This is the story of the first time I hooked up with the woman who would become my wife. Today, in the #MeToo era, I probably would have done things differently. Thankfully, I read the tea leaves correctly back then.
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I was looking forward to my third date with Sara. And I was really horny. Our first two dates were pleasant, but chaste, and I eager to see how far I could push the envelope for this encounter. Sara was a petite, cute brunette in her late 20s. A recent immigrant to the U.S., she had a vaguely Eastern European accent that only added to her girlish charm.
We had a fun day around the city appeared to cap it off with a nice and late dinner at one of its better restaurants. Sara had parked her car in my luxury condo building, as we were walking back to it, I was telling her about how I had purchased my place only a year prior, when it was first built. The thought occurred to me that this was my moment to test the waters, so I nonchalantly asked if she wanted to take a look around. She replied, “sure, why not?”