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The personal ad
I came in and sat down at the end of the bar near the back way out to the parking lot. I wanted to be able to run if anything went wrong, or if I chickened out. I ordered a drink to try to smooth out my jagged nerves and watched them from across the room. She was wearing an ivory sleeveless dress that came to just above her knees. Her skin was smooth and bronze, begging to be touched. The man was a few years older, closer to my age. Fairly average looking, but he had a nice smile and a relaxed, intimate manner, leaning toward her as he talked and touching her frequently to punctuate his sentences. I noticed them starting to look around to try to identify me. I had told them I would be at the bar, wearing a dark blue sweater and my favorite long silver earrings, the ones that give me confidence. I saw her touch his arm and whisper something in his ear when she spotted me, and then gesture to the empty seat between them.
I joined them. Up close, she smelled as delicious as I thought she would- vanilla and honey, citrus and spice. I tried to think of an excuse to touch her while we introduced ourselves. Finally I managed to brush her arm when I reached past her to set my drink on the bar. That first touch made me shiver, with a mix of desire and nervousness. I almost let my fingers move down and stroke her arm, then her wrist, then her fingers, but I was too unsure of myself to try it.
They took turns telling me their story- she was from Argentina originally; they had met while she was at the university here working on her MFA in photography. He was the manager of a restaurant near campus that served her favorite dessert, similar to one her family made for special occasions. They started talking late at night when things weren't busy. He learned to make a few more of her favorite dishes as a way to keep her coming in, and she suggested improvements they didn't really need to keep the conversation going longer. They started dating, then became more serious over the two years of her program; when she graduated, they decided to get married so that she could stay and begin working and exhibiting in the states. That was ten years ago.
Over the years, she had finally told him that she was bisexual. After many discussions and many arguments, he had agreed to let her indulge herself from time to time, although that came with a few conditions: he had to have met the prospective partner; he wanted to make sure that it would be someone who would treat his wife well and not seem to be a psycho or blackmailer or something of the sort. They would, every few months, place an ad looking for someone for her, and arrange a couple of meetings to check them out before anything happened. That was what I was doing here.
After 20 years in a monogamous marriage, my husband had given me a hall pass as an anniversary present, a one-time only opportunity to try something new, anything I wanted, with whomever I wanted. I spent the weeks after that thinking, trying to decide what I most wanted to experience. I scrolled through lists of ads on Craigslist- women wanting women, men wanting women, BDSM, groups, every possible combination.
I kept clicking different ads, trying to figure out what to do, until I finally saw the one that made the decision for me. it was a woman seeking another woman, nothing too unusual, except for the picture that accompanied the ad, a black and white view of her from one side, smooth dark hair partially hiding her face and fanning out over one exposed shoulder. I couldn't get that image out of my mind. There was something so mysterious, so intriguing. I wanted to brush her hair aside and bury my face in the curve of her neck, feel the pulse of her heartbeat, the prickle of goosebumps on her skin.
For days, I thought it over. Obsessively. As intrigued as I was, I was terrified; anything could go wrong. It could be awkward, creepy, or just plain bad. I might not like them, they might reject me, or they could be crazy weirdos. After all was said and done, it seemed like it would be ok. We kept talking about what would happen next; because we seemed to get along so far, we arranged to meet again next week, this time at their house.
I showed up at the house that Friday, as arranged. The husband wasn't there this time; I guess he felt that I'd passed inspection and she and I could get to know each other better. She came to the door looking beautiful; in ivory again, a blouse in a silky fabric and a flowing skirt. Again she smelled of something edible- cinnamon, and cloves. She showed me around; the house was full of photos she had taken of landscapes and people, in black and white and color. I was impressed with the way she was able to focus on a small detail in the photo and make sure that it captured the viewer's attention too.
Finally we entered a room which was clearly her private space; there was a large bed by one wall, a grouping of sofas and armchairs in the middle of the room, and more photos. These were different, nudes and erotic subjects - a hand cupping a full round breast, the back and neck of a naked woman. On a low table was an opened bottle of wine and two glasses. She asked me to have a seat and poured us each a glass.
