Dinner Date (Part 1)
“If you’d like, you can wait in the dining room. The food is about finished.” Michael said. No one had ever cooked dinner for me before on a date. Mostly I would make out with a guy once and then he would never talk to me again, but stalk me on Instagram forever.
Michael and I were already on date three.
He was the first and only person I ever met off Tinder, and I kind of hoped things would work out so I could delete it and never date again.
“Do you want any help carrying anything out?” I asked. It seemed polite. I really didn’t want to do anything. On Friday’s I had class from 8 am to 7 pm. I was tired.
“No, let me take care of you.”
Maybe what they say about older men is true.
Michael led me into his dining room. He didn’t quite have a mansion exactly, but he had a dining room big enough to accommodate a table that could seat maybe 10 people.
At the table, two places were set with dishes and wine glasses. There was a bottle of red wine on the table. I wondered if Michael was going to offer me some wine.
I had only just turned 20.
“It looks delicious,” I said. Michael’s beaming smile made me feel warm.
“Thank you. This is one of the five things I can cook.” He said and placed the pasta on the table and poured two glasses of wine.
We ate. It was delicious.
“This is amazing,” I told him. It really was. “How did you make this?”
He told me in great detail. I was pretty sure his suggestion that he could only cook five things was a lie. He seemed to take a genuine appreciation in fine ingredients and treating them well that you could really taste in the food.
Halfway through him speaking I kind of lost focus. I hadn’t been with anyone in almost 6 months and had never been with anyone who had about 15 years on me before.
Even in high school, when all the “cool girls” bragged about having weird relationships with dudes who had been going to community college and working at Trader Joe’s since before they were born, I was sleeping with…um…no one.
Two years into college and I had only had full-on sex once even. I was not killing it. I had the approximate game of a monopoly board missing half the pieces and all the money.
Michael was very intimidating to me. And how fucking hot he was just made it even worse.
Suddenly we were holding hands on top of the table and I wondered how exactly it had happened. I don’t think I had heard anything he had said in minutes, maybe.
It didn’t seem like he had noticed.
Michael was tall and broad with a thick shock of dark hair that was greying at the temples. He was a private contractor who had worked in construction, doing all kinds of labor for years. One of his hands was twice the size of mine. And it felt rough. He had designed and built his own house.
I’m pretty sure I started to sweat.
Then he was kissing me and I crawled into his lap as if I had done this hundreds of times instead of basically never. I don’t think I had ever really even been on a legitimate date.
He held me in his lap as we kissed. His hands were in my hair and down my back and shoulders, but never anywhere particularly indecent. I pressed myself against him as we kissed and he let out a pleased little hum. I ran my fingers through his forearm hair to where his button-up shirt had been coughed around his elbows. His chest hair poked out of the shirt where only the topmost buttons were undone.
Then I started to feel his cock harden through his jeans beneath me.
His hands were on my ass and I leaned back into them.
He used them to pull me even closer to him. He sucked on my tongue and nibbled my ears and kissed his way down my neck.
I felt like I was in a haze.
“Come to bed with me,” He said softly. He breathed it against my ear.
I couldn’t form words. I nodded and he guided me off of his lap. He led me through his house and up the stairs to his bedroom.
His bed was big enough for a dozen people. I felt almost swallowed by it as he laid me down.
He was tall and strong and I felt an almost claustrophobic thrill as he pressed me against the bed. I felt one of his large hands sliding up my skirt and the reality of the situation slammed into me.
I hadn’t done this very much. And I was not sure if I was ready to, well…you know.
He sensed my hesitancy. I must have stiffened up. His fingers had stopped on my thigh, a hair’s breadth away from my panties.
“Are you ok?” He asked. I felt frozen. “Have you…slept with anyone before?” He asked.
It was a fair question. It’s generally not good to start bringing out the handcuffs when you are dealing with someone who has never even kissed anyone before.
“Just once,” I said.
“That’s ok.” He said. “We can go slower.”
I felt very relieved.
We started kissing again and it was less intense and more exploratory. He kept his hands above my clothes. This was lovely for a while, but an eternity later became very frustrating.
I started unbuttoning his shirt and he let me. I ran my hands over his chest, exploring the semi-defined muscles there.
He was strong, but also very slightly squishy. He had the body of a man who had done a lot of hard physical work for a long time but also really enjoyed his pasta from time to time.
I loved it.
I stopped at his jeans. I could see how fucking hard he was and how patient he was being anyway.
“You don’t have to.” He said.
I thought back to how 6 months ago, on my last “date,” I had met up with a dude in the dining hall because he said he could get me free dinner on his meal plan card, and he hadn’t been able to. I watched him eat and then we went back to his dorm room, where we made out for a few minutes before he came in his pants.
I left and he made vague Tweets calling me a bitch for two weeks.
Was Michael a god in human form or was the bar just very low?
I decided to worry about it later and took his dick out of his jeans.
I guess it makes sense for a man who is 6’5 to have a huge dick, and I had literally watched it harden in real-time, but I was not ready to be confronted with all of it.
It was a weapon. If we hung out long enough for me to feel comfortable getting fucked, would I survive?
I decided to worry about it later and pressed my tongue against the tip. I flicked my tongue and it twitched.
I knew there was no way I could fit all of it in my mouth. I wrapped my hand around the base and my lips around the tip. Something about his scent was spicy and musky and it was deepening as I sucked and teased him.
His noises told me that even if I wasn’t totally sure what I was doing, I was doing it well enough. His eyes had rolled back into his head.
I don’t know if he pushed too hard or I tried to take too much, but suddenly I was gagging. I pulled off of his dick and sucked in air, my chest heaving.
“Let me return the favor?” He asked. He was looking into my eyes. He wanted my explicit consent.
No one had ever offered to eat me out before.
I was 20 years old. It was time.
“Yes,” I said.
First, Michael pulled off my skirt. Then he slid off my panties.
I was turned on but I was also nervous. He kissed my thighs first, teasing me with his tongue and his teeth. He would come close to brushing his lips against me where I could feel I was growing wetter and wetter, and then draw away.
Soon I forgot I was even nervous in the first place.
I was just mad he didn’t already have his mouth on me.
“Michael!” I eventually complained, and it sounded broken and desperate.
He chuckled a dark little chuckle between my thighs which reverberated through me. When he pressed his tongue to my clit and began to circle it I nearly screamed.
And then he did it again.