We arranged to meet at an upmarket bar on the same street as his apartment. I was told to wait for him there and order a drink, and that he would pick up the tab when he arrived. (Space for feminist disgust at myself). He said he would drink and converse with me, and then it would be time to make a decision. To leave or to stay. If I chose to go back with him, I would be indicating that I accepted and understood all of his conditions.
I sat at that bar with my G&T, ice rattling away in the glass because my hand was shaking so much... I was so nervous. I tried to focus on my book, The Second Sex by de Beauvoir, as best I could. I didn't notice him until he was right beside me, I can't remember if I felt his hand on my hair, although I think that I might have. Something had changed, something that I couldn't place, something in him. I don't know, but as soon as I saw him, I wanted to give him whatever he asked of me.
Luckily, I can occupy that headspace and not lose myself enough that I am perfectly able to enjoy good conversation. As we spoke, he occasionally said the odd thing that made me blush, or look away, nothing explicit, but it was indicative of how the dynamic had changed. I was not so confident now, a powerful thing indeed. He asked me about the book, we spoke of other things, and then I finished my drink. I froze in my chair. I had already made my mind up, but now, it was a matter of physically propelling myself forward. Eventually I said yes, and we left. As we walked down his very well known street in the heart of Angel, he teased me about the fact that I let slip that I hadn't had a fuck in five months. I gripped onto his arm. I didn't just want to obey him, I wanted him.
He opened his front door. There was no hallway or doors, just some coat pegs on the right, and some fresh, bright looking wooden stairs leading up. I looked at the hanger hooked on one of the pegs. I said, "That's for me, isn't it...?" And he said yes, and then he was upon me. He pushed me against the wall and pressed his lips to mine, slipping his hands inside my coat. My breath caught in my throat, and I thought I would be driven mad by desire. I am 27 years old, and whilst I have felt passionately desired before, never like this. This wasn't simply "I want you," but "I will have you, you are mine." And the feel of his lips... the way he kisses.
Despite the space being very limited, somehow, I ended up sliding down the wall, onto the floor, and yet still, he was on top of me. Eventually, he got up, told me to undress and said he would be upstairs. I did as I was asked, and began to ascend.
More to come...