First date, first kiss with Bran

May 14, 2008 at 2:07 am 1 comment

It was back when it was still cold out. We met in Central Square and chatted a bit in a coffeehouse before dinner. His first impression of me was that I was angry, but really I was just thrown off by the Scally cap he was wearing. While we sat and talked over my cooling pot of tea, I remember an attraction blooming in spite of myself. It was something about the set of his neck.

I was still dressed for work in fairly dour clothes, a very utilitarian pair of pants and a long black cardigan. Over dinner, I remember his enthusiasm for the food, the way each of us was careful and generous with each other, gesturing to the other to have more. It was an Ethiopian restaurant, which means that you eat from the same plate with your hands. The plate itself is a sort of spongy bread that you eat as well. It’s a very intimate meal to share.

It was the set of his neck, that moment in the coffee shop, that really sealed the deal. But his conversation over dinner was pleasant and that helped as well. I invited him home to meet my cats. Heh. On the way back to my car, we linked arms, and he shivered in the cold and mentioned that he was tired, and I said, “if you’re really tired, you can go home now.”

“No,” he replied. “I want to see… what’s up.”

When we got home, I offered him a drink of water. I was so nervous standing there in the kitchen, trying to make conversation, that I dropped one of my good, stemmed water glasses. In my fumble to try to catch it, I dashed it against the sink. It shattered and left glass everywhere.

We sat on the couch and I put my feet up in his lap. But he wasn’t interested in my feet.

“You have an amazing ass,” he said.

“Yeah?” I said, flattered. And shifted so that I was sitting with my back to him, against his open legs. He put his arms around me, and our hips undulated. I turned to kiss him. Held him down, hovered with my lips close to his, savoring the moment.

I slid my hand under his sweater, his shirt, his undershirt, and pinched his right nipple, hard. He gasped. That harsh intake of breath, I’ve come to love it over the intervening months.

I kissed him then.

Entry filed under: being a bad bisexual, Bran, courtship, dominance and why that's hot, food, intimacy, memoir, oh god not more mushy stuff, pleasure, sluts have more fun. Tags: , , , , .

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1 Comment Add your own

  • 1. Dirty, sweaty sex « Omnivore’s Dilemma  |  June 12, 2008 at 9:08 pm

    […] I was close to coming. So soon. He could tell. He stopped, got up, walked away. I sat on the couch, gasping, dizzy, excited. It was the same spot where I’d pushed him down for our first kiss five months ago. […]

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