A Slow, Sensual Tease

Our first date was cocktails at a dive bar, several hours of conversation, and not so much as a touch before we parted ways. She was hard to read. She didn’t seem too interested in a hug, and I left fairly certain there wouldn’t be a second date.

The texts that followed were hardly flirtatious, just how work was going and basic small talk. Still, we settled on a second date: she would come over to my place to watch a movie.

I always keep the house neat and tidy, ready for impromptu visitors at any hour. The lighting was dim for the evening and music played on Spotify. No movie was picked out. I figured we could spend a good while scrolling through suggestions, and I was curious to see what she’d be drawn to.

She arrived and offered me a brief, ass-out hug. Not very intimate. I had no idea whether this was going anywhere. She looked like she belonged in Seattle, bundled in a puffy sleeveless jacket, layers beneath it, and a perfectly ordinary pair of pants. Nothing sexy about her outerwear whatsoever.

We settled onto the couch, side by side, and the conversation flowed for an hour and a half. I had come prepared with a few questions to draw us a little closer and gain some insight. It turns out she’s simply awkward and doesn’t know how to show it in her body language, so a little directness went a long way. Somehow we kept circling back to the darkest of topics – humanitarian crises, Cal Fire’s use of prison labor to fight fires. Not exactly foreplay, but the conversation was fun all the same.

Eventually she asked, “Are we going to put on a movie, or would you like to do some other things?”

“What sort of other things did you have in mind?” I knew the answer already. I just wanted to hear her say it.

“You know, maybe cuddle.” Her face was inquisitive, curious, a little cautious, making sure she was reading me correctly too.

The word cuddle had barely escaped her lips when I leaned in, slowly, and kissed her. Her hands gripped my back and shoulders, pulling herself tighter against me. I took my time. Her lips, the corners of her mouth, the bottom of her chin, her cheeks, each kiss lingering. I could feel her wanting more, and more, and more, and I kept making her wait, letting the anticipation build.

Her hands roamed across my back and slipped under my shirt, fingertips teasing along my skin, wanting to wander into my pants. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, just enough to keep her hands from slipping under my waistband. She didn’t say a word or make a sound, but I could feel her adjust, and I could feel how much she wanted more. That was entirely the point. I wanted to feel how badly she’d want it, and to test how far she’d push on her own, without words, simply being teased and tortured.

She didn’t resist where my hands wandered. They traced the edges of her bra and the outline of her underwear, touching, teasing, never quite going further, never quite giving her what she was leaning into.

We made out like that for what felt like half an hour. With one hand on her back and the fingers of the other woven into her hair, I looked at her and asked, “Would you like to join me in the bedroom?”

I led the way and pulled her onto the bed with me. We lay with our legs intertwined, pressed against each other, grinding slowly. Almost dry humping, but not quite.

The kissing continued, and our clothes came off in turns – a layer of hers, then a layer of mine. Beneath it all she wore a regular black bra and underwear that were fairly basic, but not too basic. A bit of white with some lace. Back and forth we went, until we lay together, naked.

As our bodies moved back to being intertwined, she reached down for my cock and told me she felt strongly about not having body parts touch without protection in place. I asked if she’d be more comfortable keeping a leg between us. She smiled and said she just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to jam it in her. That made me laugh. I would be doing no such thing, especially without consent.

I told her I thought boundaries were sexy. I encouraged her to share hers with me, promised I would share mine with her as well, and told her not to hesitate in telling me her needs and what was important to her. That seemed to relax her quite a bit.

My hand caressed her body, drifting up and down, inching closer and closer to between her legs. Every time she began to part them, I moved my hand away, and I could feel her eagerness mount. She was quiet in her reactions, but she pressed her body toward me and made it abundantly clear she wanted me to go further. Every place I touched her, she tried to match. She begged with her eyes. I could see her pussy dripping, and feel it too.

At last, the tips of my fingers grazed her clit, ever so lightly. I experimented with a few different motions until I found the rhythm she responded to most: an oval, up and down and side to side. One finger at first, then two as she grew wetter and wetter. I kept to it, slow and gentle, kissing her the entire time, wandering from her mouth to her neck, behind her ears, swirling my tongue around her nipples.

Her breathing intensified and her heart picked up pace. Her breath would catch, quicken, then catch again. Her eyes half closed, every now and then drifting back over to me. I could tell she was focused on her body, so I eased off her nipples and neck. That would only distract from the orgasm at hand. I let her mind settle on my hands, on her clit, my fingers circling in a steady motion, never breaking.

I didn’t say a word. I only let her feel my breath on her body. She was a quiet one, and words would have been a distraction.

She edged closer, and closer, and closer. Her legs began to shake, and she let out several sharp moans, one after the other, her whole body trembling with orgasm. She grabbed my hand to stop. I held her pussy in one hand and wrapped my other arm around her, holding her close while she came back down, and resumed my kissing.

She looked over at me, a little surprised, and stated plainly that I was only the second person ever to make her orgasm like that. She has a much harder time orgasming now than when she was younger. She seemed amazed.

I gave a little half smile and outwardly shrugged it off, but inwardly I knew exactly what I had done. It was all very well planned and thought out. I had a feeling for the type of sex she liked and the kind of orgasm that would get her off, and I knew that building the anticipation, rather than giving her exactly what she wanted, would bring her a far better orgasm than instant gratification. She told me afterward that she usually moves a lot faster than I do. Making her wait is what made that orgasm possible.

As she came down, I asked what sorts of things she was interested in exploring, or learning about herself, since she had alluded to it in her dating profile. She looked a little shy as she told me. She wanted me to blindfold her and tie her up.

After a few moments of closeness, she declared it was my turn and began to go down on me. She kissed the top of my neck and worked her way down, attempting to give me the same treatment, but she had nowhere near the patience or the talent for teasing that I’d shown her. I knew she wanted my cock in her mouth badly.

I felt her warm, wet mouth take me in. Her hair draped across my entire lap, hiding the view, but I could hear her. So I leaned back, closed my eyes, and focused on the sensations: her tongue, her lips, what they were doing. One hand played in her hair while the other slowly traced her shoulders, until my legs tensed and I gave her what she wanted so badly.

She came up to kiss me, and we lay together for a while, both drifting in and out. Not quite sleeping, but bits and pieces.

It was getting late and she had to get home, so she got dressed, and I kissed her goodbye at the door. More than once, she told me she wanted more. I was still undecided whether I’d give it to her. She prefers condoms, and I really just wanted to creampie her.

Two dates in, and I still don’t know her name. On the dating app she used an obvious fake one, and I kept waiting for her to tell me her real name. I’m not sure if she forgot, hasn’t thought about it, or just likes being secretive because of her job. There’s a part of me that’s amused to have had this girl over, to have seen her naked, in such closeness and intimacy, and still not know her name. I’m pretty okay with that. I have her phone number and other details about her, and I could easily look it up if I really wanted to, but it’s far more fun to see how she’ll reveal it to me herself. It’s a game for me now, to see if I ever figure it out, or if she tells me.