It was a slow start, emails back and forth, followed by texts and eventually, calls. The pressures of work for both of us meant that it was difficult to find a mutually suitable date for a meet. It was set for a Wednesday morning, at 11am in the car park of a famous Liverpool pub. D told me he was a taxi driver, and I drove slowly into the car park, scanning for his car. Sure enough, he was already there, and the butterflies in the pit of my stomach went into overdrive.
I parked up and spent a few moments composing myself, and as I went to get out, there he stood, by the drivers door, tall and dark. We nervously introduced ourselves in the damp, overcast September morning. Realising we looked like a pair of desperate alkies looking for the first drink of the day, we hovered near the steps, willing the staff to open up. A few minutes later, we were at the bar, D ordered coffee for me and a soft drink for himself. We moved to a cosy table, away from the mid morning regulars.
D was a great conversationalist, telling me of his experiences in West Africa and South East Asia. Over an hour flew by and we were still chatting before D changed the subject to one of a more intimate nature. Soon, I was finding out about his sexual preferences, how he liked to be touched, teased, and how much he enjoyed women. He edged closer to me on the sofa, letting our knees press together. I wondered if he would try anything in the pub, I half hoped that he would. With his tall, rangey body, dark hair and eyes, he looked just like my first boyfriend.
D then asked me to tell him a little more about me. Trying to keep my voice low so that we wouldnt be overheard by the other customers, I let D know the best way to arouse me, and just how to do it.
