Underneath

I had a bus in four hours, but I was headed in the opposite direction, following a digital map to a hidden location where a stranger waited for me.

My time across the border was nearly up, so I was seizing the free feeling that comes easiest in a foreign place where no one knows what you will or won't do. The heat had followed me north and you appeared on my phone with the simplest "Hi there! Melted in the heat yet?" You hadn't realized my life was hours away from you, but it didn't matter as the words flowed between us and my last day passed in the blink of an eye. It was you who asked if I had any free time before leaving, and I knew I had to say yes whether it was true or not.

Wearing the only dress shirt I had packed, I prayed a walk in that July heat wouldn't sweat through and ruin my first impression. The streets were busy as bars and restaurants filled up with the Friday night crowd. Tables spilled out onto terraces and blocked off streets, the city alive and welcoming in a manner that put me at ease despite the language difference. My path turned off the wide road onto a smaller side street and your directions made the end point easy to find. Nestled between a Nettoyer and the entrance to an apartment block was a narrow, nondescript metal door with a single word in black text: Underneath.

Behind lay a set of dimly lit stairs descending beneath the homes and businesses. Montreal was famous for its literal underground, and speakeasies like this took of advantage of space and history. Beyond a second, unmarked door at the bottom step, I walked into a recreation of that past, an incandescent lit foyer. A bored young woman waited at a Coat Check window, with little to do on such a warm night except offer me a "bonjour" and a light hand wave towards the bar and tables in the next room, behind a set of saloon doors.

A dark wood bar flanked one wall of an equally shadowy room, with deep velour benches on the opposite. Round tables for two and four filled the central space, which appeared to be a dance floor if emptied. On the far side there was a small stage barely bigger than the piano it supported, which sat empty that night. Instead, light jazz filtered softly through hidden speakers. Yellow light cast shadows from faux oil lamps and flickering candles on each of the occupied tables.

You were already waiting, patient with just a glass of water, looking idly around the room. Though over half the tables were full, you were easy to recognize from the pictures I'd checked too often in the past day. I had seen you dressed up in a couple, from theater nights and weddings past, but the effect in person was still a revelation. Your dress was simple, black and short sleeved, like a form fitting tee that hugged your chest and waist, but kept your arms and cleavage modest. I had a moment to gather myself, to notice the coolness of the air conditioning which fought with the heat inside my body, and the coolness of the crowd which left me feeling underdressed and momentarily unsteady.

Then your head inclined my way and you spotted me, with a smile just parting your lips and a nervous handwave of recognition. I tried to take an unnoticeable deep breath before walking towards you, poorly playing it cool in an attempt not to stare or appear too eager, possibly caught as I snuck a glance at your exposed thigh where the ruffled hem of your dress slid up. Just a moment allowed me to wonder if that view was an accident or a tease. You said my name with a question mark, and I replied with yours. This formality passed, I took the seat opposite you as you asked if I found the place alright.

There was barely time for banter before the waiter arrived. Drinks were ordered to calm our nerves, affording me a moment for a fuller look at you up close. Candlelight flickered, highlighting the exposure of your collarbones, the curve and smooth skin suggesting what the black fabric hid from view. And the smallest glint revealed the pearl studs in your ears as you pushed your long hair back. I studied a little too long and was caught this time, though you let me off with just a teasing and embarrassed big smile, the same one that struck me first from your profile. In this close space, it was disarming and relaxing, as refreshing as the gin which arrived in short order.

After that, conversation meandered easily, beginning with the recap of my time in Montreal and your plans for the rest of summer. Talk moved from my theater life to your journeys across Canada for school and work. We touched upon your family and my years in Boston, skirting past disappointments in our past to reach dreams for our futures. I still can't recall what I said that made you laugh and lie your hand upon the table, the tips of your fingers reaching out to graze my wrist. Despite the cooled air and the lightness of your dress, there was warmth in that touch.

It had been an hour already, the waiter returning a third or fourth time, asking about our empty glasses. Knowing I had somewhere to be, I hesitated, but you seemed to hang upon my silence, hoping I wasn't ready or willing to leave just yet. And of course I wasn't; of course I would have stayed there all night if I could've changed the schedule of my life. There was plenty of time yet, even if it would never be enough, so I ordered a second and you eagerly followed suit.

A crowd gathered as Friday evening slid into Friday night. The chatter picked up around us and we had to lean in to hear each other. Rested upon the table, our hands inched closer and our fingers begin to gently play... my fingertips brushing your wrist, your pinky looped gently around my thumb. As the noise in the room grew, I resorted to reading your lips, but how could I focus on the words? Your lipstick still shone strongly red. Now and then you'd brush a hair back from your cheek, or raise your glass for a sip. Each small move was a little dance, improvised just for me.

Our drinks began to run low again. As we eyed the dregs, a question from you shook me loose: "Don't you have to get going?"

I did. We both knew it. It was the right question, with only wrong answers.

