Paige shivered. A brisk evening breeze whipped at her goose-pimpled ankles. Light from the streetlamps played off the dark surface of the old canal and then danced across the brick walls of the wharf. Utrecht was a magical city, but also a chilly one.
The warm broodje’s in the HEMA bakery were looking appetizing. Paige couldn’t help but consider popping in, picking up one of them as well as a new blanket, and cuddling up with both back inside her flat. But she didn’t feel good about standing someone up on a first date.
Paige didn’t often go on dates. She was happy just spending time with a book and a playlist. On occasion, though, loneliness crept into her life. She would remember how it was to have someone to reaffirm you, to hold you, to share your favorite things with. And she’d figure out, meticulously and analytically, what she needed to do to get back to that place.
According to her research, attractiveness was simply the projection of confidence, sensuality and control. Paige reasoned that people didn’t want to see her rough edges – the frizz on her head that fought every hairband, the love of study and fascination with minutia, the anxiety and stress buzzing in her mind. She covered these things up, and invented a new and better Paige. This Paige was sexy, suave, and collected, not bookish, withdrawn and neurotic.
And this Paige had little trouble attracting interest. It was just that this interest didn’t usually last beyond a date or two. But she trusted her problem-solving abilities, and stuck to the plan.
So she stood on a wobbly cobblestone outside HEMA, adjusting her loose sapphire blazer and tugging on her hair, shaking as much from nervousness as from the cold. She tried to pack away all the bad thoughts and focus on the good. As long as I do everything right, she thought, I may never be alone again. This could be the one. Paige took a deep breath.
A perfect woman rounded the corner. The wind didn’t even seem to touch her as she strode unflinchingly towards Paige. She was adorned all in scarlet – her heels, dress, earrings and lips, upon which a slight smirk perched. Her sliver-blonde hair didn’t reach her shoulders. She had a precise, effortless beauty.
For a moment Paige worried whether she might not be good enough for this person. She worried if her jacket clashed with her skin, and if the woman had caught a glimpse of her weak shivering. But then Paige found her persona, and pushed all that away. She looked directly into the woman’s gray eyes without smiling. She stood up straight and pulled her shoulders back. She trusted the plan. “You’re Paige.” declared the blonde woman, as if she knew her name better than Paige herself. “Thank god you look like your picture, there are so many people who don’t at all…”
Paige admired the boldness of immediately alluding to success on the dating market. But she could keep up. “I know, I try to weed them out, but no one has time for that.”
A sharp puff of air through her nose was the only indication that the woman was amused. “I’m Leigh. Pleasure.”, she stated, extending her hand. Paige met it casually but firmly, keeping her face emotionless. “Pleasure indeed.”
They walked abreast down the stairs to the restaurant, neither one ahead or behind the other. “Where are you from?”, Paige queried, gaining the initiative. She could tell that this evening would be more of a duel than the others.
“San Francisco. And yes, I’m actually from the city, not one of those losers from Vacaville or Livermore,” replied Leigh, “If you know where those are, you know who I’m talking about.” She talked quickly enough to overwhelm you with details, but not so quickly that it was inelegant or obnoxious. Paige could tell that it was practiced.
Paige didn’t know where Vacaville and Livermore were, because she was from the opposite side of the country, but that didn’t matter. “Right, like the carpetbaggers who say they’re from my town without even living on Pennsylvania Avenue.” Softball, but keep her guessing.
“Oh, D.C. girl. Senator’s daughter, perhaps?”
Nothing could be further from the truth, but this evening wasn’t about the truth. “Something like that. What’re you, heiress to a tech fortune?” This evening wasn’t about pulling punches, either. “Something like that,” Leigh smirked.
They walked into the restaurant on the brick wharf and were shown to a little white table. Though she nearly concealed it, Paige could tell that Leigh was stealing glances at her body as she hung her jacket on her chair. It felt good.
They each accepted menus from the waiter, and Paige considered which main course would make her taste seem refined but unpretentious. The duck breast was a good compromise between the salmon and the entrecote.
“I go all the way to Europe just to go out with another American,” scoffed Leigh, “what am I doing with my life?” The implication being that this date was a waste of time, noted Paige. Hurtful, but subtle. Smart.
“I think you’re doing just fine,” Paige replied, “If you’re sitting at a table with me.” Confidence trumps insults.
Her date responded just with a slight, sarcastic smile. The waiter returned and took their orders – duck and a red for Paige, nicoise salad with a white for Leigh.
They met each others gaze across the table. They were about the same height, so neither could look down on the other. Attraction was all about dominance, Paige thought. If she seemed submissive, even for a moment, it was over.
Leigh ponderously squeezed her chin. “Let me guess – never been out with a girl before, have you?”, she probed. Searching for unknowns and weak spots.
In fact, Paige had only ever been out with girls. Girls who wanted to be dominated, who lusted for the persona she had perfected. Not girls like Leigh.
“I’d say I know my way around a woman,” she flirted, still expressionless. She waited for a blush or a glance down at the table, but Leigh just stared back with that damned smirk.
