blind date: first instance

… I found myself being watched, not uncomfortably, but unexpectedly having gone back to his flat after the dinner….

It seems I was kind of set-up, as in, blind date. My friend Jen wanted a double-date for a dinner out at a restaurant with her new man, as she called him, Paul. I was happy to be a kind of chaperone but had to remind her I was single: hence, I could come but had no date to bring. She just smiled and said… perfect!

Her positive tone surprised me until she went on to say actually the reason why she asked me was one: I was one of her best friends, and two: that I was single, because he was bringing his mate, a friend who was also single. Perfect!… I said to myself, dubiously. She was clearly also being matchmaker and the last thing I wanted was to be fixed-up with anyone based upon someone else’s idea of who I’d like never mind on an actual blind date.

But I felt honour-bound to support her, she was a bestie after all so. I was effectively committed and even though she enthused about this guy was a little nervous when he suggested a proper restaurant for their second date, their first being just a cafe meet after chatting online for a couple of months. It went well, thus, the second date but, for reasons she can’t explain except she was caught on the hop, suggested a double-date which she thought would take the pressure off. Problem was you needed another couple and she wanted at least one of them to be someone she knew. He didn’t know any suitable or available couples either but did have a friend, Richard, who was single if she could bring one of her single girl friends. Deal! She said and threw my name in the mix without my knowing… until now.

So, it was a fait accompli even before she’d asked me. Just as well I was free and I didn’t have the heart to make an excuse to get out of it and let her down.

The dreaded night came but as it happened the meal went well. I wasn’t sure who was the more nervous, her with wanting to impress her new thing, or me with no pressure at all really but hugely apprehensive about blind dates and how I’d have to do small-talk which I hated and was hopeless doing. Well, iIt was only a few hours, what could go wrong, and anyway, I wasn’t paying.

Time passed surprisingly quick when Richard suggested a nightcap. Iit was 10pm and Jen and Paul were keen to get off as she winked, which I took as a sign that they were off for something perhaps a little more intimate than a nightcap.

So, we two stayed and chatted over a last drink staying another half-hour or so then, as he paid the remainder of the bill, he suggested, even though he didn’t want to seem forward, if I’d like to go back to his place close by, no strings and all, to end the evening properly over coffee. As he was a nice guy and easy to talk to as it turned out I agreed, good plan. At first it crossed my mind perhaps not, having just met and such, but he seemed and felt straight-up so said yes, and from his place I’d calla taxi when ready to leave.

… then there we were…. it had gone midnight when I found myself being watched….

We’d had coffee, good coffee as it happened, proper coffee, chatted and I went to the loo and on the way back was distracted by his incredible selection of books, some of which just up my reading street. It was then I had that uncanny feeling of eyes burning into my back. I turned and found him staring, grinning. I laughed and asked what he was grinning about to which he commented on my clothes and… how good I looked in them… which honestly I found a bit cheesy.

He kept looking, grinning anyway as I stood there increasingly awkwardly but not displeased by the attention in my faux-leather deep-green, hi-rise mini skirt with what was probably a surplus of zips. Some did things like one being an actual pocket, and others just for the hell of it, and one fastening from hem to waist where it was overlapped with a single-stud fastening. My top was a pretty simple loose-fit, square-necked, herringbone cotton blouse in a kind of two-tone black with huge off-white buttons down the front while black lace-top, hold-up stockings adorned my legs. I’d long ago removed my ankle boots and semi-smart cotton jacket.

I’d suggest you slip into something more comfortable but you already to my eyes for certain look very, very comfortable… more cheese, I thought, as I threw back my head saying… yeh, right. Since I returned to the room he’d changed tack, perhaps it was the caffeine, and was now clearly hitting on me, even I could tell that. I didn’t mind and was mostly flattered. It’s nice for someone to notice say, what you’re wearing, though always oddly strange when said out loud.

… and what a lot of zips… he said finally. I had to agree, my skirt did have many and having been only the second time I wore it, I wasn’t sure what all of them did and it still even felt odd to me to have zips that do nothing being more a practical type.

He asked me to come closer. All I can say was he had this uncannily enchanting charisma, despite his cheesy comments so I stepped within reach, he sat forward and he lightly touched one of the zips on the left side running his finger along it’s cold diagonal metal, a few inches long and proceeded to unzip it, stop, then again, unzip, stop, until he’d taken it as far as it would go…. seems that one doesn’t do anything. Undeterred he tried another all the while letting him, this time one lower down closer to the hem on the same side… this one also oddly redundant. Back and forth he playfully zipped and unzipped, zipped and unzipped until he reached for one on the right side and unzipped… ah, a pocket, useful, I wonder what’s in it.

Pulling me a closer he slipped his hand inside to find nothing as there wasn’t anything in it, except I felt his movements brushing my thigh underneath with his wriggling fingers. I held my breath and almost went to pull his hand out but instead he voluntarily slid it slowly out. I breathed again.

… so what does this long one at the front do?… his fingers went to the waist and duly popped the single waist stud which took me by surprise. He looked up at me while his finger began pulling the zip down from my waist… I wonder what’s behind this one.

I hadn’t realised until now how I was feeling, actually more than a little aroused by all this not-so innocent play. Initially I stopped his hand going any more than an inch and without a word he gently dissuaded my reluctant fingers and continued now unhindered inch by slow inch to unzip it until it was down another three or four inches. I was keenly aware I was being somewhat seduced here and wondered if I should be liking it as much as I was, being that we were still relative strangers… I think, as you know what’s behind this zip it’s only fair you should share, what do you think? I’d like to know if you dress as well underneath as you do on top.

I was being swept away on the frisson that sizzled between us: or maybe it’d been building all evening and I’ve been too slow to notice.

Having already loosened the zip, and consequently my skirt, by a few inches he continued, pulling my blouse from the waistband before another inch, then another… enough? or more?… he teased. I honestly didn’t know how to answer. He clearly took that for carrying on regardless more. Being a mini skirt there weren’t that many inches left as I felt it loosen from my hips threatening to fall away completely. More frisson penetrated the air and my body…..

My hands shakily, part through excitement, held onto the waist band while but he kept going, me watching him unzipping me, my skirt, until he glimpsed my knickers. One last look into my eyes on reaching the end, the stopper which without waiting for any approval from me he undid leaving just my hands holding up my skirt which now hung unfastened, revealing the lace tops of my hold-ups flush to my thighs…..

(continued in “blind date: second instance” ……….. )

blind date 1

© Emmaleela


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s