Back to that night.

Enrique and I had danced close to each other for a few songs, our bodies rubbing against each other long after the slow songs had been replaced with uptempo funk. It wasn’t long before he grabbed my hand and pulled me from the dance floor. He temporarily stopped to longingly look at me then he kept going out a side door that in spite of its warning alerted no one to our exit. In hindsight I guess he’s used that exit before.

I remember the cold rush on my face as we entered out into a partially lit alley. I don’t remember much else after that since he pushed me up against the crumbling brick and wrapped his arms around me. It was like the dance floor all over again without the pretense of dancing…or any one watching us. He wasted no time putting his hands on me where few boys had before, I didn’t mind and the couple of drinks had taken the edge off me. His kissing was both sensual and aggressive. I let his tongue into my mouth, something that I wouldn’t let any boy do no matter how much I liked them. He was different, I told myself.

Then after an indeterminate amount of time of him roaming his hands all over my body and invading my mouth he stopped. He looked at me and said, “Let’s get out of here”. I happily nodded to him and again we were on the move. On the street he hailed a cab and moments later we were in a warm car headed back to his place.

Once the cab was in motion, so was Enrique. He resumed the kissing in the alley, but with a bit more heat. He pushed me back against the door and leaned over me, cradling my head in one hand. His other hand found the top of my stockings and started to ascend. It was a weird feeling making out in the back of a cab with a guy I had been fantasizing about for weeks. He slid his hand up under my dress.

It’s not that it wasn’t sexy, but I just wasn’t used to going home with what was effectively a stranger. And even if I had wanted all this to happen, when it was actually happening I was very anxious. Again not the kind of girl to go out to a bar and go home with a ridiculously good-looking guy for…sex. And that was it. His hand disappeared under my borrowed dress touching skin no man had seen nevermind touched in a couple of years. It was moving too fast. It was moving not fast enough.

I was totally under his thrall. I yielded to his mouth and his hand. And as that hand reached at very expensive lingerie bought in the hope/fear this could happen, the cab slammed to a stop. Our menage also stopped as Enrique realized we were outside his building. He quickly paid the cabby, who I saw smiled and nodded to him, about me?

The fresh air was good, allowed me to cool down a bit and get my bearings, though I do remember wondering what might have happened in the back of that cab had he lived just a bit further away.

The outside of Enrique’s place was a huge brick structure. He lived in an apartment that had been built in an old warehouse or manufacturing building. A bunch of little modern one or two bedroom condos with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances behind the facade of a century old brick wall. It must have been affordable expensive.

With all the luxuries I’d imagine his place to have, the one thing I’d forgotten was an elevator. Apparently the designer had too, so we ascended up a couple of flights before we ran out of stairs and exited out into a pleasingly sterile hallway. Still towing me behind him he found his keys and we walked into his apartment, which was AMAZING!

After the spell had been broken in the cab and the exercise from the walk/stair climbing, I was coming back to. It allowed me to take in his place, which is the closest I’d ever been in to a place you’d see in Architectural Digest. It was somewhat minimalist and very masculine, but so well put together, not unlike its owner. He seemed to enjoy me looking at and approving of his place.

He asked me to sit down and if he could get me a drink. I noticed he turned on some background music while getting me my drink. Maybe he didn’t want me to forget what had happened earlier or what he was preparing for in the future. It would have been impossible for me to do so. I’m just going to say it was everything I thought it would be in my mind, maybe a bit better if it weren’t for the butterflies in my stomach.

He returned with drinks in hand and sat next to me on his love seat. This part was a bit weird since there was a lot of sexy staring at each other while drinking and failed attempts at small talk. And while I held on hard to my cocktail I didn’t want to talk about work or the industry or God forbid the weather. The drink calmed the butterflies and it’s empty glass clinking on his lacquered table sounded the opening bell.

And with that he dropped his facade and almost his drink. We were making out on his love seat with more intensity than the back of the cab. Apparently we just need a little rest—and a drink—before the main event. At least I did. His lips and hands were much more aggressive in his home court. His hand was up my dress and cupping my bare ass as he kissed me—making up for lost time.

I was powerless to stop the next set of events. Though to be honest I wouldn’t have even if I could have, being a good little girl and all. This groping wasn’t one sided after all. My hands reached out to touch the fantasy man I had been dreaming about. I untucked his shirt to feel his soft skin over hard muscles. And I guess that was all the signal he needed to know to take this to the next level—or at least the bedroom.

We ran like a couple on one of those French black and white movies to his inner sanctum. Once in there, I’m not sure what came over me, but I practically ripped open his shirt casting it off him. A smooth bronzed chest like that shouldn’t have anything over it. Luckily for me he had far more respect for what I was wearing, gently unclasping and helping me wriggle out of my Cinderella dress.

It appeared that I had chosen well in the underwear department. Though he had touched it, this was his first time seeing it. I think he approved of it just before reaching around and undoing my bra…with ease, like easier than I could.

I reached down and undid his belt and then his pants. I have to admit something. I have never undone a man’s pair of pants and certainly not just before sex. In fact, most of my presexual routines were orderly affairs with systematic undressing and carefully placing removed clothing in his and hers piles. I lived a sheltered life with apparently far too little boring sex.

Having relieved him of his pants he showed his gratitude my grabbing my breasts and burying his face between them. Yet, another first that night. I have always been a bit self-conscious of my boobs. They aren’t huge or anything, but sized enough to make girls a bit insecure including the one that they are attached to. It’s part of the reason I quit swim club among other things. Yet, here in Manhattan my Latin lover had invited himself to something that had gone mostly untouched in my short but clearly getting better life.

