I, my navy pin stripe suit with a red rose boutonnière. We will meet at three in the afternoon on the Friday, after all my meetings are finished.
As the days go by, I keep looking at the calendar, willing the days to fly by. Our lives go on, we still chat online, but now the sexual tension within those emails is almost palpable. The week of the trip arrives. On the Wednesday, my meetings start. Although important, our impending meet is never far from the top of my thoughts. I beg off meeting friends in the evenings, knowing I'll be distracted. Instead I spend my time online, mostly joking with you.
My meetings go well, and on that Friday, I even manage to fit in a lunch with some friends over at MTV, but my mind is not on my work. I keep looking at the clock, waiting for 2:30, when I head over to GCS. As I dress, I stab my finger several times as I try to pin my boutonnière on, my hands are shaking with anticipation. I realize we have never even spoken on the phone. What will you sound like? Will I today finally taste those lips I have dreamt about every night since receiving your photograph? Or will one look at me in the flesh leave you running back to the hills of Connecticut?
The hour approaches. Unwilling to wait until 2:30, I arrive early, wander around the terminal, glorying in the beauty of the architecture. As noon rolls towards me like a wave on the beach, I make my way to the clock. Nearing, I see you, who have arrived early as well. Your picture does not seem to do you justice. I am literally breathless as I watch you walking up to the clock, peering into the crowds of people on their lunch hour, looking for a navy suit with a red rose. I am breathless. Did I mention that? You are even more lovely in person, than in your photo. I know now I am doomed.
You see me. Our eyes lock. The terror of the moment is excruciating, and then you smile. When you do it is as if God has opened the windows of heaven and the sun is shining for the first time. The crowds, the teeming mass of humanity swirling around us, cease to exist. We walk towards each other. One step, then two, each of us savoring the almost unbearable anticipation of those first words.
"Hello Spence", you say. And your voice is a melody. Nothing like I expected, yet everything that I'd dreamed.
I realize that the polite thing to do at this point is to say something back. Removing the wad of cotton which had suddenly taken up residence in my mouth, I manage to croak out, "Hello Nicole".
You mistake my uneasiness, "Disappointed?"
I laugh out loud, unable to resist it. "Disappointed? Yes. Of course I am." You look crestfallen, but I continue, "I'm disappointed in life for having not met you twenty years ago. Disappointed in us for having waited these months to set up this meeting. I'm disappointed in myself for not being able to say to you in the next two minutes all the feelings welling up inside me."
"Let's get out of here." You whisper.
I take your arm, and together we walk out to Madison Avenue. Neither of us says a word, content merely to be with each other. I am aflame with desire. I hail a cab as we hit the street. The cabby asks us where to, and I look to you. You shrug. I want to tell him back to The Peninsula, my hotel, but I've always been one to savor the anticipation, so instead I tell him, "Battery Park". You look at me quizzically. "When do you have to be back in Connecticut?"
"I wouldn't plan on getting much sleep between now and then."
You smile back at me, and snuggle into the crook of my shoulder, your free hand resting lightly on my thigh, sending electricity coursing through me. My arm is around you and with my other hand I caress your hair and face. We stare at one another, talking about our respective trips to the city. You ask how my business went, and I tell you all about it. And you listen. You tell me all about your week, and are surprised that I can listen as well.
The cab drops us off at the Battery, and we run to the catch the ferry to the Statue of Liberty. It is a Friday, so it is not that crowded, but neither is it as empty as I'd like.
Our first kiss comes in the torch at the Statue. You were looking out over New York Harbor, but I couldn't take my eyes off you. You notice me watching and smile. I cannot wait any longer and pull your face towards mine. Our lips meet, ever so softly at first, the barest brush of a kiss, and then my lips begin to kiss each of your lips, slowly, gently, your tongue plays lightly across my lips, its tip delicately exploring. Then the line forces us to move on.
As we descend the spiral stairs of the Statue, we pause in one of the alcoves with a bench. I sit, and you sit on my lap. "You turn me on like I haven't been turned on in...well, in a long time" I whisper into your neck, tasting the sweet saltiness where it meets the graceful line of your shoulder.