She and I were sitting very close together, our arms almost touching at the tiny table. I felt almost dizzy with excitement, anticipation, and the strangeness of it all. She leaned in and kissed me, very, very lightly, her mouth slightly open, her breath tickling my lips. I slid a hand up to the back of her head and pulled her closer; the kiss became more forceful, her tongue slipping gently into my mouth and playing against mine. I kissed the side of her neck, down to he collarbone, and further down to her cleavage. I was feeling her, touching her, and tasting her, all at once.
She gently reached a hand up under my shirt and started to stroke along the side of my breast. She moved over to cup it and tease the nipple with her fingers as I gasped with pleasure. She started to move her hand further down my body, to stroke my hip and move inward, between my legs. "Wait," I whispered; it was moving too fast. I needed a minute to catch my breath. We sat still for a moment. I could feel her heart beating in sync with my own. Finally, trembling, I whispered again, "My turn." I pushed her back a little, against the pillows at the end of the sofa. I put my hand on her knee, then slid it up, millimeter by millimeter, up her leg. Up to her inner thigh, up to the edge of the softest curly hair imaginable. She moaned, just a little. I trailed a finger down her thigh again, then up, enjoying teasing her. I decided it was time to experiment a little; one finger stroking her soft hair, then moving up and inward, exploring. I felt wetness and warmth on my fingers. She moaned again.
I kept probing, slipped one finger inside. I could feel her sucking my finger in so that I hated to pull it out. I used my thumb to find and rub her perfect, pink clit, the first I had ever touched beside my own. I rubbed it in tiny circles, two fingers still buried inside her and pressing back, where I knew from experience the most exquisitely sensitive nerves were waiting. She started to writhe against my hand, her breathing getting ragged. My lust finally overrode my awkwardness. I had to taste her. I pulled my fingers out, hearing her groan in frustration at the sudden emptiness. I bent down and pressed the tip of my tongue, tentatively, to the tip of her clit. I licked up and down, from there to the opening of her slit. She tasted like I thought she would all along- musky, spicy, sweet, delicious. I couldn't remember why I had ever hesitated. I kept licking, inserting two fingers again. Her writhing intensified; it was almost hard to hold on, but I did. Finally, she exploded in my mouth and I lapped up her juices while she twisted and pushed against me, trying to draw the sensation out as long as she could. I stayed there, face between her legs, while her orgasm subsided and her body relaxed. For a minute, I thought she had fallen asleep, but she finally spoke, "Now you have to let me."
She took my hand and led me to the bed. This time she was the one who pushed me back. She started at my mouth, gently biting my lower lip. She traced a line of kisses from my mouth down my neck, continuing to my breasts. She flicked the nipple with her tongue, making it stiffen so that it was almost painful. She bit there too, while I moaned at the intensity of the feeling. She continued down my body with her mouth, alternately kissing, sucking, and licking. When she reached my arm, she kissed the palm of my hand and then sucked on the fingers that had been inside her a few minutes before. She licked them clean. When she reached my belly button, she flicked her tongue inside it, making me squirm. Finally, when I thought I was going to go crazy with waiting, she reached my pussy. She stroked her tongue against me like I had done to her; she was so soft, so warm. I could feel her hot breath blowing on me, teasing me, making me wait.
And then, when I was about to touch myself in desperation, she stuck her tongue inside me. She thrust it in, using it like a cock, but softer and more alive. She found my clit and fingered me while she fucked me with her tongue. She plunged into me, filling me up, then pulled out to leave me empty. I grabbed her hair and pulled her, hard, into me so that she couldn't go anywhere. "Oh god, right there, oh, oh, oh." I wasn't sure if even that much had actually come out of my mouth, or if it had just been half-formed thoughts and half-articulated syllables. Now it was my turn to writhe against her mouth and fingers; my turn to convulse with an intensity that was almost too much to stand. After, as my body relaxed and my breathing slowed, she came back up and kissed me. I felt the softness of her lips, and tasted myself on her tongue. All at once, the tension I had felt in my body and my mind melted away and I relaxed against her, ready to sleep for a while. We had the rest of the night alone together; I had a lot of exploring left to do, and I was going to need some rest.