I doubled up.

The words “double date” tickle me because these days it means something entirely different than two couples out on the town together.  For me it’s two dates back-to-back in one evening.  Holla.  How’s that for some great double date ideas??

This past Friday was certainly not my first, but it was certainly my best double date in recent memory.  The last double date I had, I forgot about Date #1 completely and didn’t include him in my own list of who I was datingOops.

Date #1 lucked out and caught me at a time in my week where I was both available and feeling open-minded.  He messaged me on Tinder, but never acknowledged my preference for gold wrappers.  I ignored it and figured he knew what it all meant and followed his lead.  He was smart and quick and even though I’d already made a date with a tall drink of water for around 8 o’clock on Friday night I decided that I could handle a warm-up date with this nerdy surprise.

Date #2 was with a 29 year old lawyer.  An impossibly tall young man with whom I had established my golden wrapper requisite.  “I know what you’re talking about,” he’d messaged.  “I use them.”  I’d explained my preference while blushing furiously.  It never gets easy being a size queen.

I drove to meet Mr. Nerdy with a light heart.  My graphic tee was mostly see-through and my legs looked long in high-heeled wedges.  I had nothing to lose if this went badly; I couldn’t wait to meet The Lawyer at 8.

“I’m in the green shirt,” Mr. Nerdy texted.  I took a deep breath and walked out onto the patio littered with people drinking wine and eating cheese.

Our eyes locked and we both smiled.  He stood to hug me hello and he towered over me.  He was taller than I had imagined.  And more muscular.

We ordered some drinks and settled in.  I laughed and maneuvered through the date with a sense of fun I wore like perfume.  It enveloped us both.  We opened up, we flirted, we shared, we set boundaries.  He was far more attractive than his pictures let on and I couldn’t take my eyes off his broad shoulders and tapered waist.  When he moved his chair closer to my knees and casually dropped his hand on my warm skin my eyes locked with his and we laughed.  We knew we were a match.

He walked me to my car when I realized I was close to being late to my next engagement.  “Do you have another date?” he’d asked.

“No,” I’d blithely lied.

I hooked my arm through his elbow and thanked him for being tall enough to wear my heels.  He chuckled and squeezed my hand.  When we got to my car I turned to him and put my hands on his hips and pulled him towards me and his soft lips pressed into mine.  I looped my hands up to his shoulders and gently massaged him as he wrapped his arms around me.

We had hammered out every detail: we are both looking for passion, for connection, for something steady, maybe a launching off point for something more serious.  He alluded to being kinky and bold; I’d alluded to compliance and perversion.  His mouth plied mine with warmth and verve.  I moaned a little and arched into him and hoped I wasn’t getting beard burn from his 5 o’clock shadow.  That would be hard to explain to Date #2.  His kiss was nice and we vibrated against each other.  First kiss nerves never go away, it seems.

I broke us apart and thanked him again for the great date and we promised to see each other again.  He brought my attention to the large bulge in his dark jeans.  “I sure hope it pleases you,” he said smiling.

I winked at him and told him I was sure it would.

I drove to Date #2 beaming, skipping across clouds like a naughty angel.

As I walked into the restaurant I felt my heart beating more quickly.  I saw my date out back on the patio and he stood to hug me as I approached.  Jesus Christ, he was tall.  I reached up, he stooped down, we laughed nervously.  “Well, hello,” I said, “it’s nice to finally meet you.”

I could barely look at him; his long lashes curled to touch his cheeks and he looked like a kid.  I laughed and said, “Are you sure you’re 29?!  You look 12 years old!”  He blushed and lowered his chin and assured me he was an adult.  A 6’6 1/2″ adult.

“I get that a lot,” he replied in a deep, grown up voice.  “It’s the eyelashes, I think.”

“Yeah,” I laughed.  “Maybe.”

We ordered wine and soft-shell crab and blistered shishito peppers, though the chicken liver mousse was our favorite.  Turns out he, too, is looking for a steady, lovely, sexy, passionate, brunch-going type of relationship.  Too bad he lives an hour away. But then again, maybe it’s a perfectly built-in speed bump.  I don’t know.

On our way to my favorite watering hole I laughed until I cried when I realized his feet were as long as my femur.  “Can you see this?” I guffawed as I pressed a shoe of his to my leg. “You’re a giant!”  He grinned sheepishly while I teased him, but was happy to hold me close as we walked up the hill from our parking spot.  I forgot how amazing it feels to be with a gigantic man.

We ordered drinks and bummed cigarettes off our neighbors and with each drink we sat closer and closer until our lips locked and I inhaled his Old Spice and slipped my hand between his thighs.  He moaned and grabbed me and smiled into our kiss.

“Wanna come back to my place?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

He drove me back to my car and followed me home and seconds after he walked through the door we were writhing on the couch.  His sheer size pushed me down into the cushions and his mouth moved across my neck and breasts with a reckless first-date fervor.