It was amazing what he did with his hands massaging and his mouth…and tongue. I could get used to that. And just as I was coming to enjoy this new version of Heaven he began kissing down my body. I wanted to do the same to him, but was happy he was leading the way. He kissed down to my navel, noticing how sensitive I was, until he was kneeling before me.

That is when it hit me, the reality that it was going to happen—the fantasy was going to become real. It was a bit surreal. I felt his little kisses as his fingers wrapped around the bands of my panties. It’s funny now, I can stop and worry about what might have happened. OMG, what if he sensually pulled down my $130 panties and then I found out he only liked girls bald as the day they were born.

Strangely at the time I was just a bit anxious and not all that self-conscious about him and his preferences. I’m not going to say he wasn’t surprised to find he’d brought home a girl with some hair between her legs, but he quickly determined it was within his acceptable tolerance before adding another first that night. He gently guided me to the edge of his bed where he told me to lie back and parted my legs.

I once saw a porno of a guy eating a girl out. It was not very…aesthetic. The girl looked like she was having fun or was being tortured, it was hard to tell by the horrible screaming. There’s probably a reason I don’t go out of my way to watch it. So, lets just say I was quite happy to lie back and not see how Enrique was making me feel a whole bunch of new sensations. Some of them were very intense in a new and revelatory way. Some were familiar and even mirthful. The former quickly overtook the later and then I suddenly understood the woman making noises somewhere between pleasure and pain.

And in the middle of that haze I felt his soft, hard body cover mine. I was still open to him, which he took full advantage off. High on cocktails of vodka and serotonin the hot model-like guy I had been fantasizing about was in me. He didn’t single task. He kissed me like I was the only girl in the world that mattered. I ran my hands along his hard body that pressing me unto his soft bed eventually grabbing his hot ass as it rabbited.

Finally the last bit new thing, I had an orgasm while having sex with someone. I’ve had sex and I’ve had an orgasm, just not at the same time. I wasn’t the only one either, though that’s not the first time someone has had an orgasm while having sex with me. Everything in the world felt new. I had just gone out to a club and come home with the man of my dreams where we had hot sex in a way I only thought possible in Netflix LGBQT movies kind of way.

But then the clock must have struck midnight. I mean Enrique was still charming and very naked, but his tone changed. It wasn’t something I heard so much as felt. He suggested I take a shower after he did. Which was fine, I’d pushed enough boundaries tonight and could leave hot steamy shower sex on the board for another time. Actually I really just wanted some time alone and to get clean. The fairy tale had been pretty much spot on until this part.

By the time I got out of the shower, dried off and tried to do something with my hair, he was lying in bed. He had the duvet folded over, as if inviting me in. A dim lamp on his night stand illuminated enough to let me know he hadn’t waited for me and had subsequently fallen asleep. I looked around his near perfect bedroom which seemed changed now. No, I was changed now.

I started quietly hunting around for my dress and underwear. I decided to just put the dress back on and pack my expensive lingerie in a plastic bag, all except for my panties, which I never found. I quietly snuck out of his apartment, the top of my borrowed dress unhooked and a small plastic grocery bag of my intimate apparel.

As I made my way out onto the street I realized I didn’t even know where I was. A short walk and an even shorter subway ride and I was close to home. Even on my walk of shame home the city was alive and people—men—complimented me. It was disturbing and comforting at the same time.

When I got into my apartment I found Alicia passed out in her PJs with a blackish TV screen asking her if she was still watching. She had stayed up for me. I really need to get her a gift, when I get some money. I quickly slipped out of the enchanted dress and then found some ultra comfy jammies of my own before brushing my teeth and taking a morning after pill. Then sleep couldn’t take me soon enough.

I spent the rest of the weekend explaining things to my roommate and later Jemma. I left out lots of intimate details. I’d die telling other people stuff like that. Apparently I’m the only one left on earth who does though as both of them proceeded to tell me of some hot turned weird night. I’m not sure I’ll look at either of them the same way again. 😉

And then the next Monday everything started up for the next week as if Friday night never happened. That’s not true, but remarkably little was said about the party. Maybe it was some kind of what happens in Vegas thing? The really strange thing though was Jemma and I ran into Enrique. He said hi to us and then continued on talking to another guy.

“That was weird”, my marmalade coloured hair friend said.

“What was weird?”

“The guy you went home with last Friday just said hi.”

“Shut up Jemma. I don’t want the whole office knowing.”

“Too late, I put it in the company newsletter”, she mercilessly teased. I did actually check if we had a newsletter afterwards. We don’t.

“Why is it weird he said hi?”

Jemma walked me back to our office and closed the door. “Because the first time I accidentally slept with him he was nice to me and sent gifts…”

“First time you slept with him?”

“Alex, when I say he’s not boyfriend material, I’m giving you first hand experience. But that’s not the point.”

“What’s the point? Is it that he just said hi to me and I didn’t get awkward unwanted attention or gifts.”

“Sweetie”, she came in and gave me a hug. “It’s not that you aren’t worthy of awkward unwanted attention or gifts…”

“But…”

“But I don’t think he realizes it’s you he went home with.”

And with that idea my work bestie and I went about fixing fashion one appointment at a time and hypothesizing the broader meaning of having had anonymous sex with a coworker who didn’t realize it had been you.

<<– Read previous journal entry #6          Read next journal entry #8 –>>