A Frame Of Mind

An innocent selfie captures more than expected.

I don't ever do this—well, at least not since college. I usually adhere to the three-date rule. Which, more often than not, means that it never happens. But something that night just clicked. It was a usual Friday night at

Illusions

. I was hanging out with several girlfriends from work, and he was leaning against the bar, flirting with some bimbo.

"Excuse me," I said to Judith as I eyed a very intriguing guy at the end of the bar. "I think I see someone I know." Of course, I didn't know him; he just looked like someone I would like to know. And besides, I didn't like the looks of that girl who was obviously trying to make time with him. "Hey, I know you," I said as I approached the two of them casually flirting.

He quickly turned his head to face me, and with a quirky smile and a puzzled look on his face, said, "No, I don't think so. Should I?"

"I know I know you from somewhere," I insisted as I moved between them, breaking up their little

tête-à-tête

. The blank look on his face only grew more profound, so I had to think fast. "The writer's conference. Boston, wasn't that it?"

I was just throwing spaghetti at the wall, but when I said Boston, I noticed a slight surprise reaction. Maybe I'd hit a cord. I now bumped my way between them so that the unfortunate bimbo was to my back. "Yeah, Boston—last year, I think. The New England Writer's Conference."

His smile broadened, but I had no idea if it was due to some weird happenstance of luck that I was actually on to something or was he just amused by watching me make a total ass of myself. But I couldn't stop now, so sticking out my hand to shake his, I said, "Emily Harman—Simon & Schuster. I knew I'd met you before."

This was total bullshit. But, without looking around, I felt my competition for the evening turn and walk away. So, at least half of the battle for his attention was won. I'm sure it was more out of curiosity than anything else, but he extended his hand and taking mine, said, "Noah Roberts, nice to meet you for the first time."

His hand was both strong and soft at the same time. Strong, as he was young and active and clearly in good shape. Yet soft, more like an intellectual than someone who worked with his hands on a daily basis. And he didn't try to squeeze mine to prove how rough and tough he was. Just the perfect Goldilocks handshake of a perfect gentleman. His smile was sweet and sincere, and I was more than smitten. "So, it might not have been the Writer's Conference, but it was Boston—right?" I said softly, still holding his hand.

"Are you really with Simon & Schuster?" he asked as he allowed my hand to slowly slip from his.

"Yes," I replied with a flirty smile. Switching my drink back to my right hand, I asked, "So if it wasn't the Writer's Conference, where did we meet?"

He actually laughed. He knew I was just fishing. But I wasn't sure if he was trying to allow enough line to sting me along? Or was he positioning himself to real-me-in before I got away? But I wasn't going anywhere, at least not without him. "So, what do you do at Simon & Schuster?" he queried

The bar was loud, and though I was standing as close to him as I dared, it was still hard to carry on a conversation. Besides, he hadn't answered my question about Boston. "Do you want to get out of here?" I asked hopefully.

"I haven't finished my drink," he said as he held up his pint glass. "And it doesn't look like you have finished yours either." He was smiling, so I knew he wasn't trying to give me the bum's rush. So, I held up my half-empty wine glass, and we clinked glasses.

"Okay, I'll tell you what I do at S&S if you'll tell me what you do in Boston," I said, feeling more comfortable that things were going favorably.

His smile grew bigger as he took a sip of his beer and explained, "BU—I'm in grad school at Boston University. And no, I was not at any Writer's Conference."

Feeling more at ease and a little more relaxed, I also took a sip of my drink. "I'm an intake editor," I replied softly.

He nodded, put his beer to his lips and slammed the remaining contents into his mouth. After a quick swallow, he said, "You're right. It's too loud in here." Then, turning to get the bartender's attention to close his tab, I quickly slurped down the last of my wine.

As we headed for the door, hand in hand, Judith tried to pull me off him, but I knew he was something special. Noah was handsome and intelligent, and I know this is a cliché, but he was such a gentleman. I swear, I don't usually do this, but I was totally captivated. I always promised my mom that I'd be in bed before midnight; I just never promised to be alone. To coin an old phrase, he literally swept me off my feet.

Once out on the sidewalk, Noah asked, "Where to?"

I wanted to say my place. But I reframed, at least for the time being. "Have you had dinner yet?"

