Memories - First Date and After

I'm pretty sure it's a story I've never told, one about our first date. Not necessarily the date itself, but the morning after the date.

No, it wasn't waking up with her, not that at all. We kissed on our first date, "made out", but I didn't get past second base on that first date (or the second, third, fourth, fifth, or even sixth). 

The date itself was an easy first date. A museum, dinner, back to her place, where I was invited in. We sat on the couch, Emily in her dress, legs crossed, with my eyes glued to her nylon covered legs, her heels; me next to her, nervous, even afraid.

"Are you going to try to kiss me?" she asked me.

"Am...am I...going to kiss you?," I said.

"I didn't know if you wanted to try to kiss me or just look nervously at my legs."

"You...you have nice legs," I said, trying to sound confident, knowing I sounded anything but.

"Guess that answers my question," she said with a small frown.

"No," I said, "I mean...am I allowed to?"

"Allowed to?"

"Kiss you," I said.

She smile. "You're so unique," she said.

"Unique?" I asked, not that she was wrong.

She smiled again, like she was considering. "You know, usually guys just kiss me, not considering whether they're allowed to, not thinking about whether I want to, whether I'll stop them. They just go for it and hope for the best. I don't think anyone's ever asked."

I pondered this for a moment. "Technically I didn't ask," I said, trying to put on a brave face.

She looked at me, smiled again. "I guess technically no then," she said.

I wanted to in the worst way, wanted to kiss her more than I ever kissed anyone before. "May I?" I managed to say.

"May you?"

"May I...kiss you?" I said.

She moved her mouth like she was thinking. "You may," she said. I started to lean towards her but she stopped me. What else?"

"What else?"

"Where are your hands going? You should ask about that, too. Where you hands may go."

"Where my hands may go?"

"Again, normally a guy just goes for it, just takes what he can, just finds out what he can get away with. Normally. But he normally doesn't ask to kiss me. So we should...clarify."

"Clarify."

"Where your hands can go. You should ask about that, too." 

She was smiling, not being cruel, toying with me, playfully, friendly, like she just discovered something. For me, though, it was like her voice plugged into my psyche, into my inner core of desire. I was on the couch with this woman I'd had a crush on for months, on the verge of kissing her, asking if I could, ready to ask what else I could do.

"I've done this before," I said, "kissed a girl."

She laughed. "I'm well aware," she said. "And I've been kissed by men before, though none quite so shy and timid and nervous as you."

"I'm not timid," I said.

"Just shy and nervous?" she asked. These were words that could be cruel, but they weren't from her."

"Maybe some," I said, eyes on her legs again.

"Don't worry, it's cute," she said. "So, when you're kissing me, where to you want to touch?"

"Your...your legs," I said, the first thing that came to mind, where my eyes were.

"I always see you looking at them," she said, "not like a creep, but you notice them."

"You have nice legs," I said.

"Where?" she asked. 

I tried to be brave, bold. I reached over, let a hand hover over her thigh. "Here?"

"Ask," she teased.

"Can touch you here?"

She took my hand, put it on her thigh, on her nylon covered thigh. "Yes, but no higher than this," she said.

"No higher?"

"No higher," she said. "Where else?"

I looked at her face, into her eyes, looked down to her chest. "What...what about..."

"My breasts?"

My ears were red, my face was red. "Can I...touch your breasts," I asked.

"God this is hot," she said, echoing what I was thinking. 

"It is?"

"I never had a guy ask. They either just take what they want or are too nervous to do anything. You're nervous but not too nervous."

"So may I?" I asked. "Touch your breasts?"

She looked like she was thinking about it, pondering. "You may kiss me," she said, "tongue if you want. You may touch my thighs, but not above the hem, and you may touch my breasts, but over my dress and not below my waist."

"That's very...explicit," I said, a laugh to try to cover my excitement, my nerves. 

She shrugged playfully. "Usually it's men taking what they want. If a boy's going to ask what I want, if I'm going to be in charge, I'm going to be explicit. So, second base. Thighs below my hem, breasts over my dress and not below my waist, and as many kisses as you want."

"Second base?"

"Second base."

My hands went to her at once, one on her nylon covered thigh, one on her breast; I leaned in, kissed her hard and deep, the first time I'd kissed a woman in quite some time. Her lips were warm, inviting, sweet, soft and I think I fell for her that second. 

She pushed into me, on top of me, and suddenly I was self-conscious again. Not at kissing her, not at touching her nylon covered leg or her breasts, but at my reaction. I saw her look at down, giggle, knew she felt me pushing into her as we kissed.

"S...sorry," I said, shifting, trying to move my erection away from her, trying cover myself with a pillow.

"Sorry?"

"I guess I'm...kind of excited."

"Your little guy's got a mind of its own," she said, having no idea the word hit my brain like a truck crashing into me.

"I...I just..."

"You haven't been with a woman for awhile, have you?"

"I haven't kissed a woman for awhile," I said.

"Just remember, second base," she said.

"I know," I said. 

"Do you want to move your little guy?"

"Yea," I said, the word crashing into me again.

We kissed like that for awhile, fondling, touching, my hand never going under her clothes, past the hem of her dress, lower than her breasts. We literally just made out.

It was late when I left, when she gently sent me on my way with a promise to call her when I got home. 

"I will," I said.

"You busy in the morning?" she asked.

"No, why?"

"Coffee at eleven?" she asked, naming a coffee shop.

"Of course," I said.

**********

She was already at the coffee shop when I got there, relaxing on a couch, a cup in her hand. She was dressed casual, a sweater, jeans, loafers some type of nylons, trouser socks or something sheer, I didn't know. 

She smiled, said to get two cups of coffee. I came back, she'd kicked her shoes off. I sat just across the corner from her so I could see her; when I sat, she put her nylon covered foot next to my thigh. Without thinking, I did something I'd do thousands of times in the future; I reached for her foot, massaged it gently.

"I enjoyed last night," she said softly.

"Me too," I said.

"I like you," she said.

"I like you, too, Emily," I said, gently touching her foot.

She smiled. "I like you so I I want to take this slow, serious, I don't want you thinking you're just going to bed me then ghost me."

"I'm not like that," I said.

"I know," she said, moving her foot slightly against me. "That's why I want to go slow."

"I'd like that, too," I said, meaning it, afraid of rushing too fast, of scaring her off, of screwing it up. I liked her, really liked her.

"Legs, feet, nylons, or all three?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to act cool, wondering how she saw right through me.

"It's a simple question," she said.

"All three," I said.

"You should be wary about letting a girl know how to control you," she joked.

"Is it that obvious?" I didn't know if she realized the power she had, but she'd come to understand all too well.

"Pretty much, but don't think I'm complaining," she said, "you're talented with your hands, it feels nice. Most guys don't have that talent."

"You're easy to please," I said.

"And you're easy to read," she said.

"Emily..."

"Yes?"

"Please don't...hurt me."

"I won't," she said, "I promise."

She kept that promise. She kept that promise.