He has no clue how wet I am. Jesus. My thong feels like it’s soaked and I’m sure my thighs are glistening. This is not going according to plan. I am not a first-date floozy! But, damn, I would let him bend me over, lift up my sundress and pull my thong to the side right here if he wanted to. I have to get control of myself. Focus, girl. There are a million good reasons why I shouldn’t do him. He’s a stranger, for Christ’s sake!
Focus, girl. You’re on a pier on a summer evening with dozens of people around. We’d be arrested. This is too cliché. I can’t do a Tinder guy just because he bought me dinner. And is funny and sweet and kind and smart. And hot. And has a great smile. And beautiful eyes. And a great ass. And is wearing the exact style belt I often think about when I jerk off. And his chest and arms – oh, God.
What’s next? It’s only 7:45 and we’re strolling along the waterfront and the sun is about to set and I want him. Inside me. Deep. This is not going to end well. If he kisses me, dude, it’s over. I’m done.