"No," he said. I think I was a little surprised by my forwardness. And I'm sure he was wondering if I was inviting him to dinner or if I was inviting him to

take me

to dinner. But when the check came, I wouldn't have had any problem picking up the tab, as it really was my idea. "Where to?" was all he said.

I thought for a moment, "

Arté

," I said. He didn't immediately respond, so I added, "It's Italian."

"Perfect," he quipped.

I tightened my grip on his hand, and off we went. It was a beautiful night, and the six-block walk seemed like only two. During our all-too-short walk, I learned Noah was with some friends in town for the weekend. He confirmed that he was a second-year grad student at BU working on a master's in Business Analytics—whatever that is. Once seated at

Arté's

, with a fresh wine in hand and my favorite Cappelini Primavera, I told Noah all about my life as an intake editor, about the lowest job a college graduate can hold at a Big 5 publisher.

When the check arrived, I reached for it, as I was the one who suggested we go out for dinner. But Noah grabbed my wrist before I could even see what the total was. "Nah-uh," he said as he snatched the bill from my hand.

"Can we split it?" I protested. "I am the one that suggested dinner."

"Nope," he said as he reached for his wallet. "My treat ... and my pleasure. Emily, it is so nice to meet you—for the first time. And thank you for saving me from whatever that was I was talking to in the bar."

I think I actually blushed as I now knew this was going to be a good night. I stretched my hand out across the table, and as we gently shook hands for the second time, I whispered, "I knew from the second I laid eyes on you back at

Illusions

that the pleasure would be mutual."

As soon as we were back on the street, Noah asked, "Where to?"

"Will you walk me home?" I replied as I took his hand.

"Of course, which way?" he questioned, and off we went.

It was only about a five-block walk, and when we reached the door to my building, I not so shyly enquired, "Would you like to come up?" He didn't verbally respond, which I took as a yes, and we quickly climbed the three flights of stairs to my door. Once inside, he immediately surveyed my tiny living arrangements. It's technically a one-bedroom, but there is no bedroom door. My apartment is only ten feet wide and forty feet deep. The door opens onto the front room, with a kitchen on one side and a couch and kitchen table on the other. Then there is a bathroom in the middle, which luckily has a door, and then my bedroom. My bed takes up almost the entire space, but besides a hanging wardrobe, what else does a single girl need?

"This is nice," Noah politely said as he scanned the dorm-size living space, before peering down the abbreviated hallway.

I'm fully aware that wherever Noah lived in Boston, it was probably much nicer and certainly bigger. But my place is clean and neat, with no nasty smells and no rats or roaches. So, it may be tight, but at least for now, it's home. However, I didn't bring Noah up here for the

New York Home Tour

.

Turning to face him, I wrapped my arms around his neck and softly placed my lips squarely on his. He quickly wrapped his arms around my waist. Gently pulling me up to compensate for his taller frame, passionately returned my kiss. That first kiss lasted maybe two or three minutes. Standing on tip toes, I finally moved my face far enough back to whisper, "Do you know what I was thinking about the entire time you walked me home?"

"No," he teased back.

"How much I want to suck your dick."

"Here in the kitchen?"

"Well, I could, but it might be more comfortable on my bed," I replied in a sultry tone.

His silence was all I needed to hear, and we quickly headed for my bedroom. Standing at the foot of my bed, I again wrapped my arms around his neck to kiss him. But this time, our kiss didn't linger. Within seconds, I was kissing his neck as I blindly fumbled to unbuckle his belt. And once his belt was free, I sank to my knees, lowered his zipper, and pushed his jeans and underwear to his knees. His dick was already hard, and I'm sure the poor boy had been straining to be free for some time. And what a perfect piece of man meat it was. Well proportioned, circumcised, and hard as a rock. He flinched as my cool hands grasped him at the base, and my warm, sultry lips enveloped his purple crown.

I had not planned on sucking him to completion, but my best intentions were overcome by events. I could not help myself, and apparently, he couldn't either. In less than two minutes, he grabbed the back of my head and held my face to his crotch, as he unloaded wave after wave of warm man cream down my throat. I don't usually appreciate a guy doing this. Still, at that precise moment, I think I was creaming my panties at the same time. And I have never done that before.

