They say that music calms the savage beast. For me...it not only calms the beast inside, it can pretty much create any mood I'm looking for. If I'm in a bad mood...there's an album for that. Good mood? There's an album for that. Feelin' randy? Yep...there's an album for that, too.
After dinner, we simply sat, enjoying the ambiance, at which point, my senses focused in. Since taste was on hold, as dinner was over, and my glass of wine was empty...it was all about sight (a few deep gazes held just long enough to make my thighs a bit melty and my breath a bit heavier), smell (the true test of chemistry is just that...the scent of another person's body), touch (his hands softly wandering across every part of exposed skin...seriously, had he grabbed hold of my hair at the base of my neck, I'd have probably been undone, making a mess of the booth seat beneath me), and sound.
And that's where we are, correct? Music. Because this is when it suddenly started to make it's way into my ears. When he told he to close my eyes and just feel his hands on my skin, my senses honed in on the music. Billie Holiday. And as her voice infiltrated my brain, it merged with the sensations of being touched by someone new. My skin tingled, my nerves started to dissipate. And he asked me, if I could do what wanted, what would it be? Honestly? I told him: to be laid out naked on bed...to let him just touch me everywhere.
Because I'm sucker for being touched, caressed, kissed, massaged...just generally adored by a man's roving hands.
We left, Holiday's refrains still deeply entrenched in my ears, titillating the hum in my brain that travels and connects to every erogenous zone in my body. I was primed and ready, but I'd been given the one rule...no sex.
Instead, we drove toward the sunset, the sky stained a glowing orange, and then back toward town, as he fingered me to climax beside him. I placed my hand on his growing erection, spread my legs, and let him begin to explore how my body would respond to his touch.
I came, quickly and intensely...a clitoral orgasm only, as the sitting angle just didn't offer the sort of access necessary for him to penetrate me in the right way to cause the internal, contracting sort of orgasm that leads me to make wet messes on carseats (or whatever surface I'm near). It was, however, enough for me to know I'm interested in taking it further.
When I got in my car and drove home...I put in a little Billie Holiday to get me home.
(Pretty sure this was the song that played in the restaurant...but...things weren't completely in focus...so I could be wrong. Regardless. It's Billie Holiday. And it's sexy.)