Metro

Metro Super Liked me. I was hesitant to swipe right because he looked too pretty. Was he sure he wasn’t gay?

40, 6′, SF, Italian, only child, grew up in SoCal, botox, teeth whitening, tanning bed, zero hair except in appropriate man places like head, arms, legs, none down south…literally none, wouldn’t put it past him if he had had some hair plug or replacement therapy cause the head hair was too perfect, voice-over career, weirdly effusive like with excessive Grrr’s and cat noises.

When we moved to text a day later or so, he insisted on a phone call before meeting. We connected well, spoke for almost an hour. Still a little weirded out by animal noises. He said he’d like to take me to dinner and would come to Napa.

“The wireless chemistry is soooooo already present! Grrr!”

We decided to pick a fancy restaurant and play dress up. A few days before we were flirting and sexting.

“I have a strong suspicion our body chemistry is going to be just right to heighten the sensations for both taste and smell. The way we are dreaming about the possibilities, both solo and together over text, makes me believe soaring heights will be possible together.”

Creepy, creepy, creepy. But somehow I was still intrigued and kept feeding his weird, touchy, feely fire. He continued.

“I totally expect us to be two souls recognizing one another.”

But then there were bouts of normalcy and lavish compliments…how could a girl resist?

“OMG. You’re so freaking hot! Open minded, smart and beautiful women are very hard to find. Thank you for spotting me.”

On the night of your first date, I walked extremely slowly in my favorite open-toed spike heels toward the restaurant, which was just two blocks from my apartment. I spotted him parking in the garage across the street. He exited, looked right, saw me and smiled.

Grrrr! was literally the first thing that exited his lips.

We were to be sat at a table in which we were across from each other, but he spotted an end booth table on the other side of restaurant and asked if we could dine there. He wanted to be able to sit next to me.

Dinner was pleasant. We laughed. He was a gentleman, of course. I felt more at ease. Maybe the weird vibe I was getting was because things got lost in text translation?

Against my better nature, maybe it was the two glasses of red and the dessert wine, I let him walk me back to my apartment. At this point, I don’t have a couch because I got rid of all my furniture when I moved in October. I asked him to come into the bedroom, but clarified that this wasn’t going to be the “Champagne Room,” but rather the “Make-Out Room.” He agreed and I trusted him.

I put on music, opened another bottle of wine and we talked, laughed and made out for an hour or so.

There was good, passionate kissing without too much tongue. He ran his hands up my legs and over my dress to feel my thighs. Then his right hand turned inward and cupped my pussy over my panties with just a little bit of pressure…a secret weakness of mine. He slide his finger down the left side of my pussy where my panties meet my inner thigh. He pushed his finger under the material and inside. It made my back arch. He kissed my neck. He pressed his hard cock against my leg.

Even though he was turning me on, I was ok to stop there. I didn’t want to fuck him, not because I usually don’t on the first date, but because I just wasn’t all there mentally and physically. His mannerisms and extreme manscaping were throwing me off.

At just shy of midnight, he left to drive home. The next morning…

“Actions speak louder than words. We will see whether you see me again and what your boundaries are at the time.”

“I want to see you again. Next Wednesday perhaps??”

“Next Wednesday is good. I’m coming back from meetings in the north, so it’s actually super easy for me to stop in Napa with an exceptional bottle of wine. My cock was hard all the way home thinking about you, sexy lady.”

I’m always willing to try again. One meeting is not statistically significant in my book.

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