"I suppose I should," was all I could muster.

The server was easy to flag down. Surely he'd been eyeing our drinks, hoping for another order or a free table for guests who drank more. He brought the check directly to me, and I was glad for the assumption. You bent a little sideways to reach for your purse, the turn of your body pulling fabric loose from your collarbone, the smallest candlelit peek at the cleavage you'd kept secret all evening. What else was underneath, I couldn't help but wonder.

"This is on me," I said firmly. "You can get the next time, if you insist."

"The next time, eh? So sure there'll be a next time, are you?"

"I guess there's always a chance they won't let me back in the country."

"Well if that's the only issue, maybe you just shouldn't leave."

"You have to stop suggesting that, because it's very tempting but I have nowhere to stay, so unless you need a roommate, I think my hands are tied."

With a dramatic fake sigh, you agreed that you couldn't invite me back to your place on a first date, that I was going to have to leave and go catch my bus.

So we stood reluctantly and I waited for you to gather your purse. It was, of course, a poorly disguised move to let you walk out ahead of me, eager as I was to finally get a full view of you. The dress was shorter than I had realized, revealing that the tease of your thigh earlier an intended effect. As you turned away from me, the ruffled hem swished, offering me a glimpse of the curve of your ass. I suspected some others in the room might have spied it as well, and I felt the rush of knowing you were walking out with me.

We made our way past the bar and back through the swinging door from the main room. The coat check girl had gone, the wooden shutter rolled down to close off her booth. This entryway was deserted except for the two of us. You paused, leaned against the wall, and looked down nervously at your hands. I too stopped, just a moment before would've stumbled into you. My gaze moved from the enigmatic expression on your face, down the turn of your shoulder and along your arm. A speaker in here kept us surrounded by the jazz that had enveloped us all night. I noticed that your hip was leaned near a doorknob, the handle to the abandoned coatroom. Your question surprised me.

"Do you usually kiss on the first date?"

"Usually?" I stammered, before regaining composure. "I suppose it depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Well... how did the date go?"

"I don't know," you said with a laugh. "How well did the date go?"

I shook my head playfully. "No, no. You tell me: do you usually kiss on the first date?"

You looked down at your feet a moment, perhaps trying to hide a blush. Then you looked back up, locking your eyes with mine.

"Never."

Then your lips were on mine, you ever so slightly pressed up on your toes to reach. Our hands couldn't even react, only our mouths connected us in that moment. Your lipstick was ever so slightly tacky, holding your soft lips against mine. My eyes closed instinctively, but I opened them just as you pulled back, lowering your face away from me. You definitely blushed, and the flush was visible across your collar as well. Your mouth then formed a shy smile, but your eyes were wide and hungry.

Was it you that looked over first and my gaze followed, or was it my idea? All that matters is we both wanted, and you knew what to do.

You took a step back, almost reluctantly, next to the coat room counter. As you suspected--hoped­­--the shutter wasn't locked, only pulled down, and you could easily pry it up with a finger. You slid it up a couple feet while I stepped back towards doorway between rooms. My body blocked the view of guests and staff so you could make your move. It required you lean your body over the counter, pulling your feet up off the floor and pushing your ass into the air. The hem of your dress slipped up, exposing more of your supple thighs that I had glimpsed before, and the curve of your hips and butt thrust into the air. I couldn't help but get aroused just watching, just hoping you were planning exactly what I wanted.

You reached an arm beneath the shutter, craning your neck to get a visual in the dim coat room beyond. At the longest stretch of your arm, your fingers could grip this side of the doorknob, which turned and pulled open. You lowered yourself back to the floor and the shutter back to its closed position. Looking at me, you teasingly arched your eyebrows as you pushed your skirt back down, as if modesty was still a part of our evening. I'm sure you exaggerated the sway of your hips as you walked past me and strode your way into the now open coat room.

I took a quick look around, on the chance a server or bartender looked our way, but the night was loud and busy and no one but us cared what we were doing. Three short steps brought me into the little room with you and my eyes couldn't even adjust before you reached out of the darkness and pushed the door closed behind me.

"On or off?" you whispered, and I heard the slight clink as you shook the small chain you'd quickly found.

"The lamp or your dress?"

Without waiting for a real answer, you pulled the chain and we were bathed in the low yellow light of a single incandescent bulb.

"You're right," you said. "Lamp on, so you can see the dress off."

It was a sight I'd been secretly imaging all night, which perhaps led to the impatience of me reaching forward to put a hand on each of your hips and pull you into me. Our lips met again and now with full bodies. I could feel your breasts press into me, and the structure of the hidden bra; and of course you could feel the growth of my erection beneath my zipper. Lips still locked, your hands fumblingly led mine to the hem of your skirt, which I grabbed and began to pull up. Progress was halting, as our desires moved between clothing and feeling. My fingers got their first touch of lace stretched over your hips and of warm, soft skin along your back.

