Desire

Third date. Always monumental.

This after a first date, which I had already blotted my copy book by wearing a short dress and talking about all the men in my life… So much for honesty!

The second date, where I refused to let her touch me holding her hands throughout the evening and chatted all evening getting to know each other.

I wanted to enjoy the dating: before it led to the inevitable. The chemistry was too strong for it not to lead to bed. Which is why we hadn’t met for a week, letting our phones establish a connection…

“How does a movie sound?” she buzzed on text.
“Anything with Julia Roberts or SRK, will be perfect!” I messaged back, allowing her to choose.

The text messages had continued thick and fast all day. My straight friends were curious, ‘You haven’t kissed her yet? What are you waiting for Christmas?’ Suffice to say, most straight women think that when you are a lesbian, you really should be playing the field — after all, you really can’t get pregnant, can you?

Emboldened by the push and the visible sexual buzz on text, I decided to sport a red sundress. Short, Sleeveless, knee-length, sort of see through- voted as the sexiest thing in my cupboard by my straight girlfriends because of its ‘now you see me, now you don’t tease vibe!’

She walked in. The first glance was long, head to toe. She held my gaze for a few minutes at the door. And the world slowed down. It felt like just her and me. ‘This must be what the dratted Mills and Boons always spoke about,’ I thought as the room just shrunk into oblivion. An almost wordless dialogue passed through between us – almost like the movie we were about to watch
She: ‘You look hot.’
Me: ‘Yes, but nothing is going to happen. You promised’
She: ‘If you didn’t want anything to happen today, you shouldn’t have worn this dress.’
Me: ‘It’s a hot summer day. You wanted me to be covered up head to toe.’
She: ‘Yes! Covered up would be less distracting.’

The dialogue stopped mid-way and I decided, perhaps I was playing with fire.
I said nervously. “Let me change. This dress…”
She muttered in almost a strangled half-breath, “Don’t. I promise– I will behave.”

Despite the air-conditioner, the room suddenly seemed sultry, air dripping with sexual perspiration, waiting to find an outlet. Shrunk in its size, we both reached to gulp some air.

She sat on my bed. The DVD was switched on to watch ‘Pretty Woman’- an easy favourite. We dimmed the lights. I was aware of her every move. “Pillow. Some Pepsi and fries?” I asked, trying to get comfortable in my own big bed, passing her a big fluffy cushion.

Hands brushed and she refused to let go of mine… I felt her fingers draw circles and imaginary love notes on my hand. As Julia made love to Richard Gere in his pent house, I released a sigh of breath at what would come next for us.

An hour later, of her fingers creating magic on my skin, she caught hold of the remote, switched off the DVD and the TV in one stroke. And then reached for my mouth and found it in the darkness of the evening. I always had wondered how kissing a woman would feel – and it felt just right. Her soft lips played with mine, her tongue pushing gently to gain entry. She nipped my lips willing me to open my eyes, even as our shadows fused together. Her eyes glittered in the dark: feral with intent and with lust as she lay on top of me, covering every inch with a trail of her hot mouth.

After what seemed an eon, she pulled me to my feet. And then in a master sweep, pulled off the dress. As I stood in my black thong, she said naughtily, “You looked really hot. Want a shower?”

She led me to the bathroom of my tiny studio apartment. Switched on the hot geyser. Switched on the shower. Put on the light of my bathroom… and just when I thought she was about she would join me in the shower, she walked off and sat on my bed.

“Have a shower for me!” she said, desire glittering in her eyes as she watched me stand under the shower stunned with immobility.

Many thoughts ran through me. Concubine. Lap Dancer. Geisha. And the independent feminist rebelled in this one-sided strip tease even as I stepped out of my cotton panties.

And then as the droplets of water found their way over my body, I realized how a piece of chocolate would feel, just before one ate it. She looked at me like someone had never looked at me before.
With hunger.
With an emotion I had forgotten called desire!

About the author

Tappy Tippy

Late Bloomer, Coffee Drinker, French-Frier. Romance in her head. Erotica in her bones!