It finally happened. Sam and I fucked. For the longest time, I was unsure about him. He was always the perfect gentleman, buying me dinner, picking me up, taking me out to the opera and classic films. On the doorstep of my little cottage, he'd kiss my cheek goodnight and make sure that I got in safe. That was all. Eventually, I just assumed he was only interested in my friendship. Perhaps I was too young. On our second date he'd told me about his first wife, but they'd been divorced for years. Maybe he had something going on with Rainier, and wasn't excited by women.
Things started changing around the end of March. The weather grew warmer, and a Puccini opera came to town. Sam bought tickets at the concert hall for a Sunday afternoon showing, his preferred time, as we could go to a late dinner at the lovely little French place down the street. I wore a clingy black dress with my thigh highs and a lacy garter belt underneath, and high heels. Even if Sam wasn't interested, someone else might be.
"You look stunning," said Sam. He's in his early forties, with the craggy face of an old film star in a Western. He was wearing a suit, but no tie.
Our seats were up in the back, the quiet part of the theater. There weren't many people around at all. We each had a glass of wine, and sat just in time for the curtain to go up. The opera began, and it was marvelous. Intermission, and we were out in the lobby, getting another glass.
"Look at those two," Sam whispered to me. He was talking about a very old, fat man and his date, a very young woman with silky blonde hair. She kept shifting her weight from leg to leg, and looking at him, slyly. When we got back to our seats, we noticed they were sitting in the row on the edge of the balcony, apart from everyone else. We were the closest people to them. Again, the lights dimmed, the curtain went up, and we were absorbed in the music.
Only a few moments later, I noticed the old man begin to kiss the young woman. I nudged Sam, and we had a giggle. Now, half our attention was on the opera, and half was on the couple. She looked back and up at us once, but I saw it out of my peripherals, as my attention was on the stage. Lucky, because she must have been convinced we either couldn't see us or weren't paying attention.
He twined his fingers in her long hair, and began pushing her head towards his lap, while his left hand was unzipping the fly of his dress pants. A second later, his purple pecker was poking through his fly, and he tugged at it, getting it positioned as he wanted it.
"Are you watching this?" I asked, honestly shocked. And excited. The guy didn't have a huge cock, but it was still hot. The woman parted her lips and began working the head of his cock with her tongue, swirling it around, running it under the edge. He gently ran his fingers through her hair. Sam laughed softly, and squeezed my hand. His palm was sweaty. I couldn't help but glance over at the front of his pants, but the angle wasn't good and I couldn't tell if he was getting hard. I was soaked.
The old man tightened his grip in his date's hair and began moving her head to the rhythm he liked, pulling her up and down like she was a sex toy. Drool clung to the top of his cock in long strings. Occasionally, she looked up at him, wanting approval, but he just shoved her mouth back down on his straining member. Eventually, he moved her up and down faster and faster, and then shoved his hips up once, twice, and let out a long breath. They sat a moment, her face still glued to his crotch, and then she sat up, leaving his now limp cock clean and damp. She tucked her hair back behind her ears, and looked back up at us, but we were watching the opera.
We were the first out of the theater, giggling.
"Dinner?" said Sam, and I was a disappointed. I was tingling, but. I decided to just enjoy him, and accept that he wasn't interested in me, sexually. So we went and had a nice dinner, and conversation. He kept bringing it back to the couple, though.
"Can you believe people do that?" he said.
"A lot of people have exhibitionist fantasies," I said, sipping my wine. Rain was coming down outside, a typical March day.
"Do they?" Sam said, looking at me.
"I've heard rumor," I said. "As long as it's not hurting anyone, what's the harm?"
"I suppose," he said. He has the bluest eyes, and he directed them at me for a long moment.
The sun was set by the time he drove me home, and he parked on the street and walked me up to the cottage door, and said, "Bunny..."
I let him wrap his arm around me, and pull me in tight. For the first time, we kissed on the mouth, our hot lips parting, our tongues meeting. Maybe it was the wait, or the tenor of the night, but it was the most erotically charged kiss I've ever had. A minute later, or maybe it was an hour, we took a breath and looked at each other.
"Do you want to come in?" I said.
"Very badly," he said. "But I'm not going to. I want you to come over tomorrow night. Will you do that?"
"Of course," I said. "Of course."
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