I led him into my dark room and we found ourselves tangled in clothes, then just limbs.  His face fell to my pussy and his fingers snaked inside of me.  I coached him on what to do with what, then relied on raw begging.  His hand slammed into me and as his mouth lapped at me I felt myself gush into his mouth.  He moaned and shivered and slammed into me more.

“Please,” I panted, “please fuck me.”

He stood up and grabbed a condom, rolled it on and positioned himself between my knees.  He pressed into me, but the erection had softened some.  I clung to him as he moved me about the bed and I could tell he was becoming frustrated with his pouty cock.

I pushed him off of me and bade him to lie on his back.  I removed the condom and began to suck.  A nice size, not huge like I’d hoped, but I knew I’d be able to feel him once I got him back in business.

I sucked and lapped and stroked and opened the back of my throat and kissed his pubis with a mouth stuffed full of cock.  His hands were in my hair and on my face and when he was hard as rock again we rolled another condom on.  He scooped me up and held on as he gyrated like a jack-hammer into my wet ass pussy.

I found myself squirting again and he moaned into my neck as he felt it between us.

He began to shake his head and I knew he was at odds again.

‘I don’t think I can cum tonight,” he finally said.

‘It’s ok,” I said stroking his head resting on my shoulder.  “There’s always tomorrow morning.”

We separated and he pulled me against him and I fell asleep next to a great big bear of a man.  I woke up a few hours later and noticed his feet were stuck through the bars of the footboard.  I smiled and got up, did my morning ablutions and quietly crept back into bed.

It was the normal thing to do after sleeping with someone: stay the night and wake up together.  I remember a time when that was common practice, though it hasn’t been in recent memory.  I either tear out of his room under the auspice of a dog who needs me or a bad back and when I have company over it’s during the day or morning so he could never accidentally stay over.  This was nice though, almost normal.

I fell back asleep almost instantly.

When I woke up a couple of hours later it was to the dog scratching himself.  I called for him to stop.  The Lawyer was disturbed now, too, and rolled to his side and pulled me against him.  I felt his morning wood for a moment then drifted off back to sleep.  The dog had begun to scratch again.

The next few minutes were spent drifting in and out of a lazy morning haze and commanding the dog to stop being so disgusting.  We laughed and wiggled closer whenever we could until finally I felt his lips on my neck and his hand on my breast.

I rolled to my back and kissed him, spread my knees and handed him another condom.  He was hard as a brick this time and I was dry and tight until I was hot and wet.  He came quickly on my belly just as I had asked him too and when he handed me a towel to clean myself up I asked him to lay with me while I came one last time.

His hand gently caressed my breasts as I held the Hitachi to my clit and I wondered if he’d ever seen a woman do this before.  I didn’t ask and he didn’t say anything.  I just let the buzz do its job and came quickly myself.

“When do you have to leave?” he asked.

“Thirty minutes,” I answered.  Peyton had a birthday party to get to.

We got dressed and I openly teased him about his towering height now that I was flat-footed.  “You know, 2000 years ago you’d have been earmarked for brawny work based on your size.  But you lucked out and got to be all intellectual and shit.”  He laughed and said he supposed I was right.  I’m sure all the village girls would have wanted him in their hut.

He said he wanted to see me again, thanked me for a wonderful time, and said his next two weekends were tied up with family and friend commitments.  I assured him we’d figure something out.  I hope that we do.

 

9 thoughts on “I doubled up.

  1. It’s eye opening to read about women’s romantic and sexual thoughts/experiences, which I first started doing when I would sneak read copies of my older sister’s women’s magazines, later reading Zoe Margolis’ blog and more recently your own and chatting to women on forums online about sex, relationships, etc.

    These have been formative in helping me to move away from a strictly religious upbringing and embrace my own sexuality and that of women, in a non-judgemental way.

    It also comes tinged with sadness as I realise that my childhood insecurity about my height is well-founded. Even a beautifully cloudless summer’s day is tinged with the bitter recognition that one is invisible, one may be a wonderful, caring and supportive friend, sibling, citizen, but not an object of purely base and guttural desire! No one wants to rip your clothes off, hungrily suck your cock and feel the hot spunk at the back of their mouth.

    Such is life! Those of you who can, please enjoy it while you are fit, healthy and have the mojo. I’ll be enviously reading from the sidelines!

  2. Good for you, Hy!

    On a side note, I’m always amazed by guys who can’t finish. I wish I had that problem more often. I would imagine the very IDEA of being with you would be enough for a man to climax, never mind experiencing the real thing!

    But overall, this was a great post. I hope your upward swing continues.

  3. Pingback: I need you, Internet Boyfriend. - A Dissolute Life Means...

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