As the fabric reached your chest, I stepped back for a breath and to watch the reveal. The intricate lace of your panties also cupped your breasts, larger than expected and supported by three seductive straps each. You pulled the dress from over your head and tossed it aside, then attempted to straighten your hair as you looked back at me. What you saw made you giggle, either the surprise or desire in my expression.

"Fuck, you're hot," I muttered, and I've never known if you heard me or not.

Your only reply was to come back to kissing and I instinctively wrapped you in my arms while your hand reached up to my neck and shoulders. I fell back slightly against the wall and you seized the opportunity. Kisses moved to my neck while hands slid down my chest. There was no belt for you to find, only a button and zipper that easily undid to let my pants loose. My boxers bulged and my breath quickened as you lowered to your knees. Without removing them, you simply reached between the flap and pulled out my hard, attentive penis. Our eyes met briefly before your attention turned fully.

The first, shallow touch of your mouth upon me sent a shiver up my back and my eyes closed without warning. But I gathered myself and opened them to watch you taste me, slightly deeper each time as you teased and tested. I ran a hand through your hair, to get it out of the way, letting me watch you take me, given me view of the beautiful curve of your cleavage. This was the first moment I noticed the mole of your right breast, this mark you showed to so few and made you so uniquely you. This was beauty, too, though you'd never accept that it was. Your tongue against my head was almost too much, so that I wanted it to never end but knew it might end too quickly. Plus there was so much more I wanted from that night.

I put a hand on your collarbone and squeezed gently, gently tugged up to bring your lips back up to my face. You lingered an extra moment, enjoying yourself and pleased with your work, but you stood again and kissed me more deeply than before. The heat of your skin was almost too much and I knew what I needed in that moment. I pressed hands against your hips lightly, to give us some space, then began to remove my own shirt. You stepped back to allow me and smiled when my bare chest came into view, then laughed as I nearly tripped while kicking the pants away from around my ankles. A flirty eyebrow raised asked me what to do next...

Grabbing your shoulders, I exchanged our positions, pressing you back against the wall where I'd been, next to the shuttered counter. I kissed your lips once, then trailed them down your neck and across your collarbone. With one hand, I felt the lace over your chest and squeezed. You moaned lightly in return and I pressed on. My other hand reached for your hip, then slid over for my thumb to press against your lightly shaven bush. Still over the panties, I turned my fingers to slide down and discovered you had soaked right through the cotton and lace. I rubbed a gentle circle and you moaned again. You gently bit my ear and whispered, "I'm so wet for you."

I returned my kiss to your neck as I tried more circles and patterns, listening for the changes in your breath. I could feel the lips beneath your underwear, but not enough. I pushed my hand beneath them, fingers running through your gentle hair and searching for your clit. While one finger circled it slowly, I let another slide inside you. You gasped with surprise but wrapped me tighter in your arms, urging me onward. Your body was waiting and second finger was easy to fit, exploring your warmth and wetness. My thumb now teased your clit as my fingers stroked in and out, trying pressures and speeds to make you moan.

"Okay, okay," you suddenly exclaimed and you used a hand to push my hand away from your wait. "My clits a bit sensitive, sorry," you explained between heavy breaths. "But you can just fuck me now."

My momentary confusion turned to excitement and I watched you wriggle your own panties down to the floor. You turned away slightly, leaning your elbows on the counter and standing up slightly on your toes, inviting me to take you from behind. The lightbulb offered just enough for me find you, though you reached down with your fingers to guide me in. Your pussy was tight but ready and I slid deeply in.

Was it you or I who moaned "fuck"? Does it matter?

I moved slowly at first, getting my footing and savoring the feel of you. You looked back at me and smiled, your eyes wide and your cheeks flushed. I grabbed your hips and began to move faster, wondering how long I could last. I was sweating now and felt your skin glisten beneath my touch as well.

"My hair," you mumbled and I understand. With one hand, I gathered hair at the base of your neck and pulled back. Your whole body moved with, sliding back over me as I slid into you, faster and faster.

"Please yes," you moaned once, then twice.

"Yes, baby, I mumbled in return.

You reached a hand back for me, grabbing for my hip to pull me further into you, to guide my pace. You got closer and so did I, my cock filling you and ready to burst.

"Fuck," I exclaimed, and anyone walking by could have heard.

"Oh God, yes," you returned. "Please cum inside me."

I shivered at the word and pushed faster, harder.

"Yes, yes," you muttered and words were impossible. Your breath was fast and shallow and then a long, moaning exhale told me you were there. My body responded in kind and I held myself close to you, my body arched over yours.

Slowly, our breathing returned to normal. My brain had blocked out the music coming from outside the room, but now it filtered back in along with the noise of the late crowd. I eased myself out of you and stepped back enough for you to turn back around towards me. Your hands reached for my arms and pulled me forward to embrace you with you more kisses, now lighter and romantic, our bodies fulfilled but our want for each other sustained.

"I never kiss on the first date," you said. "Just so we're clear."