When his convulsions finally subsided. He pulled me to my feet and kissed me. He kissed me hard, with probing tongues, as if he was trying to recover what he had just left in my mouth. But it was too late. I had already swallowed what turned out to be my hot cream dessert. Breaking off our kiss, I pushed him to a sitting position on my bed. And as I struggled to remove his shoes, socks, and pants, he almost ripped his shirt from his chest.

Within seconds, Noah was bare-ass naked, and I was still fully clothed. Recognizing the dilemma, I stepped back as far as my crowded apartment would allow, teasingly saying, "One of us is clearly overdressed."

"Who could it be?" he teased back.

"I want to do a striptease for you," I winked. And with that, I slowly started unbuttoning my shirt—one button at a time. I was still dressed in what I had worn to work that day: a long-sleeved white blouse, a gabardine knee-length skirt, comfortable shoes, and, of course, sensible undergarments—flesh tone bra and panties. The comfortable shoes are due to me riding the subway each way, to and from work, plus walking several blocks at each end. I had planned on going to

Illusions

after work. But I had no intention of picking up someone, so I hadn't stopped by my place to change into anything sexy first. However, I think it was still my lucky night.

I don't think my business casual attire had hindered me in any way from scoring the catch of my life. In fact, I think it may have actually helped. The bimbo that had been flirting with Noah before I saved him was dressed as your typical barfly Jezebel, and it certainly didn't do her any good.

I started with the buttons on my shirt, slowly unbuttoning them one by one. And then the buttons on the cuffs, before letting it slip from my shoulders and fall to the floor. Next, my skirt. It had a built-in belt, which I unbuttoned as I slowly danced before him, swinging my hips to a dance song I could only hear in my head. And as it fell to the floor, I turned my back to him and unsnapped my bra. I spun back to face him, and as I allowed the straps to slip from my shoulders, I quickly cupped my breast to delay the final unfailing.

I was now down to nothing but my lace panties and my shoes. I've never gotten in bed with my shoes on in my life, and these certainly weren't sexy high heels. So, I slipped them off and crawled onto the bed, between Noah's legs, and up his body so that I could kiss him. He had lost a little of his erection. But rubbing my naked breasts across his hairy chest and nearly naked body up and down his, I felt his resting manhood reawakening.

I could feel it against my panties, and this only heightened my desire to have him inside me. I whispered in his ear, "May I fuck you?"

"You still have your panties on," was all he said. And that was all I needed to hear. Without lifting my body from his, I reached for the elastic waistband of my underwear and struggled to push it from my hips. Utilizing only one hand, I wasn't making much progress, and I soon felt both of Noah's hands join in the effort. Soon, my undies were down around mid-thigh, causing me to quickly sit up and push the impeding fabric to my knees before flipping over and pushing them off and over my bare feet.

Now, as naked as my lover, I quickly straddled Noah's mid-section and lowered myself onto the phallus of my dreams. At first I remained hovering over his pelvis, as I slowly raised and lowered my body, allowing his glistening pole to silently glide in and out of my quivering feminine slit. But after several minutes of this sensual exercise, Noah reached up and pulled me down onto his body. My breasts molded so perfectly to his chest; it was like we had been custom-made for each other.

We continued in this fashion for the longest time. When I finally felt Noah's release was imminent, I sat up, moved my feet adjacent to his hips, and squatted over his cock. This way, he could watch as his glistening shaft effortlessly slid in and out of my leaking love hole. In fact, I was leaking so badly that my juices were soaking his pubic hairs and running down his legs and onto my sheets. This visual aid soon brought Noah to his second climax of the evening. For the second time in less than fifteen minutes, his warm, creamy essence flooded me, leaving me in a state of euphoria I had never known before.

As we drifted off to sleep, it occurred to me that I didn't want Noah to leave. I wanted him in my bed and in my life indefinitely. That was a sensation I had never known before. Typically, once I finish the act with a date or some guy I picked up for a one-night stand, it's simply that. I enjoyed the intercourse. And I wouldn't mind doing it again with my lover of the evening. But only the next time the situation presents itself. But in the meantime, I was ready to go home or for him to leave my apartment. However, Noah was different. I wanted him to stay. I wanted to wake up with him in my bed and in my arms the next morning and every morning thereafter.

The next morning, as sunlight poured in through my lone apartment window, I reached over to feel for Noah, and he wasn't there. At first, I was startled by his absence. But as I felt the sheets, they were still warm. "Noah," I called out.