We spend that day like two teenagers, away from home and the prying eyes of our parents for the first time, frolicking at the Statue, taking the ferry to Staten Island. Yes, even ascending to the observation deck of the Empire State Building. We kiss and hold hands, walk arms around each other, simply reveling in being with one another.
For dinner, we decide on Japanese, and I make a reservation at Kodama's. You want to freshen up, so we decide to go back to my hotel, stopping back at GCS for the bag you checked when you arrived. When we get to my room, we can barely contain ourselves. Hungrily, we release all the pent up sexual energy which has been building all afternoon. Our mouths devour one another, our tongues entwining as we become familiar with each others' mouths. You taste so sweet, like a cool breeze after a gentle rain on a spring day. I could kiss you all day, but there is so little time.
Your hands undo my tie and slide my jacket to the floor. My hands, which I once thought so dexterous, fumble inexpertly at the buttons to your dress.
You help me out of my shirt, as I finally get your buttons undone and you let your gown slide to the floor. You slip out of your shoes, moaning with the release your feet feel to be finally free. You undo my belt, then unbutton the top of my slacks, sliding the zipper over the bulge which has been present much of the afternoon. My pants fall to the fall, to lie in a heap next to my jacket and shirt. My arms encircle you once again, pulling you tight. We kiss. And as we do, I try to undo your lace demi-bra. Again, my nervous hands have difficulty. "Is it locked?" I ask.
You laugh, then reach around and deftly undo it, releasing your beautiful breasts. I watch as your nipples harden in front of my eyes. I cannot resist, and lean down to take first one, than the other breast in my mouth. Running my tongue around each aureola, gently sucking them into my mouth. You close your eyes and moan softly.
Unable to bear it any longer, I sweep you up into my arms, carry you to the bed, where I place you gently, our tongues entwined the entire way. You pull me down on the bed next to you, our hands roaming one another, caressing, probing, squeezing delicately. Driving both of us higher and higher. Finally, you reach down and slide your hand under the waist band of my underwear, taking my by now throbbing manhood in your hand.
It is my turn to ask you, "Disappointed?"
You laugh, and in response, simply slide down my body, freeing me of my underwear, before you softly kiss my tip and then take my head in your mouth. I knead the back of your neck, your shoulders and upper back, trying to relieve some of the tension I can feel there. Even as you run your tongue over my head and down the underside of my shaft, you moan with the delight my massage is giving you.
I am no longer thinking clearly, my senses being overloaded by the beauty which is you. I draw you up from your oral ministrations, and we kiss long and hard. Then I work my mouth slowly down your body. Starting with your chin, then your neck, sliding over your chest to your breasts and nipples, then the underside of your breasts. I let my tongue linger over your stomach, your pelvis, taking in the sweet smell of your fragrance as it moves ever closer to its true desire. But before I give in to my wants, I taste your thighs, your calves, your ankles, then work my way back up.
You are moaning now, thrusting your hips up and down, and I haven't even tasted your womanhood yet. But now I do. Lightly, I run my tongue and lips up your lips, parting them slightly so that I can more easily find your clitoris. It is not difficult you are so aroused. I kiss it, then run my tongue in ever small circles around it, until I can suck it into my mouth. You gasp. I suck and lick your clit, one hand caressing your breasts, while the other runs up the back of your thigh, until I am kneading your ass, stroking your thighs. Your hands push my head harder into your pelvis as I feel your orgasm growing inside you. A slight tremor at first, it builds to a crescendo as your body begins to quake as every muscle in your body contracts. Wave after wave rush over you, your hips thrashing wildly, as I try as hard as I can to keep my lips around your clitoris.
It seems to go on forever, but eventually the tremors subside. You pull me up, kissing me, tasting yourself on my lips and chin. Reaching down, you guide my aching rod inside you, hungrily drawing me as deep as you can. We stay locked that way, me sliding in and out of you, for a long time, until I can once again feel that now familiar sensation building within you. I reach down and begin to massage your clit as I continue timing my thrusts to your hips' gyrations. As I do, you explode, crying out this time with the sheer pleasure of it. Seeing you so excited puts me over the edge and I have an explosion of my own, thrusting as deep as I can within you, your legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me tighter.
As our orgasms end, you look up at me and smile. And this is only the beginning of our first night together.
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