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Too much, too soon?

I stand outside the door of his hotel room and tie the scarf around my eyes.   It’s a strange way to meet someone for the first time.  Not that Kyle is exactly a stranger.

Of course, a month ago I didn’t even know he existed.

My college roommate introduced us.  I was writing an article on the future of non-profits and Heather knew someone up in Boston who specialized in grant writing.  Good journalists never interview friends, but friends of friends will do in a pinch.

Kyle was helpful from the start.  Beyond helpful.  Over the next few days our business emails grew increasingly warm.  When I saw his name in my in-box, my pulse quickened.  Soon we were exchanging several messages a day, some lusciously chatty, some brief, but laugh-out-loud witty.  By the end of the next week we knew all about each other’s favorite meals, our third-grade teachers, our past lovers.

Sometimes I worried it was too much, too soon.  I promised myself I’d wait a few days before I replied.  And broke my promise within the hour.

When he let it slip he liked women in stockings, I couldn’t resist firing back a photo an old boyfriend had taken of me lounging on a hotel bed wearing black thigh-high’s.  By return mail, he confessed he’d had a “visceral response to it.  His gentlemanly reserve amused me.  Too much, too soon had sputtered into safe and slow.

Except two nights later I found myself caught up in a flirty chat session with him.  I’m not sure why I told him all about a longtime fantasy I picked up from my brother’s porn stash: a pictorial of an 18th century lady on a solo picnic, pleasuring herself in the open air, getting caught by a handsome stranger who made love to her on the grass.  Kyle eased me into it so skillfully, I didn’t even notice when we’d crossed another line.

ksutter81: That would be worth a hike, to find you stretched out on a blanket in the forest, a beautiful woman all alone

gmj1231: I’d just happen to be dressed in Colonial gear, lol

ksutter81: You’re so lovely, I think you might be a fairy, so I stop and watch you from behind a tree

gmj1231: Dirty voyeur!

ksutter81: You look like you’re sleeping but then your hand begins to move¦down, down.  Where will it stop?

The vision he was conjuring was already making me squirm in my seat.  Without thinking I gulped hard and typed the right answer.

gmj1231: Between my legs of course

The screen was still for a moment.

ksutter81: Yes, I see.  But your fingers rest there only a moment, then you slowly hike your skirt up to your waist so your bare flesh is kissed by the sunshine, totally exposed

My pussy clenched as if he’d squeezed it in his fist.

gmj1231: Because I know you’re there watching, I want you to see

ksutter81: That’s right.  You want to touch yourself for me, don’t you?  And I want to watch you more than anything in the world

And suddenly I was touching myself for real, hastily wriggling out of my jeans and panties, draping my legs wide around my computer chair, clawing at my wet, swollen clit for him.  Each new line flashing on the screen set me strumming faster, until I exploded in the most belly-wrenching, rocketing orgasm of my life.

How could a man I’d never met, who was nothing but words, have such power over me?

Things were moving way too fast.

I vowed then I’d spend at least twenty-four hours\’no, a whole long weekend\’away from the computer.

A quick check the next morning brought his email asking if we could Skype so he could share some good news.  He had a business trip to D.C. the next week.  Could we meet for dinner while he was in town?

My stomach did a somersault.

This was definitely too much, too soon.

But we’d been always been frank, amused by each other’s quirks.  I admitted my biggest fear\’that if I saw even a flicker of disappointment in his eyes when we met in person, it would be the death of a beautiful friendship.

“I’ve seen your picture.  You’re gorgeous, he said.

His voice was deep.  It made me wet.

Then I told him my real test was his scent.

He laughed.  “I’ll be sure to take a shower.

I suggested it was better if he didn’t.

So we planned it out together:  meeting at his hotel room with me wearing a blindfold, then–assuming I looked fine and he smelled right\’we’d move on to the restaurant like any ordinary couple on a first date.

And now here I am, standing outside his room at the Courtyard Marriott, smoothing my dress and fluffing my bangs over the blindfold.

I knock on the door.

It opens.  I feel¦warmth.

“Nice to see you, Gretchen.  It’s the same amused voice, but somehow smoother, like a caress.

I realize two things: I’ve forgotten to breathe and my panties are already soaking.

I imagine his eyes sweeping up and down over my body.  I’ve purposely worn something revealing.  The black thigh-high’s underneath are my own private joke.

“Well? I ask.

“You pass with flying colors, he declares.

I move forward to embrace him lightly, as friends do, but of course I linger to breathe him in: airports, a pleasant mix of salt and cumin.  Like everything else about him, it’s almost too easy.  I hold up my hand.

“Could you suck my finger?  It’s clean.  I have to like the way I smell with your scent on me, too.

He laughs, then obediently takes my index finger into his hot, wet mouth.

There’s a soft slurp when I pull out.  I sniff, as if I’m tasting wine.


I’m so aroused I can barely stand. “I… I’m not sure.

“Need more data points?

“I think so.

We step toward each other.  It only seems natural to kiss.  His flavor is complex, like wine–fruit and spice and secret ingredients I can’t name.  His arms tighten around me.  His erection presses against my belly.  I moan.

In a quick maneuver, he unzips my dress and yanks it over my hips as if he were peeling a banana.  Then he moans and sinks to his knees, cupping my buttocks, kissing the band of naked flesh over the lacy tops of my stockings.

Behind the blindfold, I picture a wheel rolling faster and faster down a rocky mountainside.

Then, somehow, we’re rolling, too, together on the bed, bare flesh on flesh.

He tugs on the blindfold.  “You’re absolutely beautiful, Gretchen, okay?  Can we take this off now?

I shake my head.  I like the raw jumble of scent and taste and touch, the unseen mystery of him.

With a soft snort of defeat, he starts to kiss my breasts slowly, then hungrily, until I beg him to touch me between my legs.  He kisses me there, too.  His tongue sends flames shooting from my clit straight up my spine.

The wheel spins faster, a blur of motion.

“Do you have a condom? I’m panting.

“Yes, just a second.

Presumptuous of him, perhaps, but how can I blame him for being right?

I straddle him, hold his thick shaft in my fist and guide him in.  When I sink down onto him, he arches up with a sigh of homecoming, but then lets me use him, grinding my clit into his belly, dancing shamelessly in my fevered darkness.

I climax first, bucking, a deep groan rising from my throat.  He pulls my body close, pounding up into me, his breath hot in my ear.  I love the way he shudders when he comes, the music of his helpless moans.

Afterwards we hold each other, breathless at the dizzying speed of it.

“I can’t say ˜nice to see you,’ but it’s been a pleasure anyway, I laugh.

He touches the scarf.  “Are you going to wear this to dinner?

I pull off the blindfold and melt right into his chocolate-brown eyes.

Too much, too soon?


Everything’s just right.

Emily Morse

A talk show about sex, relationships & everything in between. Sex With Emily is a free, listen anywhere you are, radio show and podcast about the things that people don't talk about: Sex, relationships, dating, cheating, marriage, mistakes, lovers and even love. If you've ever been stalked or stood up, broken a heart or a bed frame, then you'll probably fit right in.

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