September 28, 2007. [Part 1]
I dress nervously. My strapless dress is too short, it rides up too easily. My bra straps are showing. I feel twitchy, I'm shy and uncomfortable. I slide on some black tights underneath the pleated skirt of the dress, and a shear blouse over the top. I think about putting my glasses on. I decide against it. My dress sense is somewhat quirky and I'm not sure what he'll think. He is....intensely sexual. The short skirt will impress, the tights will not. I wonder why I care.
After a few months of speaking on the phone, exchanging photos, he is driving to me. It's not a short drive, at nearly 5 hours. We've never met in person, but we've talked on the phone nearly daily. We only ever discuss sex, the parameters are clear here. We started keeping in touch after randomly coming into contact over the phone. I was hanging out a friends house, she had asked me to talk to her current love interest while she checked dinner. No, its not what you think, he asked me to speak to HIS friend while he went to the bathroom.
And that's how I met M, who's name was currently lighting up on my buzzing mobile.
"Are you here?" I don't even bother saying hello, we've been talking pretty much consistently for the last 2 days since he got back from interstate, except for when there was no phone signal on his trip. He had sent more photos that day, to reassure me that he was not, as he sometimes joked, actually 50-odd years old. His photography skills were poor, even for cellphone cameras, but there was no mistaking his strong features, messy, short sandy blonde hair and broad shoulders. I had told him without hesitation, "Start Driving". I don't know what I'm planning, how far I will go. M tells me he doesn't care what happens he just wants to meet me. I later realised he thought I was a sure thing. He may have thought correctly.
He asks whether he should pick me up, I decline, unwilling to give him my address (and yet somehow perfectly comfortable with meeting up with him alone?). We agree to meet at a bar. I suggest one that I think will make him feel more comfortable, a sports type bar that usually has plenty of live bands. He calls me minutes later, the pub is closed. It's a Sunday night before a public holiday, I had expected it to be open. I tell him I just pulled into the car park of another bar, its close by.
I recognize M's car, it's new. He told me about it yesterday. I walk around to the passenger seat. I notice he's wearing a t-shirt and cargo pants. Cool but casual, you could say. The look suits him, it looks comfortable but it compliments his lean, muscular footballer's body. We don't make it inside the bar. He takes a quick drive, we make idle chit chat. I act comfortable, talk confidently. I tell him he is infinitely more attractive than his photos. I call him hot. I am suprized at myself, the ease at which I interact to him. M is easily the best looking man that had ever been interested in me. The drive is short and the entire time my body is angled toward him, my eyes taking in every feature as his focus on the road. His arms are big, the tone evident as he grips the steering wheel. He has a workman's tan. It's all I can do to continue conversation when my eyes drift down his body. I find myself hoping that he is already getting hard. I want to turn him on. I am overly aware that it is completely superficial conversation. It's clear to me what this is. I want it anyway. He tells me he needs to check into his hotel room before it gets too late. I nod, telling him I'll come with him.
He collects his key, we make the short walk to the room. Once inside I take a seat opposite the bed. We chat a bit more, he comments that he likes what I'm wearing. I tell him about my style sense, how I used to be 'goth'. M laughs, joking that he didn't realize what he was getting into. His laugh is mischievous and sexy, I've heard that tone before. I'm suddenly aware that it's just me and M, alone, after all our late night and early morning talks. He has heard what my voice sounds like when I talk about the things I liked in bed with my ex. He knows the sounds I make when I orgasm. And he is here, complimenting my dress. I knew the length of it would be pleasing. Unconsciously I stand up, I think it's because I feel uncomfortable. Now that I've stood I have to do something, so I walk toward the bed where he is sitting, leaning on the headboard.
I lay down next to him.
M looks down toward me. "Hello".
I smile shyly and try to be nonchalant. "Do you know how much trouble I had deciding what colour underwear to put on tonight?"
His expression shifts, almost darkens. I think M realises where my mind has been all night. I love the look on his face. It's a little shocked, a little turned on but mostly, it's predatorial to the point of being menacing. But like everything else about him, its also intensely sexual.
"Fuck it!" he growls into my ear. It's said with a sense of abandonment, giving into me, realizing that I want him. He moves quickly, lowering his body onto mine, our lips crashing together. The first time M kisses me, I can feel him, hard, pressed against my thigh.
------------more to come------------------
A big part of this drifting thing has been casual sex. It doesn't really help you get anywhere, but it serves its purpose. It's taught me, kept me occupied, and helped me make little connections. I've even made good friend or two out of it. These kind of shenanigans will probably make a regular appearance here, it's something thats come up more than a few times in the last year the last year or so. It's influenced how I see myself and, in a way, changed what I want out of life and relationships.
To be honest I'm still not sure where I stand on the whole thing. I am not ashamed nor proud. I regret some things but for the most part, I've had fun. I've never known anyone to wish they'd experienced less.
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