I’m waiting nervously.

I never get nervous about first dates, but here I am, battling a fluttering gut and palpitating heart.

In less than 20 minutes he’ll round the corner and I will feel his arms around me as we hug hello.  I will get to fill my nostrils with his scent and feel the vibrations of his own nerves through my fingertips.

I’ve strategically placed my purse on the seat so he must sit as close to me as possible.  I don’t think he will mind.

The hotel lounge fragrance is both sweet and decadent and the staff are politely chatting with one another as bottles clink and ice is scooped.  A gentle, pulsing melody floats overhead.

I’ve shaved my legs and even my pussy, but didn’t wash my hair.  It’s my way to syche out the Universe.  Or confuse it.  I don’t know what I want with this young man tonight.  

All I know is that if I had not shaved my overgrown snatch, he absolutely for sure would have ended up with his face buried in it later.  

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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