His side of the story:
The door of the bar is utterly nondescript in that hip Melbourne way that manages to create a thrilling sense of secrecy around something that, in reality, everyone already knows about. As I walk in side, the packed thrum of the place and the queue of hopeful patrons I’m stuck in only confirms this.
Secrecy. It seems so appropriate a theme. For two weeks now we’ve been chatting, flirting, teasing. Pushing the boundaries further and further, each time pleasantly surprised that they bend without breaking. And in that time we’ve learned more about each other then I thought possible. Also in that time, we’ve told no one.
A staff member finally approaches, and I tell him there’s someone waiting for me.
“Two guys?” he asks.
“No, one girl.”
He smiles conspiratorially. He knows exactly who I mean, and she obviously left an impression.
My heart is hammering as I walk in the direction he points me. I see her, for the first time in the flesh as she stands and gives me a smile that just ratchets the heart up another notch.
As I walk quickly toward her my mind races with the same question over and over a hundred times in the 10 feet between us: will we kiss?
I finally reach her. We kiss.
We kiss without a hint of awkwardness, without a hint of hesitation. We kiss almost desperately as our hands wander over as much of each other’s bodies as public decency will allow. And her lips are as soft as I’d imagined.
We sit and talk. And kiss. And laugh. And kiss. And eat. And kiss. And I can feel every eye in the place fall on us with hot envy that two people could be so filled with desire for each other.
As we talk and kiss her hand is traversing its way up my thigh toward my hardening cock, and I give her thigh a squeeze to let her know I notice. As I do she moves it up to flirt with the hem of her dress. Just enough to verify that, true to her word, she’s not wearing underwear.