"How do you like your coffee?" I heard him say from my kitchen. A wave of relief swept over me as I realized he was still there.

"Milk and sugar," I called back to him. Then, as soon as I sat up, I realized I had to pee. I slid from the bed, still naked, and walked the very short distance to the bathroom. But before turning in, I glanced toward the front room. There was Noah, standing at my kitchen counter waiting for the coffee maker to finish brewing. He was as naked as I was, and seeing him standing there with two empty coffee mugs on the counter, I couldn't resist running and hugging him around the waist. "Didn't your mom ever tell you that you shouldn't cook naked?" I said.

He laughed and replied, "No, I don't think that topic ever came up at home.

Still hugging him, I dropped one hand to his pecker and slowly started stroking him. "Are you coming back to bed?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied as he wrapped one arm back behind me and jiggled a butt cheek. "Butt," dragging out the word 'but.' "I need my coffee."

"I need to pee," I joked.

"Well, not in the kitchen, I hope."

I laughed so hard that I almost did. But I did make it safely to the bathroom, and upon my exit, Noah was back in bed with two mugs of coffee. I don't think we respectively had taken more than a few sips of the still-hot brew before Noah was fondling, kissing and sucking on my tits. Which only got us both going. Within minutes, he had scooted down my chest and belly and moved between my legs. As he buried his face deep into my short and curlies, I protested, "I haven't showered,"

Briefly raising his head, Noah said, "I don't care. I love you the way you are."

My bedroom was heavy with the smell of sex, and I'm sure my crotch reeked of it. Besides, I had just peed. But the way he said, 'I love you the way you are,' I just melted. I'm sure he just meant he loved having breakfast at the Y. But he used the L word, and at that moment, that was all that mattered. He spent a good ten minutes cleaning, licking, and sucking

Miss Kitty

before finally moving up my chest to mount me. He placed his arms behind my legs, bringing my knees to my chest, and fucked me like I had never been fucked in my life.

It was probably ten o'clock before we finally got out of bed and finished our now room-temperature coffee. "I need a shower," I said as I headed to the bathroom.

"I'll join you," Noah responded. And another first for me. I'm twenty-six years old, and this was the first time I had ever taken a shower with a lover. I don't know why it took me so long, but I'm pleased to have begun the tradition with Noah.

We spent the entire day together Saturday, doing the things tourists do in lower Manhattan. We rode the double-decker sightseeing bus so that Noah could get a feel for the city I lived in, and he very well might after graduating with his master's. Then we walked the Brooklyn Bridge and snacked on street vendor egg rolls in Chinatown. Late that afternoon, we walked back to my apartment and passed Wagman's, a local higher-end supermarket.

"What are the plans for dinner," Noah asked.

"Nothing," I said. "What do you want to do?"

Without saying a word, Noah grabbed my hand and headed into the store. After picking up a shopping basket, he questioned, "Do you like lamb?"

I had eaten lamb before, but rarely—very rarely. "Yes, I guess so," I meekly responded.

"Great," he said as we headed for the butcher counter. There, he had the butcher prepare four highly trimmed lamb chops for us. Then, returning to fresh produce, we added onions, garlic, rosemary, and thyme to the basket. Now, heading for the grocery aisles, asked, "Do you have olive oil?"

"I don't think so," I responded, still unsure as to what he was planning.

"No problem," he said as he turned down one aisle and then another, picking up both red and white wines, a box of chicken broth, olive oil, canned whole tomatoes, and a box of Israeli couscous.

I had never even heard of couscous, but apparently, Noah had, as he already knew exactly what we were having for dinner. And that was good, because I rarely cook, and to have him cook for me would be an exceptional treat. My only concern was the condition of my kitchen or lack of condition, I should say. I did have a few pots and pans, plates, bowls, wine glasses, but nothing fancy. I was just hoping I had salt, pepper and a sharp knife.

Utilizing nothing but my tiny apartment kitchen and the bare essentials of kitchen equipment, Noah prepared the finest meal I had ever eaten. I was in awe watching him as he first marinated the lamb chops, prepared the couscous, and finally seared the chops perfectly in the only skillet I had. I did manage to set the table, and I even found a candle so we could eat by candlelight. But other than that, it was pure Noah.