“I don’t think you know your way around a woman like me,” Cocky. Leigh wanted to arouse her, to throw her off her game. It wasn’t going to work.
“What makes you so special, then?” Keep on the pressure.
Leigh leaned forward, her scarlet lips closer to Paige’s face. “I think you’ll find that I have something most women don’t.”
This was just some sort of bluff. There wasn’t anything about Leigh that Paige couldn’t understand. “What, an eating disorder?”
Leigh deepened her wry smile and exhaled a single, sharp, controlled laugh. Her face was close enough that Paige felt the warmth of her breath. A foot rubbed slowly against Paige’s boot, and then a bare leg pressed softly against her inner thigh. She was distracted for only half a moment, but it was enough for Leigh to gain the upper hand.
Her eye contact was intense. “You want to know what I have?”, whispered Leigh, “Come home with me and I’ll show it to you.”
Paige was thrown. This was her tactic, her dominant seduction, and Leigh was trying to use it back against her. She’d never met someone so much like herself. It was awful.
But the worst part was that the charm had had worked. Paige felt her pulse quicken and her face warm. A sweet, unstable void filled her stomach. Embarrassingly, terribly, stupidly, she was intrigued by what Leigh had said.
This was because Paige now knew what was so special about Leigh. The implication was obvious. It seemed that she and Leigh shared more in common than just a combative attitude.
Each of them had a cock.
Girls like her were relatively rare. As far as she knew, Paige hadn’t met another one in her entire life, and she certainly hadn’t expected to meet one tonight. But now there was no doubt. Leigh had just suggested it in the same way Paige had dozens of times to other girls. This was interesting. New. Exciting, even. Paige was used to her routine of seduction. A girl lusts for her, screams her name for a night, but ultimately misunderstands her and leaves. Here was someone who might share her experiences, understand her, accept her. Mind and body.
At this realization, Paige considered cracking, backing down, ending this game and being genuine. But, as torn as she was in that moment, she knew this was impossible. This would mean accepting the role Leigh wanted her to play, and then she’d be trapped in the palm of Leigh’s hand.
So she hardened herself, didn’t let any of this mess of emotions play on her face, and instead got her head back in the game.
“I know what you have,” she calmly stated, cold as granite, “because I have one too.”
Leigh leaned back, and the smugness fell off her face for a second. Maybe she’s thinking the same things I am, thought Paige. But there was no way to be sure.
Their food arrived. By the time the wine glasses were set down, Leigh’s composure was solid enough to make Paige doubt whether it had ever flickered. Neither of them looked at the food. Both were eager to prove that they were completely unfazed by what had just transpired.
Paige felt that to be the first to eat would be a misplay. It would give Leigh a chance to talk without her being able to immediately respond. It seemed that her counterpart had made the same judgment, because they sat, forks undisturbed, in a hungry stalemate. Wine seemed like fair game, though, because Paige could sip her Zinfandel quickly, and without even breaking eye contact.
“You’re funny,” Leigh laughed disparagingly, “an eating disorder. I’m skinny then? Been checking me out?” Self-aggrandizing, flirtatious, and nearly gaslighting on whether the previous exchange had even happened. Paige couldn’t imagine how dysfunctional a relationship would be with this woman.
She wasn’t going to engage with this. “What are you studying, nutritional science?” Paige said pointedly, nodding at Leigh’s salad. Dodge and continue the attack.
Leigh didn’t miss a beat. “Ha, ha. Linguistics, if you can imagine. I suppose you’re in the comedy programme then?”
Paige hated that her mind immediately jumped to the old joke about cunning linguists. Maybe she should be in the comedy programme. In another world, she’d have said it without a second thought, but she couldn’t do that here. Instead she had to steel herself and keep from thinking any more about Leigh crawling under the table and performing some linguistics on her.
“*Non, j’étudie le droit.*” Paige nonchalantly replied, enjoying watching Leigh blink, “*ah, je suis désolé, tu parles français?*”
“*¡Hablo francés! ¿Crees que hablo un solo idioma?*”
“*Sie sind Amerikaner, nicht wahr?*”
“*Вы тoжe.*”
Paige had run out of languages. Best to undermine Leigh’s victory with a stab. “Very impressive. Or it would be, if you hadn’t already told me that you’re paying to be taught all that.”
“You joke, Paige, but I know you’re impressed. This is the first time you’ve smiled all night.”
Fuck. Paige took a strong sip of wine and straightened her face. Leigh’s charms were working. Paige was impressed. Leigh was unlike any other woman she’d met in more ways than just one.
Leigh graciously took a bite of salad, throwing Paige a bone. Paige couldn’t take advantage of the lull in conversation because she was too busy stealing a glance at the elegant lines of Leigh’s shoulders and clavicles.
She became aware of something nestled inside her boxers. Oh God. This date was on the verge of absolutely falling apart.
Paige imagined Leigh underneath her on a dim, cushioned recliner, red dress flung back, legs wrapped around her waist, moaning frantically in French. She thought about excusing herself to the toilet and silently touching herself. Her hard cock pressed against her leg. It was impossible, Leigh would see it.
