First Times

I had finished my exams earlier that afternoon, and headed straight out into town. I was alone, but happy. I ended up in a small, dark music space, heaving with people; aggressive, political punk thrashed at my eardrums. After a few too many beers, I was jumping, dancing, enjoying the throb of the bass, the sweat and the heat. I stopped to catch my breath and turned around briefly – and that’s when I caught her eye.

She was a little taller than me, with a shaven head and a scruffy old t-shirt. Her eyes sparkled through the darkness, and the hint of a smile on her lips made my heart melt. I’d seen her around before, but I never realised how beautiful she was. I wanted to reach out and say something to her, but the moment passed; I lost her in the crowd again, and forgot about her.

The next time I saw her was in the summer. There was a festival in the park – stalls, music, politics and hippies – so many hippies – all in one bright, blurry crowd. The sun was gorgeous and hot, and there was a hint of marijuana in the soft breeze. I took a stroll through the grass, and she was selling pie for animal rights. I walked over. My knees were weak, and it took an enormous effort to put one foot in front of the other. My eyes were carefully, painfully, glued to the path ahead of me, and my cheeks were burning crimson. Like a schoolgirl with a crush, I hardly dared look at her.

When I reached the stall, my lips stretched themselves into a foolish grin, and finally I looked up at her. The sunlight reflected off her face, and I took a moment to admire her features – somehow both flawed and perfect in equal measure. She said some words to me, and I stumbled over a response and ended up with a slice of pie. I was too in awe of her to remember what we talked about.

As I hurried away, my heart felt ready to burst. I sat under a tree to eat the pie and bask in the glory of having spoken to her.

It felt like forever until I saw her again. Months had gone by, and the balmy summer had given way to a miserable, drizzly autumn. The dark clouds in the sky were a perfect mirror of my mood. Not a single day passed where I didn’t think of her. My heart leapt every time I thought I saw her. I spent all my quiet moments contemplating her face, her eyes, her smile. I blushed at my own thoughts sometimes, the ones that made me wriggle around in my seat, aching and yearning for her. It seemed ridiculous in some ways, that a near stranger could have captivated my heart so intensely, but everything about it felt right.

I decided on a whim to stop by a gig on the way home from visiting some friends in another city. I had work to do, but I told myself I’d only stay for one drink. The music and dancing were in full swing when I arrived; there was barely space to stand. I cracked open a cider and found a couple of people to dance with. I tried to keep track of the time, sternly telling myself I should leave soon, but there was a cheap bar and I persuaded myself another drink was okay… and another, and then a few more.

The night was getting rowdy, as we all laughed and danced together in an energetic mass of sweaty bodies. The room was stiflingly hot, I’d been elbowed by overenthusiastic moshers more times than I could count and my legs were tired. The lure of the fresh air outside became irresistible, and I fought my way out through the crowds.

The night breeze was wonderfully cool on orhangazi escort my face, and I breathed a satisfied sigh as I sat down on a step outside. I stared ahead of me at the boarded up windows of the warehouse across the street, peacefully ignoring the drunken debates in the air around me. It was spotting with refreshing rain, and I nodded my head slowly to the rhythm of the music floating through the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blur of black, peach and ginger swagger over and sit next to me.

My heart leapt into my mouth, and I nearly choked on my cider.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Her voice was husky and sweet, and I felt myself trembling as I looked up.

“I just stopped by on my way home. I was only meant to have one drink…”

She chuckled. “I know how that goes.” She dug around in her pocket for a pouch of tobacco. “Do you want a spliff?”

I nodded, a little dumbstruck, and she began carefully rolling, intense concentration on her face as she made sure everything was just perfect. I wished I knew what to say to her, but everything that came into my head sounded crazy, foolish, pathetic. I made small talk about the bands that were playing as she nodded, licking the paper and twisting the end.

“It’s been a good night,” she mumbled, with the spliff hanging from one corner of her mouth. She patted her jeans, and then called out, “Anyone got a lighter?”

A skinny young punk turned and handed one over. She lit the joint and pocketed the lighter, with a little triumphant grin. We sat on the step for nearly half an hour, smoking and talking and admiring the smattering of stars in the clear sky above us. She held out her hand, and asked if I wanted to dance; my entire body flushed with warmth, and a tingling spark rippled down my back as her fingers clasped around mine and pulled me up. My eyes wandered over her soft lips, and I wondered if she’d ever let me kiss them, but she turned her head and pulled me back inside and through the crowd.

Her dancing was incredible; her body moved as though it were a physical manifestation of the music, and I was entranced. I felt like a broken marionette in comparison, but when my eyes met hers, they were full of admiration. I stepped backwards towards the wall. She stopped dancing and looked at me in confusion, before following me. Our faces were so close I could feel her breath tickling my neck.

My gaze flickered between her eyes and her lips, pleading – begging, even. She smiled, and closed the gap between our mouths. My body melted into hers. Her tongue was softer and sweeter than I’d ever imagined. Her warm breasts pressed against mine as she held me close. I had never wanted anyone more than I wanted her that night. She pushed me back against the wall, and her kisses grew urgent.

I traced my fingers down her damp back, and cupped her bum in my hands. Her arms wrapped around my waist and she teased at the exposed skin below my t-shirt. I pushed a couple of tentative fingers just inside the elastic of her pants, and she pulled back, putting her hands firmly over mine.

“Not here,” she whispered. “Not now.”

“I’m sorry.”

She smiled, and kissed me again, a gentle peck on the lips. “I just want it to mean something, you know?”

“Of course.”

I held her close to me, and our bodies fitted together like two halves nilüfer escort of a whole. Her heat and her scent filled me with a calm and peace that I can only call home. We exchanged phone numbers and parted; I walked home with an electric happiness and curled up in bed with her beautiful face seared into my eyelids.

