A shy reference librarian, and a college student who was disowned when she refused to submit to conversion therapy, meet in a bookstore. He's been waiting his whole life for her. Meanwhile, she's starting her whole life over. What ensues between the...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
We spent the earlier part of the evening at a small English-style pub, drinking ale, eating food that tasted much better than British food was supposed to taste (which was heartening to me, given that I would soon be living in England and thus unable to escape British food) and listening to a folk singer perform Irish tunes. By the time the performer's set was over, we had finished our dinner and decided to make our exit.
It was dark when we emerged. A warm rain was falling; it had been raining off and on all day. Up here, April showers arrive late in the month. I usually like walking in the rain, but I had decided to wear my velvet tunic blouse to impress my date, and I didn't want to get it wet, so I had him get the car, and ran for the passenger door when he opened it for me.
We're driving to his house now to pick up a toothbrush, change of clothes, that sort of thing, which he forgot to throw into the car when he left the house to pick me up - he actually lives at home with his parents rather than on campus, because they are local and it helps him save on expenses, although he's planning on moving into an apartment or a dorm room if he gets an assistantship next year when he upgrades from undergraduate to graduate student. I've been running over ideas in my mind as I sit in the car and watch the rain patter the windows. I still haven't figured out what to do with him.
The easiest thing to do would be to just ask him what he likes, but until recently, we were in a crowded restaurant, and I felt awkward asking certain questions in a relatively public place. So, tell me, how do you feel about vibrators stuck in intimate places? Do you think being penetrated by one would enhance a whipping session, or detract from one? How about afterward? I'm sure the other diners would have loved accidentally hearing pieces of that conversation.
So I kept my questions to myself, and I'm mulling over possibilities right now, instead.
It's funny. I finally have an opportunity to indulge my appetites with a partner who seems more than willing to go along with them, and I'm utterly petrified. I have a form of stage fright. I have to perform; the performance will only have an audience of one person, but I only have one chance to impress him. It has me shaking in my shoes.
I fidget with the black scarf on my wrist. It's on my left wrist, now. I've had the scarf there for several weeks. It seemed to make more sense to wear it on the left side of my body than on my right, all things considered, but I still wear it. I feel naked without it.
Touching it reassures me and gives me a feeling of strength.
We pull into the driveway. The rain is now coming down in sheets. Wordless, I listen to the drumming of the rain on the roof and windows, the whapping of the windshield wipers, the Enya tape my date has playing on the car stereo.
"I'll be back in just a minute," he says as he opens the door and starts to climb out. "I can't believe I forgot my clothes. Probably nerves. This. Um. I should probably tell you. I talk big, but. Um. It's my first time."
