I love words. I love the power of words, their shadings, the way they can convey everything from instructions for cooking an egg to the heartbreak of losing a loved one.
Also, the right words, strung together just so, can lead to some passionate situations if they fall on the right ears.
I have the year pretty well pinned down as 2013, but it might have been 2014. There are enough tiny missing pieces that I wouldn’t stake my life or even last Friday’s paycheck on either.
I used to do some painting at an art studio not far from me. I wasn’t great, but I had a few shows. The art show also hosted reading events from time to time, including the occasional poetry open mics. Those were usually on Thursdays.
We had a decent-sized group going one night, with some people I recognized and a few I didn’t. Among the ones I didn’t were two women, friends of the space’s director, who had come together. One was tall, mid-20s, with light reddish-brown hair and — well, let’s just say that she probably had to say “My eyes are up HERE, pal” a lot. Her friend was in her mid-30s: shorter, dark-haired, thick (in the good way) with great hips that said “Hold on tight” in pretty much every language known to humanity.
Both of them seemed to be intent on making eye contact throughout the night, starting with when I read for the first time. I didn’t mind that — having an attentive audience is always good — but it continued through the evening, from both of them. I didn’t mind that either, but since I was among people who knew me but didn’t know all about me (if you take my meaning), I tried to keep from overtly flirting.
At the end of the night, a bunch of us, the two women included, were standing around the parking lot talking about the night’s reading. They both said they liked my work (which is the way to any creative’s heart, if you’re taking notes). We also talked about wine, although I’m not sure how that subject came up.
Then the group broke up, and I walked home and didn’t think much more about it — until the next morning, when I got an email from the brunette. I hadn’t given her my contact information, so I was mystified at first, but she said she’d gotten my address from the gallery director.
She said she’d enjoyed the conversation and would love to buy me a glass of wine and continue it sometime. I wasn’t entirely sure whether she meant “Let’s have a fun but platonic conversation over a drink” or “Let’s have some wine and then go fuck each other’s brains out,” but I’m a fan of wine, conversation and fucking, on their own and in any combination of the three, so I was in.
There was a small art/music/food walk going on that night, about halfway between my place and hers. I like going solo to things like that, so it wouldn’t arouse any suspicion if I went. I suggested we meet there and start with one of the wine tastings. She agreed, and at 7 that evening we met outside the appointed location.
She looked great: tight top, tight jeans, short boots. We hugged hello and went to taste some wine. That took about half an hour, a little more. I asked, “Where to next?”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” she said. “Any ideas?”
Deep breath. “Well, yeah — one, especially. I mean, I’m obviously really attracted to you, so –”
“So where next?”
“How long will it take to get to your place if I follow you there?”
“Ten minutes.”
We made out by her car for a while, and then I followed her to her apartment. Her son was away for the weekend — camping, I think — and we made a beeline for her bedroom. She turned to me, grabbed me around the neck and kissed me hard.
Sometimes you can remember every detail of a first (or only) encounter. Not this time. The way she kissed me flipped off three switches in my head and flipped on about seven in my body. We hadn’t even had that much wine, but the next two hours were pretty much a frenzied blur of stripping and more kissing and licking and moaning and sucking and ass slapping and — yeah, pretty much fucking each other’s brains out. Pretty sure we went through at least three condoms and I got to play with her little leather lash for a while. Also, those hips of hers? They felt great under my hands, in all kinds of situations.
Eventually, we collapsed in a spent heap. That’s when she told me the story. She and the redhead (who was married with a fairly new baby) had both decided that I was their flavor of guy. “I told her to back off, that you were mine,” she said with a laugh.
So she’d planned her work and worked her plan, and I had happily played right along.
I had to go home before too long, but that was only the beginning of something that lasted for several months before she met a single guy and started seeing him exclusively. I was happy for her (and no, I didn’t ask her to set me up with her redheaded friend, though in retrospect she probably would have and asked for details).
We had repeats of that first night’s nonstop intense, frenetic coupling a few times in her apartment, when her son was away. We even made use of the studio space a few nights, once when the director was downstairs in her office and we were in an upstairs room with an old metal desk. She started kissing me and rubbing me through my pants. I grabbed her, pulled her pants and panties down, spun her around, bent her over the desk and took her without either of us making a sound.
Another time, we wound up on the floor in the same room, and this time she got loud, and I think I might have too.
We got to be pretty good friends during that time, too. We’d go for coffee, or lunch, and just hang out and enjoy each other’s company for an hour or two. I sometimes wish we still had that, but things go as they go.
Oh, and I went back later and bought a bottle of a wine I really liked at the tasting. When things finally ended, I broke it out and drank a toast. Seemed fitting, since that’s how it all started.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/c5cpkt/words_wine_and_a_wanton_woman_true_story_xpost