The first two chapters of this I wrote in the third person.
However, I'm far from happy with the result.
So I'm going to revert to the first person which is my usually preferred style; in this chapter from Cath's point of view.
*****
It all left me a bit overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with desire, with guilt, with uncertainty and maybe - although not generally part of me - with anxiety.
To have the first date, the first fuck and the first sleep over all in one is just not me. I know. I planned it. I made it happen. It was no one else's fault or doing - not even Adam's; however much I tried to deflect the carnal results of our mutual arousal to make it more ambiguous.
What it was about Adam that made me go well beyond my normal boundaries I'm still coming to grips with even as I slut shame myself and live in fear Adam will think of me as one.
But the simple fact was I'd noticed him and had been drawn to him from the first time his group turned up at the dance nights at the club. Yes there was a physical reaction. He's tall, slim and all man in a way I like. Yes, he was triggering some deep seated hormonal response in me that created desires I couldn't even start to control, but I'm not entirely superficial like that. In fact, usually I'm not at all.
But it was more than that. There were clues to the person he was. In the courtesy with which he treated his dance partners and in the clues I picked up from hearing what the women in his group had to say about him on the few occasions when they visited the ladies room at the same time as me. Indeed, there were a couple of times they spoke about little else; more so when they talked about how they were sharing him around for friends with benefits fucks and the results they got from that.
But nor does it mean it was all about his supposed performance in bed either.
And then there was just the pleasure of watching him on the dance floor. Graceful. Skilled. Controlled. Manly - it always seems to come back to manly. Always making the lady look good. And all done with that incredibly cute butt of his just calling out to my hormones as he sashayed around the dance floor.
I knew he had eyes on me as I danced. I tried a little harder when I knew he was watching. And there's nothing the slightest bit accidental about our dance floor collision that led to us getting together.
That first night and morning together last week left me lamenting it was so short. Left me lying on my bed the following night aroused with the thought he'd shared that bed with me such a short time before. So much sex in so little time and yet I was still left yearning for more.
We spoke on the phone together every day the week that followed. The lunch on Tuesday was fantastic, but only increased my yearning for him. Yes physical yearning, but emotional too.
Somehow early in the week we managed to agree it would be nice if we could get tested for STI's. Needing to use condoms certainly detracted from some of the spontaneity of our last weekend and it would be good to avoid that constraint. But even here I wanted to get the idea across early in the week so there was time for the results to come back before the weekend, but I didn't want to be too obvious about it. I sort of wanted it to be his idea.
Come Friday, we agreed to go home from the city together, change at his place and head off to dinner and then the dancing from there.
We were both running late getting out from the office, so it was a bit of a rush to get changed and out to dinner.
I knew the Latin Band were playing that night, so my dress for the evening was the 'mysterious' little black sheath dress. "Mysterious' was how it was christened by my friends in my own dance studio. 'Mysterious' because one of its features was that it displays a strip of bare flesh several inches wide the full length down each side, held together by nothing more than half a dozen narrow straps. It raises the question of what panties I can be wearing underneath if you can't see anything that could be holding them up.
I'm not silly. I know that many a male has pondered that question. Quite a few dance partners have subtly (or so they mistakenly thought) tried to have a feel around for a waistband as they held me in a dance frame. And more than a few thought they might be able to get an up skirt view to answer the question for them; but a lady knows how to deal with these things, even in a micro mini.
Like my other dance dresses it's made from a diaphanous Spandex nylon. Like the others, it has a plunging neckline that displays a lot of cleavage, and like the others it does show when my nipples are on high beam; very obviously so. But I've had to deal with my rather prominent (my school friends called the 'famous') nipples since maturity. I've ceased to worry about them; more curious and bemused by men's' reaction to them, which is always obvious however much they try and pretend otherwise.
And why the cleavage? I don't know. I suppose I'm sort of a 'if you've got it flaunt it' sort of person. In my professional life it might be my skills (and a smidgen of feminine charm when I think it will work to my advantage). In my social and romantic life, well, the female body is designed to have a certain effect on men. Nature gave me the assets and a healthy attitude to life helped me frame them on a good body. I've always found it better to maximise that effect, at least when I'm confident it's safe to do so. And on that latter issue I take a conservative approach.
Does it bother me men often seem to be left staring 'down there' when they're taking to me? In short, no. It more bemuses me. Gives me a sense of control. Shows their vulnerability. Maybe even lets me wrap them around my little finger, by adding a generous smile and some charm, should I so desire. But nobody's ever had a 'hey I'm up here' reaction from me. That's just not fair when a girls got them on full display.
If they're arseholes then it might provoke some sort of misogynistic reaction from them. For me, that's like water off a ducks back. They've merely given me a heads up they're not worth my time or effort. If they're decent, you can see them really struggling, trying to do the right thing. They go to the top of the class. If they don't even notice, well, maybe they're gay.
I changed demurely out of sight of Adam, leaving the mystery of the little black dress still unanswered; helped a little by the fact he still didn't get to see me in the full glare of normal household lighting before we were out the door and back in his car. The answer was out there, I just wanted to keep the tease going as long as I could. And I knew he was curious - to say the least. He'd done his share of feeling about for the answer when we were last dancing close.
Like our last one, like our telephone conversations and even like the shared trip home that night, dinner was an absolute joy. Even as we talked about something as potentially boring as our week at work, the conversation flowed easily and often bordering on hilariously. We just seemed to click together.
Yes, Adam's glaze often drifted down to my breasts. Maybe unexpectedly, far from annoying me, his interest in them aroused me. In the warm room, it left my nipples tightened and once again poking out on high beam, telling him the effect he was having on me.
I didn't doubt there was something similar hiding in his pants if only I could get a visual on it. Unfairly it was hidden under the table. Still as we got up to leave, I got the satisfaction of the sight of an impressive bulge in his pants. I even managed to give it a squeeze as Adam stood at the counter paying for the meal.
