Miss X started getting ready for her date. She had been chatting to yet another guy on a dating web and this one looked promising. She had a nice, long shower and after towelling herself dry, lathered some cream meticulously on her body, but not before adding some jasmine essential oil to the cream. She wanted to smell delicious tonight. Her hopes were not high, but you never know, maybe a daring web would spit up an interesting male after all.
Once creamed and perfumed, she opened her lingerie drawer and decided to go with the fuchsia longerie set. She loved the delicate lace and the way the fuchsia and dull gold looked on her dark skin and let's be honest, the tanga made her butt look good. She felt good, she felt prepared to face any situation.
And now for clothes -- what to choose? You don't want to look too elegant and standoffish, but you don't want to wear something so revealing that the date thinks that all you want is a quickie. She finally decided on a top which drew attention to her cleavage without revealing much, a skirt which was short but not a mini and teamed it with a pair of platforms that made her legs look long.
Miss X looked at her watch, "Oh, Oh, I better leave", she thought and grabbing a purse to match her sandals, she almost ran out of the flat.
As she walked towards the bar where they were to meet, Miss X's mind flew to the few dates she had had in the past months and a frown appeared. Why do men put up pictures from 20 years ago when they didn't have beer bellies? Or what about the last date she had had with a guy who had halitosis. Ugh -- she hoped this date would go better.
Mr Z was waiting for her. He was wearing a light blue, half sleeved work shirt, a pair of jeans and had a thick thatch of hair which she instantly wanted to run her fingers through. She saw the glasses and the way his eyes lit up when he saw her. She looked at him almost in relief -- no beer belly, she thought. "Hmmm, someone who looks exactly like his profile pictures, ooh, and he ain't too bad."
They said their hellos and went inside the bar. It was one of her favourite places, a rather elegant wine bar with a rather chic black and white flooring, not too far from her home. The crowd was good and the wine better. As soon as they sat down in the tiny Parisian style table, the waiter, who knew her, saluted her and immediately came to tell them/ her about the wines available that night. She chose a dry white and Mr Z followed her lead.
Right from the beginning Mr Z sat close to her, their knees almost touching. The conversation flowed; he touched her from time to time to make a point. She liked his smile. She liked the muscular arm peeping beneath his half-sleeved shirt, the muscles bulging as he gesticulated.