They continued on eating for awhile, largely in silence, though punctuated by a few more piercing exchanges. Leigh stole a bite of Paige’s duck, and Paige bested Leigh in an intricate discussion of European parliamentary systems. Slowly, they opened up, ever so slightly.
After dinner, they strolled along the cobblestone street above the canal. The chill breeze still blew, but Paige felt warmer than before.
“Now, don’t let this go to your head,” she dryly suggested, “But I have to say, this evening has been… unique.” It was a flirt, but only a slight one.
“I would say the same. But I would also say that about the night in Edinburgh I got my head stuck in a birdcage cocktail, so, you know, grain of salt.”
Paige liked Leigh. She seemed like the kind of person she could be great friends with, share an entire day with, walk through a museum with, sit at a cafe and make fun of the passers-by with. But this was not platonic, and Paige stubbornly stuck to her belief that she could only find romance by projecting dominance and disdain.
“I have to go.” Cut things short before it gets any more out of hand.
“Oh, is this your place?” Leigh motioned towards the alley running past the HEMA.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”, Paige replied, straightfaced. Perfect.
“Why don’t you invite me upstairs for *een kopje koffie*?”
Paige should have expected this, but somehow she hadn’t, and she was more conflicted than she wanted to be. She did, truly, want her to come upstairs. Not just for the inevitable sex – and it was inevitable, because Leigh was finally making her desire plain – but for the continued conversation. No, this was just a step too far. Letting Leigh enter her apartment on the first date was unacceptably submissive.
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh.” Leigh didn’t show her surprise, but Paige could tell that she had expected this to be her moment of victory. To deny her that was a satisfying end to the night.
Paige turned and walked down the alleyway without a moment’s glance back. No “good night”, no “text me”, no “*tot ziens*”. It was a brutal gesture which she was sure would only make Leigh desire her more.
She hoped that she hadn’t driven her away.
– – – – – – –
Paige slammed the door to the flat, drew closed the blinds on the window overlooking the oudegracht, and stood, breathing deeply, in the center of her bedroom. She could feel a warm mass pressing against her inner thigh, and, looking down, saw its outline straining against her slacks.
Had she left quickly enough, or had Leigh seen?
Her fingers fidgeted at the belt buckle, and then tugged at the waist of her pants. She had to pull a little harder as they passed her crotch, resisted as they were by the spring-loaded piston underneath. After the final tug, it sprang forwards into the taut tent of her boxers, cinching them tightly around her buttocks. There was a small wet spot at the tip of the bulge.
The poster of RBJ on the wall was smacked first by Paige’s thrown blazer, and then her white undershirt. While Paige undid her bra clasp she looked down and saw that her underwear was pulled so tightly to the front that there was a gap between her belly and the waistband. She could see a smooth patch of bare skin, and almost the edge of something below it. She exhaled, closed her eyes, and felt every muscle in her body relax.
Her bra fell freely to the floor, and Paige’s hands were on her breasts, rubbing them in slow, sensual circles. Head inclined and mouth ajar, she felt the muscles in her back, tight with the night’s anxiety, start to soften. Slowly she trailed her right hand down her body, feeling every inch of skin. Fingers crept past her belly button, along that smooth, sensitive patch under the boxer’s waistband, and finally touched her pleasure-charged shaft.
Paige sighed deeply. God, this night had turned her on.
With her wrist she flipped down her boxer waistband, and, finally, her cock sprang freely from her clothes. Its smooth, dark shaft pointed down at forty-five degrees, bobbing as the tight tendons at its base struggled to hold the weight horizontal.
And, seeing it, her last bit of restraint vanished. She was stroking her cock frantically, in great fluid strokes, thrusting her hips into every movement and drawing quickening breaths. One hand squeezed her balls gently, and pearls of precum coated her shaft. A vision of Leigh kneeling beneath her, licking her cock in one long motion from the base to tip. Paige stroked faster. Then she was on her knees, and then leaning back into the ground, pressing her shoulders against the cold wood with every thrust. Her cock pointed straight towards the ceiling. Her legs spread, quivering, and the cool air of the room washed against her sweat-slick inner thighs, crotch, butt…
A vision of Leigh kneeling between her legs, prodding the tip of her long cock against Paige’s entrance.
Paige gasped.
With every quivering spasm, every skyward burst of cum, every echoing blast of pleasure that her orgasm delivered, Paige released a bit of the anxiety and pressure which had built up within her all night. All that she wanted in that moment was to be genuine, and to be loved.
Paige lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, head swimming, drops of cooling cum dripping down her sides, for what could have been an hour. Finally, her brain started to stir back into normal function.
She had had an amazing date tonight. Being honest with herself, Leigh was not only her intellectual equal and stunningly sexy, but was also a rare person who could possibly understand her on a deeper level than anyone she had ever met.
And she wanted to be grabbed by her, thrown on the bed, and fucked until she screamed her name.
What the fuck was she going to do?
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ib90xz/a_night_on_the_canal_fffuta