She came over for dinner later that week. We arranged it by a series of text messages; since she’d taken my number, every beep of my phone made me feel sick with excitement and nerves, even when the message turned out to be from my network operator. I didn’t dare call her. Even the simplest of texts was agonised over and rewritten several times before I could bring myself to press send. I was afraid she would discover I was ordinary, boring, and realise she’d made a mistake, but she seemed as excited as I was about meeting again, so I was happy.

I put a tremendous amount of effort into making a three course meal. I wanted to impress her with my cookery skills and show her that she was worth the effort, but I fear my food was rather average. I lit some candles and waited in the kitchen, pacing and trying to slow my racing heart. I was almost shaking when she knocked on the door; I took a deep breath and went to answer it.

She was leaning against the door frame, wearing baggy blue jeans and a tight black tank top, and happiness poured from every line on her grinning face. The very sight of her made me warm and dizzy, but I managed to invite her in without stumbling over my words. She closed the kitchen door behind her, and pulled me close for a kiss. I felt a frisson in the base of my spine, and blood rushed between my legs.

“Why don’t you sit down? The food’s ready.”

I poured us both a glass of wine, and then left her at the table for a moment while I ladled tomato soup into two bowls. As we ate, I alternated between gazing at her in wonder, and saying whatever nonsense came into my head. She was there, in front of me, talking to me with a shy smile, but I couldn’t quite believe it.

We awkwardly chatted our way through the creamy mushroom spaghetti and the key lime pie like a pair of teenagers who had never been on a date before. My laughter was nervous and silly, and I felt embarrassed at the ridiculous strings of words tumbling helplessly from my mouth. Astoundingly, she didn’t seem to care; she was as entranced by me as I was by her.

After dinner, we sat on the sofa. At first I was anxious; I agonised over whether or not I should hold her hand, put my arm around her or snuggle up into her shoulder. She turned and stroked my hair, and I inhaled sharply as her face slowly moved towards mine. Her lips brushed against mine, and suddenly my awkwardness melted away as lust took over. As she straddled me, I had to hand it to her – nobody had ever made me feel like this before. I kissed her and nibbled at her neck, with my hands on her hips as they gently rocked back and forth.

It seemed perfectly natural to put my hands under her top and stroke the warm body beneath. As my hands closed around the smallest part of her waist, she lifted her arms. I eased her top up. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her breasts jiggled as she tossed it aside, as though they were pleased to be free. I took her nipples into my mouth in turn, leaving a trail of kisses across her chest. She reached down and began to pull my t-shirt off too. türbanlı escort I leant forward and wriggled out of it, and pressed my naked breasts against her. I shuddered and moaned involuntarily; I ached for her more than I could put into words.

“Do you want to come upstairs?”

She nodded before I’d finished the question. I took her hand and led her up the narrow stairs to my bedroom. I hoped she wouldn’t notice the mess, but the bed was made and the sheets were clean. We kissed and pressed ourselves together; her breasts against mine were a perfect slice of heaven. She pulled me towards the bed, and we sank down onto it. She undid the button on my jeans, and I fought to get out of them, before reciprocating and helping her out of hers.

I lay back, and she straddled my thigh, rubbing herself on me. I traced my finger over her leg and towards her pants. I looked at her questioningly, and she nodded.

“Yes please,” she said in a low voice.

I peeled back her underwear and slid an exploratory finger between her legs. I bit my lip, delighted at the wetness on my fingertip. I slid my finger gently over her clit. She pulled her pants off, and I rolled her over so that she was lying next to me.

“Touch all of me.” She smiled patiently.

I traced my finger up and down a few times, before teasing at the entrance to her cunt. Her eyes rolled back as I slipped one finger inside, and then two.

She pulled my pants down to my knees, and I gasped as her finger gently brushed over my clit. She grinned. “You’re wet.”

I felt myself blush, but I reminded myself this wasn’t the place for shame. I relaxed into the rhythm of her hand and allowed myself to enjoy the sensations. She was gentle and considerate, pausing every so often to ask if I liked what she was doing. Tears threatened to come to my eyes as I realised I trusted her, fully and wholeheartedly. Each stroke of her finger brought an intense, burning pleasure, and I collapsed onto her, crying out as I came for her.

I kissed her fiercely, and lay down next to her, burying my insecurity and vulnerability in her damp chest. My fingers were still idly stroking her. I propped myself up and moved down the bed, so that I was kneeling between her legs. All I could think about was taking her hot, wet cunt into my mouth, but I felt shy. I dithered, kissing the inside of her thighs, working my way slowly towards and around the mess of ginger hair. I breathed in her scent, teased at the hairs with my lips.

“Would you like me to…?”

She nodded, and I began with a long, slow lick, tasting and savouring her. It had been a long time since I’d been with another woman; there was a wild fear at the back of my mind that she would laugh me out of bed for being a terrible lover – but she was enjoying it. She let me know every time I hit the right spot, and my confidence grew. She tasted wonderful. I took time to revel in the gorgeous feeling of her against my lips and tongue. I teased her inside with my fingers. I drew circles with my tongue, moved up and down, side to side. I didn’t want to stop.

Her back arched, and suddenly she was moaning and shaking, her hips juddering against my face. I followed her with my mouth, until she’d ridden out every wave of pleasure. She flopped backwards, and asked for a cuddle. I kissed her with my wet face, then squeezed her tightly, still feeling vulnerable too. I smiled to myself, thinking that she must really trust me to let herself go like that. We were still near strangers, but I felt a rare and beautiful connection to her already. Her trust already meant too much for me to ever break; as I lay curled up under her shoulder, I hoped she felt the same.

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